The Mysterious Abductions (5 page)

Chapter Eleven

THE DARK DEN

“O
n y va
!” said the sugar glider. “Off we go!” Bismark spun on his toes then sidled alongside the jerboa. “You, my pocket-sized picaroon, will walk with me so I may educate you on the basics of taxonomy.” Jerry squinted at Bismark. “Is that another one of your exotic l-l-languages?”

“Oh
mon dieu
.” The sugar glider sighed. “You have much to learn, puny pal. Much to learn.”

The Brigade set out, Bismark and Jerry leading the way, the others close behind.

“Taxonomy!” declared Bismark. “The way we name and identify the creatures of this world.” He cleared his throat, ready to deliver another one of his lectures. “The order of things. Classification.” He gave a whirl of his cape. “Naturally, sugar gliders are at the pinnacle, the peak, the tippiest of the top. Where you should start, perhaps, is the bottom—bats. Why don't you go ask them how they ended up in such a sorry state?”

Bismark gave the jerboa a gentle push toward the chattering bats. Then he fell back a few paces to confer with Tobin.

“I think he's a resourceful rodent. A fine fellow. A jolly good chap!” he said, elbowing the pangolin. “Yes.” Tobin nodded, though his face crumpled in disagreement.

“I must admit,” continued the sugar glider, “I wasn't so sure about the jerboa at first. But now, I agree. He's a fine addition to the search party! Plus,” he continued, scratching his bald patch absentmindedly, “one should never be criticized for diminutive size.”

“Oh no!” said Tobin. “Not at all.”

“What are you two discussing?” asked Dawn. The nimble fox glided up to her friends, keeping an eye on the jerboa.

“Just reviewing the character of our new acquaintance,” replied Bismark. “A good chap, that Jerry.”

Dawn gazed up ahead. Cora and the bats were gathered around the jerboa. “Tobin,” said the fox, “what do you think?”

The pangolin shrugged his scales. “Um, well,” he said.

“Yes?” pressed Dawn.

“Well…” he began again. “Yes. He's a good chap.” But the pangolin's answer was hesitant.

Her brow creased with concern, Dawn looked carefully at the jerboa. Jerry was shuffling forward with his peculiar hopping gait, and the bats were clumsily mimicking his movements behind him.

“Excuse me?” Cora joined them, her soft voice edged with panic. “But I was wondering, do any of you hear that noise?”

Tobin cocked his head to the wind. He heard howling nearby. “Oh goodness,” he uttered. “Are those…?”

“Coyotes,” Dawn finished.

The fox let out a breath. “Enough fooling around now,” she commanded the bats, who were still aping the jerboa's walk. “Let's walk in formation. We can't have
anyone too far ahead of or behind the group.”

With Jerry still in loose holds, the nine nocturnals threaded their way through the shaded wood. After some time, Dawn stopped and motioned for the others to gather.

“The coyote den is just ahead,” she announced. “We must approach it with caution.”

“Approach?” balked the sugar glider. His bulbous eyes seemed to pop from his head. “When you say approach, do you mean what I think you mean? As in, get close to? Go near? Walk toward?”

“The coyotes have lived here long, and they know the land well,” explained Dawn. “They might be able to help in our quest.” The fox gazed into the depths of the wood.

“Or devour us!” Bismark wiped beads of sweat from his brow with his paw.

“Scared.”

“Trembling.”

“Definitely nervous.”

The bats all agreed, evaluating the sugar glider.

Dawn sighed. “Perhaps it is best that I go alone,” she resolved.

“What's that, my lady?” The sugar glider leapt onto a rock. “You'd like me, the marsupial, to hold
down the fort? To serve as our group's fearless leader whilst you are gone?”

Dawn, not really listening to the sugar glider, focused on the dark wood ahead.

Tobin padded to his friend's side. “I don't like the idea of you going alone,” he said softly. “I'll come with you.”

“Very well.” The fox smiled at her loyal Brigade-mate. Then she turned toward the others. “Be alert,” she advised. Dawn scanned the group. Her gaze lingered on Jerry. “We do not know what dangers surround us.”

Chapter Twelve

THE WRITING ON THE WALL

D
awn and Tobin crept across a meadow, making sure to stay low in the tall grass. As they approached the side of a small hill, Dawn slowed. There before them was a deep, dark hole nestled between large slabs of gray rock. The coyote den.

Dawn lifted a paw but then paused.

“Are you okay?” asked Tobin.

The fox drew in a long breath. “Yes,” she said. “I'm all right.”

Tobin nodded, but something in the tone of Dawn's voice made him think there was more she was not saying.

“Let's move on.” Dawn lengthened her neck, placed her paw on the ground, and proceeded to the den's mouth. Lingering at the threshold, she and the pangolin peered into the dark.

“Look,” said Tobin. Although his eyesight was poor, he had spotted strange markings on the dirt-covered walls.

The fox crawled deeper into the cave and examined the drawings. Though at a distance they seemed to be nothing more than muddy paw prints, upon closer inspection the smudges and smears proved to represent various animals—including raccoons, kiwis, and a wombat.

“Hieroglyphics,” Dawn murmured.

“Oh goodness, oh goodness!” sputtered the pangolin, nervously backing away. “Some of these animals are the ones who are missing!”

“Tobin,” warned Dawn, “do not jump to conclusions.” Tobin gulped. His friend was acting strangely defensive.

“Oh, um, I'm sorry,” he stammered. “But I'm not sure this is safe.” Tobin's voice was shaking now, and
his scales trembled with fear.

“The pangolin is right.” A deep voice echoed through the den. “It is not safe for you here.”

At once, Dawn jumped with alarm, and Tobin's eyes bulged wide. Together, they turned around. A giant, pale gray coyote was standing at the mouth of the den. With his long legs and broad chest, he appeared twice the size of the two others combined.

Tobin's heart lurched and his breath caught in his throat. He furled his scales for protection and tried to steady himself. His feet felt as if they belonged to someone else.

Dawn, however, did not seem scared at all. Her back fell from its arch, her muscles relaxed, and her face grew soft.

Tobin gaped at his friend. With a giant coyote staring them down, Dawn somehow grew calmer, more relaxed.

“Yes,” said the fox, her voice even and strong. “We know it's not safe. What we don't know is why.”

The coyote stared at the fox. “It's been a long time,” he said.

“It has,” replied Dawn. Her whiskers twitched.

For a moment, the two canines stood still, eyes locked. The coyote's coarse hair billowed in the cool
evening breeze. Dawn's tail flicked from left to right. Although they were silent, the air between them seemed full of unspoken words.

The pangolin bowed his head. His heart continued to race, but he knew there was nothing to fear.

A chorus of low howls rang in the distance, shattering the stillness of the moment. The coyote turned his broad head toward the sound.

“You must go,” he declared. “The pack is returning. You cannot be here when they arrive.”

“But these images—” Dawn started.

“Not now,” said the coyote, cutting her off. He paused. “Meet me at sunrise, at the glen to the north. Just beyond the dragon trees.” The canine glanced at Tobin and then returned his gaze to the fox. “Come alone,” he instructed.

And with that, the majestic coyote descended deeper into his den.

Dawn watched his silhouette melt into the darkness. But then, at the sound of the approaching pack, she turned and motioned for Tobin to follow. Hastily, the two animals moved through the night, retracing their path through the meadow and the tall grass. Once they were a safe distance away, they slowed and walked side by side.

Although Tobin had many questions, he remained quiet and waited for his friend to speak.

“That was Ciro,” Dawn said at last. “He is the leader of the coyotes in the eastern regions.”

Tobin waited for more.

“He will have information about the nappings. I will meet him at sunrise, as he requested.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, as though she spoke to herself. Her eyes flashed in the light of the moon. “This time, I must go alone.”

Chapter Thirteen

THE WAIT

“I
t is most confusing!
Muy
befuddling!
Absolument
absurd!” Bismark ranted and swung a stick through the air. The sun was rising, and there was no sign of Dawn.

“Calm down!”

“Sit tight.”

“The canine calls the shots.”

“
Svor
! The canine—”

But Bismark cut off the fourth bat. “
Mon dieu
!” he fumed, wringing his tiny fists. “Must you always
speak in sequence? It's like talking to a bell. Ding, dang, dong!” The sugar glider grunted, pacing back and forth. “Now I know the true meaning of ‘dingbat'.”

Bismark slouched in despair and gazed into the brush. Dawn had vanished into the leaves quite some time ago. “I just don't understand,” he whimpered. “Why does she want us to wait here? Is this some sort of test? Some kind of game?”

Tobin fidgeted and pawed at his scales. He, too, was waiting.

“Come now, pangolin,” pressed Bismark. “You were with her. You must know something!”

“Yes,” said Cora, padding up to Tobin. “Are you sure you saw nothing unusual?”

“Oh! Oh goodness, no,” Tobin fibbed. “Just the coyote den.” The pangolin did not like to lie—he didn't even really know how. But he had a deep sense that Dawn would want him to keep what he knew to himself. She had, after all, explained next to nothing about what had happened between her and that coyote, Ciro.

Sensing that Tobin needed space, Cora shifted the focus to the jerboa. “Jerry,” she said, “you've been awfully quiet. Is there anything else you can tell us?”

The jerboa clasped his hands and, once again, launched into his tale of woe.

Tobin smiled at Cora, grateful for the moment of peace. To clear his head, he left the group and climbed to the top of a nearby hill. Since his trip to the den, he'd felt quite overwhelmed. Again, he replayed the events of the night in his mind. He had seen drawings of kiwis and a wombat—animals they knew to be missing. But raccoons? A tarantula? And the others? There were a few sketches Tobin couldn't make out at the time. What did these pictures mean? Perhaps these nocturnal nappings were even more widespread than they thought.

“Tobin!” Bismark's shrill voice rang from downhill.

“Oh, um, yes?” said the pangolin, jarred from his thoughts. He waddled down to where Bismark and the others were gathered.

“Tell these dingbats of my natural leadership qualities.” The sugar glider placed his hands on his hips and looked expectantly at his friend.

“He wants to be Acting Commander,” explained Cora. “To take charge while Dawn is away.” The wombat eyed Bismark with doubt.

“But we nominate you,” said a bat.

“Yes, the scaly one!” said another.

Tobin's eyes widened. “Me?” he asked, drawing back.

“You see?” Bismark shouted, raising his arms in the air. “He is tentative! Hesitant! Not fit for command!” He glanced at Tobin. “No offense.”

Tobin shrugged, too distracted to care. Dawn had been gone quite a while, and he was beginning to worry.

“Under my lead, we shall go on adventures! Brave the beyond! Find our dear fox!” Bismark waved his stick with each word.

The jerboa hopped forward. “That's a great idea.” His eyes darted toward the woods. “Let's v-v-venture.”

The pangolin gulped. He knew they should not depart from the ridge. With all the recent nappings, it was far too dangerous. Plus, he had to keep Dawn's whereabouts private—Ciro had specifically asked to meet her alone. “Let's just stay here,” he proposed. “Dawn will be back soon.”

“
Oy vey
.”

“Not so great.”

“Pains us to say it…”

“… but we side with the glider.”

Tobin looked at the bats, yapping and flapping their wings. “Oh dear,” he sighed, turning to Cora for help.

“I don't know,” the wombat said. “What if Dawn is in trouble? What if she needs our help?”

Tobin's heart raced with desperation. Then he saw something moving along the horizon. Something with pointy ears, perfect posture, and glowing red fur.

“Oh goodness!” the pangolin uttered. “Look!”

“Dawn!” exclaimed Bismark. The sugar glider dropped the stick he'd been wielding and ran, arms spread, toward the fox. “Our champion, our hero, our savior!”

“Thank goodness, you're here!” added Cora.

“Yes, yes,
svor
,” said the bats. “
Shalom,
welcome back, welcome back.” The four animals stumbled in line and raised their wings in salute.

Dawn straightened her spine. “Members and friends of the Nocturnal Brigade, gather in. I have much to share.”

Eagerly, the group drew toward the fox.

“Tonight,” she continued, “I met with others who have been investigating these nappings. And I have formed an alliance.” She paused. “From this point on, we shall band together with the coyotes.”

There was a hiccup of silence…then an explosion of protest.

“Coyotes?” shrieked Bismark.

“Pitiless predators!”

“Howling hunters!”

“Blood-thirsty beasts!”

The bats' wings shook with worry. Cora and Tobin also looked nervous, and they huddled together in fear.

“The coyotes are not our enemies,” declared Dawn. “But from what I have gathered, there is one among us whom we cannot trust….” The fox scanned the group. The hair on her spine rose on end. “Where is Jerry?” she gasped.

Bismark looked right and then left. Cora and Tobin spun in circles. The bats flapped their wings overhead.

“Oh goodness!” blurted the pangolin. “I don't know! He was here just a moment ago—”

“Find him!” cried Dawn.

At once, the animals scattered, searching for the wily jerboa. But after pawing through thickets and combing the low grassy hillside, it was clear that their hunt was hopeless. Jerry was gone.