Over the Darkened Landscape (17 page)

Cameron jumped from his shoulder and floated down to stand on his knee. “We’re back in your world, kid,” said the crow. “Bonnie could only carry us so far, and when she was petered out, she had to go back to where she came from.”

“The book?”

“The book.” All the animals nodded.

“We’re safer in our land than in yours,” said Randall Grizzly. “But to go back there, especially when our final goal is in your land, it’s an exhausting thing. It stretches us thin, and eventually we have to go back and rest with the words and pages, to recover our strength and wait for the next time we’re called.”

James thumped his right foot on the ground, four times fast. “Speaking of all that, we have to go on. Michael, turn to the next story and do your thing.”

“Captain Zacharia Coyote Returns From the War,” read Michael. “Of all his possessions, Captain Zacharia Coyote was most proud of his hat.”

Again, the book seemed to tear and jump, and a piece of paper ripped itself from the pages and flew into the air, unfolding and reconfiguring itself into Zacharia Coyote. For a moment he stood there, eyes closed, dark blue uniform jacket and felt hat with crossed swords emblazoned on the front both looking impeccable. He opened his eyes and again Michael’s world faded away, was replaced by the Green Green Woods. This time he wasn’t quite so disoriented; if he could accept this visitation by a bunch of talking animals from a children’s book, he could certainly accept being taken back to their home.

James looked about to tell Zacharia what they needed of him when there was the distant bark and then howl of a dog, and right then it occurred to Michael that he had not heard any other sounds when he had been traveling through the Green Green Woods before. The other animals all froze, ears cocked, looking anxious, and then the bark came again, sounding marginally closer, and now accompanied by a distant shout.

“It’s Clem,” hissed Culpepper, jumping up and down, eyes looking to pop out of his head.

Randall stood back up and grunted. “I’ll go get rid of him,” he said, and he bared his teeth in a vicious-looking smile.

James shook his head. “Not yet, Randall. You heard Farmer Godfrey, and so did the rest of us. If he’s carrying Old Lightning, then you’re big enough to spot in the dark, and will likely take a tail-full of shot because of it.”

“Then what?” Randall didn’t look too pleased with this, but he also didn’t try to argue his way around it.

“Right now, we run. Zacharia, the young master needs us, and we need to keep ahead of Clem.”

Captain Coyote snapped a salute and off he ran.

As he ran to catch up Michael cast back his memory, trying to remember more of the stories. There had been mention of Farmer Godfrey in the books he had read that night, but he had never actually made an appearance. He could remember scenes of the farmer trying to hunt down animals that had raided his gardens, often with the help of his hound dog—that would be Clem—but never with any success, although sometimes the animal being chased would be exhausted and would claim to have learned a lesson about thievery.

But why was he hunting them at night? The only time the animals had been here, in the Green Green Woods, was when they had been with him. No one had raided any—

There was a loud crashing in the trees to his left, and everyone froze. Tumbling onto the grass came Miranda Whitetail, who wore a handsome diamond-patterned scarf around her neck.

“It was only a few vegetables at the edge of his garden, I promise,” she said, seeing the looks on everyone’s faces.

Randall huffed and James rolled his eyes. “Stay with us,” said James, hopping on ahead. “How many stories did you read?” he asked Michael, looking back over his shoulder.

“I can’t remember,” Michael managed to huff out in between deep gulps of air. “Maybe more than I thought I had.”

They ran again, and this time Michael tried to push himself harder, allowed fewer stops for himself and made sure he ran, or at least walked, a little faster. But even he could tell that the sounds of Clem and Farmer Godfrey were getting closer. The animals looked worried, but no one said anything until Captain Coyote finally dropped down to the ground, tongue hanging from the side of his mouth and a look of defeat in his eyes.

“I’m terribly sorry, all,” he said, taking off his hat and fanning himself as he loudly panted. “I tried to carry us further. Really.”

Michael was already pulling out the book and searching the table of contents for the end of Zacharia’s chapter. He flipped it open and waited.

James saluted the coyote. “You did very well, Captain. Thank you for your service, and we’ll see you when this is done.”

Captain Coyote returned the salute, then walked up to Michael. Before he put his paw on the page, he said, “So much of this rests on your shoulders, son,” he said, still panting. “ Do your duty.”

Michael nodded, then read the last line of the story; “From that day forth, Captain Zacharia Coyote would always think of Anna Fox as his friend.” Captain Coyote flattened and twisted, folded over and over and then melded with the pages of the book.

They were now sitting on the grass at the edge of trees that lined the freeway. All of the animals ducked down low as cars raced past, but no one would be paying attention to dark shapes by bushes that were thirty feet from the edge of the road. Michael held the book in his hands and waited for more instructions.

“We need to look at the map again, Michael,” said James, slowly hopping over. His ears were slung low and every time a car went by his nose twitched.

Michael unfolded the map and peered at it, trying to make things out by the dim streetlights. Finally he poked his finger at the paper. “We’re here,” he said, “and we’re going here.”

James nodded and stood up, turning his body to face the direction they would be headed. “Read us in at the start of the next chapter, then.”

“Wait a sec,” said Michael. “Where did the dog and the farmer come from? And where do they go when we come back to my world?”

James shrugged. “Same place, I imagine.”

“But won’t it be safer in my world? We could lose Clem easily with the roads an’ stuff.”

“We’ll never get there in time in your world, Michael,” said Culpepper. “And there ain’t no way we’d be safer.” He harrumphed. “Now read.”

Michael nodded, cleared his throat. “Anna Fox and the New Sweater,” he started, squinting to read the words under the distant streetlight. “One Friday morning, Anna Fox woke up to frost on the ground and on the yellow leaves of the tree, and felt a chill in her bones that reminded her how threadbare was her old sweater.”

More tearing and jumping and unfolding, and then standing before him was Anna Fox, wearing her raggedy old sweater. She opened her eyes and the city again faded from view to be replaced by the Green Green Woods. Quite a bit closer this time, they heard Clem howl. All the animals turned to look, fear on their faces. Michael saw the fur standing up on the back of Randall’s neck.

They went faster. Michael was really starting to feel it now, and his pack was slapping against the small of his back, digging at it with each step, so that after a short while he was running with a kind of limp, trying to let the pack wear at another spot, but eventually just slipped it off and carried it in his arms.

Clem howled again, the sound so close that Michael ducked his head. Miranda Whitetail stopped and turned, then with a look at James Jackrabbit, plunged into the trees, running toward Clem and Farmer Godfrey. No one said anything, Instead, they just carried on.

Minutes later Clem howled again, a little more distant, and then came the sound of angry thunder, Old Lightning being fired. Randall Grizzly growled and Cameron Crow let go with a small squawk, but they didn’t break their stride.

They ran like that for another five minutes or so before there was a crashing in the trees nearby. Everyone froze, and Randall hauled himself up on his hind legs, shook his head and bared his teeth, then dropped back to all fours and ran towards the approaching sound. There was a streak of gray and brown, and Randall had Clem Coonhound pinned by the neck with his forearm, up against the fat trunk of an old oak tree. The dog whimpered and scratched at the bear’s belly with his hind claws, but soon realized that he wasn’t getting anywhere and just hung there, still but tense. “Is Miranda okay?” asked the bear, his voice a deep and threatening growl.

Clem slowly shook his head. “Farmer Godfrey got her in the backside. Don’t know if she went down or not.”

Randall Grizzly growled again, teeth bared and snout right up to Clem’s eyes. The dog didn’t bat an eye, just said, “Almost went for the scent of blood, I did, but there’s more happenin’ here, ain’t there?”

James hopped over and looked up at the dog. Voice shaking, he asked, “Can you let him down and keep us safe?”

“I can try.” Randall leaned forward, and both Clem and Michael cringed as he opened his jaws wide, but all he did was grab hold of the dog’s neck with his big sharp teeth and then lower Clem softly to the ground, like a mother cat carrying a kitten. Once on the ground, though, he didn’t let go, just kept his mouth in place.

“Onh oovh or I ite oo.”

James cocked an eyebrow. “Did you understand that, Clem? Randall’s talking with his mouth full, which I expect is kind of rude. But I’m pretty sure he was threatening you.”

The dog didn’t answer, just sniffed the air before turning his gaze on Michael. “Who’s the kid? Don’t look like Willy, sure don’t smell like him.” Clem had a southern accent and a deep, rich voice, with a trace of a quiver that was likely from his current predicament.

Culpepper smacked his forehead. “‘Course he’s not Willy, you dumb mutt!”

Clem growled briefly at this, but a slight tightening of Randall’s jaws shut him up.

“Um, my name’s Michael.”

James hopped over and put a paw on Michael’s forearm. “Clem, Michael here has Willy’s old books.”

There was a pause and then Clem’s eyes opened wide. “How did
that
happen?”

The rabbit leaned forward until he was right in front of the dog’s muzzle, one ear turned towards Clem, the other cocked back in the direction of Farmer Godfrey. “Only one way it could happen, Clem, and you know it. Willy needs us, and the magic that Walter was able to work has given us Michael.” He stood up on his toes, so that he could almost look eye-to-eye with the hound. “So you tell me; what do you think we should do about this situation?”

Clem looked at Michael. “Lemme see the books.”

Michael opened his pack and pulled them out, stepped over and showed them to Clem, who sniffed at them. Then the dog’s eyes went wide, and after a few more seconds of silence he huffed, a sound almost like a sneeze. “Promise nobody else is gonna go raidin’ the garden?”

James Jackrabbit turned in a slow circle, looking each remaining animal in the eye. In response, each one of them nodded their answer. James turned back to Clem. “Well?”

“I’ll do my best,” growled the dog. “Farmer Godfrey’ll be anxious to teach you all a lesson, so I can’t keep leading him astray. But long enough for you to get to Willy, hopefully I can do that.”

“Give us enough room and let us worry about the rest,” answered Cameron Crow.

Close by, they heard Farmer Godfrey holler for Clem. Michael instinctively ducked, but the animals didn’t move a muscle. “Is the big lug gonna let me go?” asked Clem.

James nodded, and Randall Grizzly opened his mouth and stood. “Boy, you taste awful,” said the bear.

“And I’m sure covered in your spit I smell real nice as well,” answered the dog, who gave James a quick glance and then howled in response to his master before plunging back into the dark forest.

James turned his attention to Anna Fox. “You all right to go on?”

She nodded. They ran again, and over the sound of Michael’s effort-laden breathing he could hear that Clem and Farmer Godfrey were getting further away. Did the man wonder about his world, about flipping back and forth between the Green Green Woods and the city that was Michael’s home? He wished he had the time and the energy to ask, but didn’t know if James or any of the other animals would be able to give him a satisfactory answer.

Soon the forest opened up onto a large, moonlit meadow. They crossed through the tall grass and reached the other side, and were greeted by the sight of Miranda Whitetail, lying in the grass, blood caked and glistening on her back. “Hurts,” she said. “But I got away.” She stood up, looked to James and the others, and then turned and looked down, still breathing hard.

Michael followed her gaze, and saw that the edge of the meadow sat at the top of a hill, which led down to a big round lake with several islands in the middle, set in the rough outline of a smiling face. They were at Happy Lake. On the shore to the right he could see a small fire, but they were too far away for him to see if anyone was tending it.

Anna coughed. “I have to stop, James,” she said. Michael dug out the book and found the end of Anna’s story. “Although she enjoyed every summer, Anna always looked forward the most to autumn, when the leaves were golden and the frost first escaped from Grandpa Winter’s lips, and she could pull on her sweater yet again.” Anna jumped through the air and into the book, folding over and over until she had become a part of the pages, and then Michael closed it shut.

They were near what Michael imagined must be Chester Pond. On one side there was a large low building, a few lights shining inside and out, vaguely institutional and threatening. Overhead, street lamps buzzed urgently, and moths and other insects circled them in large, swinging arcs, sometimes coming close enough to slam into one before bouncing off with a frustrated flurry of wings. Nearby, a car alarm sounded, and then Clem’s howling joined the city’s night time chorus.

“Last time to read, Michael,” said James. “We’re almost home.”

“Cassie Beaver Builds a New Home,” read Michael. “Nobody ever expected that a flood at Happy Lake would get the best of Cassie Beaver, but one year it did.”

Again the book jumped in Michael’s hands, and again there came a tearing sound, and Cassie Beaver unfolded before his eyes. “Lead us to Willy, Cassie,” said Culpepper. A second or two later they were back on the hill overlooking the lake, and after one quick glance behind them, James Jackrabbit nodded his head and they were running and hopping down towards the lake and the fire.