Mousemobile Read online

  Megan noticed that the leader of the Mouse Nation sniffed the air appreciatively as the pizzas came in.

  “Would you like a taste, sir?” she asked.

  “Thank you, no,” said the Big Cheese, as Trey translated. “A leader is never the first to leave a dangerous situation, nor should he eat before his followers are fed. Forgive me for the intrusion into your space, but I thought a conference was in order, just between us.”

  “Indeed,” said Uncle Fred. “And maybe you can tell us about the man in the green truck. I mean, mice know everything. Right?”

  The Big Cheese seemed to sag a bit. “Would it were true,” he said. “But as you know, we have no special powers. No magic. We are limited to what our brains and our technology can provide us, and right now we have no clue.”

  “My first thought was that the man recognized me and Megan from that TV show,” said Uncle Fred.

  That brought the sign for “Smile” from the Big Cheese. “A fan, huh? Wanting your autograph perhaps? With all due respect, is it not more likely that our pursuer has some information about your role in Operation Cool It?”

  “Wow. Cool It. That’s a scary thought,” said Uncle Fred. “Because you’re so careful with that secret. We all are.”

  “Secrets leak, alas,” said the Big Cheese. “So it is imperative that we track down this human to find out what he knows—and if he was the one who summoned the exterminators. Fortunately there is no hurry. Thanks to your driving skills, we can defer our research until we reestablish our Headquarters.”

  “In Cleveland?” asked Uncle Fred.

  “Cleveland will serve admirably,” said the Big Cheese. “Indeed, as your great bard might have written, in his play Julius Caesar: ‘There is a tide in the affairs of mice, which, taken at the flood, leads on to Cleveland.’”

  “Good old Shakespeare,” said Uncle Fred, with a chuckle deep in his beard. “Always hits the nail on the head.”

  A messenger mouse had stuck his head around the door that led to the next room, and the Big Cheese waved him in. The mouse made an urgent gesture, something that looked a bit like swinging a baseball bat.

  “Aha!” said the Big Cheese. “My friend here tells me that we may soon have information that will help us plan our movements. Come with me.”

  Uncle Fred held out an arm so the Big Cheese could climb onto his shoulder, and Megan carried the pizzas as they made their way into the mouse room.

  A few mice looked up, and Megan could see noses rise in the air at the smell of hot cheese. But most of the mouse eyes were trained on the television set that the Engineering Department had connected to a Thumbtop that was streaming a game.

  A Little League baseball game.

  A game that meant one team could go on to the State Championship of Ohio and maybe the Great Lakes Regionals and maybe the World Series, and the other team would go home.

  “Wow, I’m impressed,” Uncle Fred began, as he sat down on the bed. “How did you…” But a few hundred paws made the sign for “Sh!” and Megan said it too, with a nudge to Uncle Fred’s ribs for emphasis, because Joey was batting now, gazing intently at the pitcher, scowling in the way he did when he had to concentrate on a really difficult task.

  And a hit! He got a single! The ball arched over the first baseman as a boy on third base slid home.

  “That clutch single—it’s what you expect from Joey Fisher,” the commentator was saying. “He’s tied the game! I bet the Cleveland coach would like a whole team of Fishers. Hey, look at his proud dad.”

  And there was a shot of Jake pumping his fists in the air, with a couple of wriggling bumps in his tall hat, if you knew where to look. Then, when the next batter came up and got a double that sent Joey around to score the go-ahead run, there was more joy in the bleachers. More wriggling in the hat.

  “Pity Fisher can’t pitch the last inning,” said the commentator. “He’s reached the official limit of pitches for the night.”

  And so it was that the second-best pitcher on Joey’s team gave up a home run in the bottom of the inning with a guy on base, and it was all over. Just like that.

  At first Megan felt deeply sorry, because how could you not? This meant the season was over. No chance of a State Championship. No chance of the World Series. On the screen, she noticed that a couple of the younger boys on Joey’s team had tears in their eyes, and a shot of the crowd showed a very quiet hat indeed.

  But in that motel room, the floor, the bed, the dresser, and the top of the television set were one solid pirouette of mouse joy—until the Big Cheese made the sign that means “Freeze!” (you shake all over, as if you’re very cold).

  “Forgive us for our exuberance,” he said, as Trey translated. “We understand that for the time being, Mr. Jake and Mr. Joey will be downhearted. But the predictions of our Director of Pastimes were correct. He had informed me that, given the lefty-righty matchup, defeat was probable. And I think you will agree that the addition of a second full-grown male to your team will be useful. We will therefore arrange for Mr. Jake and Mr. Joey to join us.”

  “But, sir,” Uncle Fred began—just as his phone rang. “It’s Jake,” he said, peering down at it.

  “Tell him you are arranging a flight so he may join us in Reno tomorrow,” said the Big Cheese.

  “I am?” said Uncle Fred. Then he clicked on his phone with a, “Yo, Jake!” as more than two thousand sets of eyes fixed themselves on his face. “Yes, we saw. Managed to get it online. Bummer.”

  Apparently, Jake’s thoughts were so firmly on baseball that Uncle Fred couldn’t get a word in, which was good, because while he was listening, the mice in the Transportation Department had time to make the reservation. A mouse with a Thumbtop on his back scooted over and turned around so Uncle Fred could read the information.

  “Bet you want to know how things went for us,” said Uncle Fred, peering down through his magnifying glass. “Short version: everything’s hunky-dory. Long version: you’re not going to believe this, but the mice had to leave Headquarters, so we’ve decided to load them all into an RV and drive them to Cleveland.”

  He held the phone away from his ear as it spluttered with laughter.

  “I’m serious,” said Uncle Fred, bringing the phone back to his ear. “And I need your help driving, so we’ve booked a flight that gets you to Reno tomorrow. Yes, Reno, Nevada. That Reno. From there we’ll head east across the Rockies and…”

  Megan thought she heard the phone say, “Rockies, huh?” And Uncle Fred made a thumbs-up sign to the watching mice as he listened some more, then gave Jake the flight and reservation numbers that would bring him and Joey to Reno.

  “Didn’t believe a word of it,” he said, as he finally clicked his phone off. “Except for the bit about the Rockies. I guess he’s hoping we’ll drive home by way of Camp Green Stars, get to meet all those famous people.”

  “Can we?” asked Megan. “When we cross the Rockies, will it be the right part? Camp Green Stars?”

  “Alas no,” said the Big Cheese. “That is far to the north and would take us a long way from our route. However, as I would have told you this morning had not our meeting been interrupted, I do have good news about your parent. The clan at Camp Green Stars tells me that she is acquitting herself admirably, and has shown an ability to keep even the most succulent secrets of the stars to herself. You therefore have my permission to tell her the truth about our nation upon her return to Cleveland.”

  “Yay!” shouted Megan. She looked around to see if she’d startled the ranks of mice, but saw that they were all doing the sign for “Yay” too. (It’s the left paw thrust into the air, once for a simple “Yes” and twice for something like a “Yay!”)

  And the paws kept on pumping twice, three times, four times, as Uncle Fred opened the lid of the first cheese pizza and started to carve it up.

  egan couldn’t remember when she had last been so tired; though at least this was a friendly sort of tired, because Jake and Joey would be here tomo
rrow, and surely nothing more could go wrong.

  Uncle Fred had decided to sleep in the RV. Normally, Megan might have tried out one of its seven beds too, but at this point of tiredness it seemed like way too much hassle. While Trey stayed on in the mouse room to hang out with some friends, Megan headed for bed in the connecting room, with Julia on her shoulder.

  And saw that the room wasn’t quite empty. There was a flash of pink on the bedside table, where she’d left her Thumbtop.

  “What the…?” she exclaimed, and felt Julia stiffen up. “Savannah?”

  “Oh, hey there, girlfriend!” said Savannah, clicking at the Thumbtop like someone signing out in a hurry.

  Julia leaped down and ran to the table, where she made some gestures to Savannah that looked distinctly frosty.

  “Hey, don’t have a cow!” said Savannah. “Can’t a girl just check her e-mail in peace, without a few thousand mice looking over her shoulder? But don’t you worry about a thing, honey-bun,” she said. “It’s all going to be just fine.” And she jumped onto Megan’s shoulder so that she could sing a few words right into her ear: “‘Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high…’”

  It sounded really bad, because no matter how hard they work at it, talking mice can’t sing. Mouse brains and ears and mouths have simply not yet evolved to do music.

  “What’s going to be fine?” Megan asked, mostly to make the singing stop.

  “That’s my secret,” said Savannah, and did a pirouette before she jumped down from Megan’s shoulder and ran back to the mouse room.

  Julia was making some signs. Pointing at the Thumbtop, then at herself, then making the question mark with her tail. Okay if she checked the computer to see what Savannah had been doing?

  “I guess,” said Megan, even though she really didn’t approve, because Savannah might have been trying to set up a hot date or something—whatever mice did. But it didn’t matter anyway, because without knowing Savannah’s password, Julia couldn’t find a thing.

  During the night, the Transportation Department had studied the layout of the new Mousemobile online, and by morning they were ready to allocate a space to each department. It didn’t take long for Megan and Uncle Fred to deliver boxfuls of mice to their allotted spaces, as Trey translated the instructions for who went where.

  And what a difference a day makes. Yesterday, the mice might have indeed been robots, gazing straight ahead as they were loaded up. This time they were looking around and chatting, as excited as kids on a field trip; and a few even blew kisses to Megan as she gently lowered each box into place.

  Almost last came the three talking mice, who were each given a cup holder to ride in, while Julia took the fourth. And last of all came the Big Cheese, who would again ride in the cage hung from the driver’s mirror.

  Megan helped by filling the kitty-litter trays and pushing them into the tiny bathroom. Then she filled some cereal bowls with mouse food and water. Sure, the mousekeeping crews could have done it themselves eventually, but for once they seemed glad of human help, glad to be with humans.

  Uncle Fred was last to get in.

  “Hi, guys,” he said, turning around to look into the 2,243 pairs of eyes that were looking right back at him. “Can’t wait to see how Jake and Joey react when they see you. Might even get a few EEEEKs out of them. No offense, sir.”

  That got a brisk comment from the Big Cheese, as Trey translated. “I know better than to take offense,” he said. “Lamentable though it may be, I understand that, by and large, your species has an instinctive fear of ours. But not, I believe, Mr. Jake. He is, as you people say, one cool dude.”

  “You’re right,” said Uncle Fred, reaching up a hand toward the cage, where Megan was relieved to see a tiny paw stick out so Uncle Fred could tap it for a high five. “Way cool.”

  As the Mousemobile slowly pulled out of the motel parking lot, the Big Cheese gazed back at his subjects and gave them a cheerful-looking burst of MSL.

  “Reno or bust,” Trey translated. “Then Cleveland or bust.”

  And after Cleveland, what? Megan let her brain spin forward. They’d have to find somewhere for Headquarters, of course, probably on the second floor of Planet Mouse. Then in a week or so she and Joey and Jake would head off to Oregon, maybe by way of Camp Green Stars. And she’d tell her mom. Finally!

  With that thought, and the soft blue morning, the round hills the color of cornflakes behind them, and the great valley ahead—with all that, Megan couldn’t help singing, and the song that came out was “Oh What a Beautiful Mornin’,” which was what her mom would sing on the island when she stuck her head out of the cabin at dawn.

  And everyone seemed to be sharing her mood, because when the Big Cheese said something that must have been, “Join in, everybody,” a couple of thousand mice began making MSL signs in unison, silently singing along.

  The only discordant note, figuratively and literally, came from the mouse Megan now felt running up her arm, and the sound of Savannah singing on her shoulder, just as badly as she had sung last night. Which might not have worried Megan much if Julia hadn’t sprung from her cup holder and run up to the unoccupied shoulder, leaning forward to glare at Savannah under Megan’s chin, her body stiff with jealousy.

  Uncle Fred stopped the Mousemobile at a convenience store right beside the on-ramp to Highway 5—the road that would lead them to the giant Highway 80, which would in turn carry them eastward to Reno, then through the Rocky Mountains toward home.

  “I smell doughnuts,” said Uncle Fred. “Back in a minute.”

  And that was Megan’s last happy thought for a while. Doughnuts.

  It was a watch mouse at the back of the Mousemobile who gave the alarm. Peering through the crack that Uncle Fred had left at the bottom of the blind covering the rear window, he signaled something urgent to the Big Cheese, who stood in his cage watching, totally still.

  Then, slowly and deliberately, he summoned Trey.

  “What’s going on?” asked Megan as she lifted him up to the cage.

  “Nothing good,” Trey whispered. Then he and the Big Cheese turned their backs while they communicated in the way of the modern mouse—tapping out words for each other on the Big Cheese’s Thumbtop.

  Uncle Fred was emerging from the convenience store with a paper sack in his hand and a doughnut already lodged in his mouth.

  “’Ere’s un ’or ’ou,” he said, climbing into the Mousemobile. Then he took the doughnut out of his mouth as he handed over the bag. “One for you. And they had really cheap DVDs, so I bought one to entertain the troops. Ratatouille! How about that, guys?” he said, turning to look at the two thousand–plus pairs of mouse eyes that were fastened on him. “The world’s best rodent movie, so as soon as I’ve finished my… What the…?”

  He’d spotted a flash of green in the sliver of parking lot that was all he could see through the back window. He checked his side-view mirror, and Megan did the same on her side. And saw it too.

  The green truck with one fender in a lighter shade of green.

  “It’s him!” shouted Megan. “It’s the man! The truck! Oh, sir!”

  The Big Cheese was saying something in gestures that looked slow and sad.

  “He knows,” said Trey. “He saw.”

  Uncle Fred put his head down on the steering wheel.

  “That means one thing,” he said finally. “Some mouse must have told him where we spent the night. Some mouse must have told him we switched the old RV for this one.”

  That got the Big Cheese to the front of his cage, furious.

  “It is indeed a major setback to our plans,” he said, as Trey translated. “But don’t be so quick to blame mice. If you compare our two species, you must agree that there is no record of a single mouse committing acts of treachery, whereas human history includes endless betrayals.”

  “But no way you can suspect me or Megan!” Uncle Fred almost shouted, sounding as angry as the Big Cheese.

  “You are the only humans
present,” said the Big Cheese.

  “It can’t be us!” wailed Megan. “Why would we go to all this trouble and rescue your whole nation, then betray you? It doesn’t make sense!”

  “She’s right,” said Uncle Fred.

  “We’ll carry out an investigation later,” said the Big Cheese. “For now, let us keep going as if we haven’t seen that truck, as if we suspect nothing.”

  “But he’ll follow,” said Uncle Fred. “He’ll follow us all the way to Reno. And when he finds out that we have a load of rodents on board…”

  “Need I remind you,” the Big Cheese said frostily, “that you are now under the control of rodents. You of all people should be aware of our power. I can assure you that if you follow my plan, we will extricate ourselves from this predicament.”

  “And still manage to meet Jake?” asked Uncle Fred.

  “Of course we will meet Mr. Jake,” said the Big Cheese. “He is one human we know we can trust.”

  Ouch! Trust Jake and not them?

  Megan turned to look at the mice behind her, and, yes, she thought she could see suspicion in their eyes. It was so unfair! And Trey showed no sign of leaving the cage. On top of everything else, had the Big Cheese taken away her mouse? Her best friend?

  She refused to look up at the cage, but kept her eyes on the road ahead, with glances at the mirror while the Mousemobile pulled onto the freeway, the green truck keeping its distance behind them.

  Then there was a plop in her lap: Trey running up her arm to her ear.

  “The boss is only pretending to suspect you!” he whispered. “He knows it must be some mouse, but if he makes everyone think you’re the bad guys, that mouse will be more likely to take the next step. Maybe do something dumb.”

  “Can I tell Uncle Fred the Big Cheese knows it’s not us?” she asked. “Look at him!”

  Her uncle was bright red with rage, except for his knuckles, which were white as they gripped the wheel. “Not yet,” said Trey. “Better let him stay really mad. The boss doesn’t think he’d be good at faking it.”