Return to NIMH - Ch. 1: Season's End

Mrs. Frisby looked forlornly about her. The room that she was in was empty -- empty save for the memories. Sighing, she swept out the last of the leaves and moss her family had used for bedding while they stayed in their summer home by the brook. After finishing, she sat down on the cool floor to rest her weary bones. She tired quickly these days and felt perpetually weak. The seasons were catching up with her; autumn was blowing away the last tenacious leaves from her life's tree, and soon winter's cold embrace would envelop her forever, as it did all creatures that crawled the earth. This, she knew, would be the last time that she would see her summer home.

Still, Mrs. Frisby was not regretful that her life was coming to its close. She had lived to see her children grow and mature, and had even lived to see her children's children. There were few mice that could claim that longevity. Indeed, she was the oldest mouse, aside from Mr. Ages, that anyone around the farm and nearby forest knew of. Mrs. Frisby liked to think of it as a parting gift from her husband, Jonathan; that somehow he had given some of his long life to her before his own was cut short.

Jonathan... Mrs. Frisby's heart still ached for her long-deceased husband. Perhaps that explained her readiness for the season's endless round to take her up. Somehow she knew that when this life ended, Jonathan would be there once more, waiting for her. Of course, she couldn't tell anyone how she knew, she just... knew. Timothy, her younger son, would have called it... intuition.

While her mind was filled with memories and thoughts of Jonathan, a breeze wafted through the entrance, caressing her fur. Closing her eyes, she could almost feel Jonathan's touch in the wind. She leaned back against the wall, smiling and contented. In the realm of her thoughts normally relegated to dreaming, Jonathan continued to caress her, lightly scratching her between the ears and running his paws through the fur on her head. Somehow, it seemed so real...

Reluctantly, she recalled herself from her fantasy, knowing that there were still practical matters to tend to. To her surprise, she could still feel Jonathan's touch. Her eyes snapped open.

"Martin?" she began. "What...?"

"You looked so peaceful," Martin replied in a soft voice. "I thought I'd help."

Mrs. Frisby smiled. "I'd thought I'd become young again. Bre is lucky to have you for a mate."

Martin returned her smile. "And I am lucky to have her."

Mrs. Frisby stretched and yawned. "Well," she said between a yawn, "I imagine you didn't you didn't come down here just to scratch my ears."

Martin pretended to be hurt. "A fine time it is when a son can't come to his mother's home without suspecting some ulterior motives," he said in mock disgust. Changing to a slightly more serious tone, he continued. "You're right, of course. I came to tell you that Bre and the rest are ready to go when you are."

"All right, Martin. We'll go as soon as I make sure that Cynthia is ready."

Almost as if on cue, Cynthia called down the entrance. "Martin! Tell Mom we're ready to go!"

Mrs. Frisby smiled. "We'll be right up, Cynthia," she called back. Turning to Martin, she said, "I guess I won't need to check after all."

"Come on," he said gently, holding out his hand to her. "Don't want to keep everyone waiting, do we?"

Taking one last look around the room, she took his hand and allowed herself to be led to the entrance to their nest. She climbed up the entrance, Martin following, and stood outside. The sky was cloudy, and although it was warmer, she could still detect a faint chill in the air from the morning. The days were getting shorter and the leaves on the trees were just beginning to turn. Mrs. Frisby knew the signs; it was time to move. The five mice below, consisting of Martin's family and Cynthia, waited patiently. At least Cynthia and Martin's wife, Brenda, waited patiently; Martin's three children ran about and chattered noisily with one another. She checked to make sure that everyone carried their proper share of supplies to be moved, then nodded in satisfaction. Everything was ready. She stole one last glance at the soon-to-be abandoned summer home in the gnarled roots of an old tree, then looked back to Martin.

"It's time."

Lost in her thoughts, Tamera walked along a rural highway, which ran along many rolling hills filled with fields and pastures. It was a cloudy day, the chill of the morning nearly gone; melted away by the sun that poked out from behind the clouds now and then. Near the horizon, however, thunderheads could be seen in the distance, their dark forms promising a powerful storm. At this sight, Tamera felt a twinge of worry; hopefully she could find shelter before the storm that it carried hit.

It had been some weeks since she began her journey; a journey that, she hoped, would bring help to her captured family. Her only clue was a newspaper clipping, which she carried with her in a crude knapsack. Some other mice in the colony had, a few years back, found an article in a newspaper that they had scavenged. They would regularly scavenge newspapers so that they wouldn't get out of touch with the world of men; after all, man's world always had a way of intruding upon the world of others whether they wished it or not, and it was always best to be prepared.

At the time, much of the news was abuzz with article after article of the building of, and subsequent apparent sabotage of the Trout River Dam project. Although saddened that more wild lands would be tamed for human consumption, Tamera remembered that most mice in the colony didn't concern themselves with it much. One article, however, did catch their attention. It was a syndicated article, originally appearing in The Smithville Tribune, reprinted in the local newspaper, titled "Rumor Ties Rats to Dam Problems." The story reported that two security guards claimed to meet an intelligent rat inside the dam's operation center, and that a workman believed that a rat had severed the cabling that powered the dam.

Several of the mice had speculated that it could have been the rats that escaped from NIMH with them. Certainly they would try to protect their home if it were threatened? Others were doubtful, discounting the story as a combination of coincidence, two obviously drunk night watchmen and a reporter that was pressed for a story. In any case, no one wished to risk the long trip just to verify the truth of the story, so the article was soon forgotten. Except by Tamera. Of course, Tamera only knew of the rats in the stories that her parents had told her, and although they didn't know for sure whether the rats had escaped, having been separated from them before they could get out, she was fascinated at the possibility that there might be more like her. So, she kept a clipping of the article in hopes that, someday, she might be able to find them.

Tamera smiled grimly. Of course, she had thought that the circumstances of such a search would be different. In her mind, she had envisioned herself leading an expedition of mice in a brave search for their missing colleagues. Or something like that, anyway. She certainly didn't expect to be hanging the rescue of the colony on such a slender thread. It was ludicrous; she was trying to find some rats that might live in an obscure valley in some national forest and then convince them to help her, which they may or may not do. There's no other way, she reminded herself. There's no one else that can help, and I can't do it alone.

Her thoughts faded as she saw, about a half mile down the road, a small convenience store at a crossroads between the road she was on and a nearly identical rural road that ran perpendicular to it. She quickened her pace, hoping that she might be able to find food and shelter to wait out the coming storm.

As she drew nearer, she was able to make out the sign next to the building; it said "Sam's Fuel 'n Feed," then, in smaller lettering, "Eat here, get gas." Wonderful, Tamera thought humorlessly, the proprietor has a sense of humor.

Upon nearing the store, she could tell it was a bit more than just a convenience store; as the sign had advertised, there were gas pumps out front, and there was a shack next to the store with a sign over it that said "Livestock Feed." The building itself was a rather dilapidated collection of boards and nails, and had a tin roof that had numerous rust stains and dents. Some of the boards on the siding had been replaced by newer ones that stuck out like a sore thumb against the old, and some of the tin sheets on the roof had been replaced by more durable fiberglass. There was a porch out front, with an old cola dispenser and ice freezer standing at either side of the entrance.

Stopping several feet away from the store, near the edge of the small gravel parking lot in front of it, she looked the store over carefully. The store was open, as she had expected; it was nearly noon. Through the front window, she could see an older gentleman with a kind face and a pipe clenched in his teeth, bustling about in the store. He wore a forest green apron over his clothing; a white shirt and tan slacks. Tamera guessed that he was the store's clerk.

Her examination of the store was interrupted by the sound of an engine. Tamera looked behind her and saw a large diesel pickup truck pulling up to the store and parking in the gravel lot in front of it. The engine idled for a second, then sputtered and clattered to a stop as a man stepped out of the truck. He seemed about middle-aged and wore a plaid shirt and blue jeans. He had a handsome face for a human, Tamera supposed, with mop of ruddy-brown hair on his head, which was mostly hidden by a fedora that had likely seen better days. He shut the door of the truck and walked inside the store. Tamera could see him through the glass door, and hear the general noises of conversation as the clerk greeted him, but nothing distinct.

Tamera watched them for a few moments, then she shook her head. She should be going over to that shack with the livestock feed to see if there was anything a mouse could eat, not prying into the business of humans. Not to mention that it was usually safer to avoid them in the first place. Still, she had a feeling... If pressed, she would have called it idle curiousity, but inside herself, she knew better; she'd had such feelings before, and found that it was best not to ignore them. So, to placate her mind, she decided that looking for food could wait a little bit while she found out what it was they talked about, just as long as she was careful. She looked at the door and dismissed the thought immediately; it was too heavy and too obvious if she tried to open it, even assuming she'd be able to. She ran around to one side of the building and found what she was looking for: a small, open window. It was the short, wide kind, designed to allow ventilation, but keep unwanted visitors out. It even had a few crates underneath it. She climbed the crates, which reached a little over half of the distance to window, then scaled the rough siding of the store. Reaching the window she looked in.

There was a high shelf on this side of the store, holding, from what Tamera could tell, bottles of liquor. The bottles blocked most of her view, but the shelf was only a few inches below the window, so she lowered herself down onto it. Quietly, she looked for a gap between the bottles so that she could see, and upon finding one, stood still and listened.

"...From what I hear, it's going to be a fierce one." That was the store clerk, who was just below her. He was facing away from Tamera, behind the checkout counter. Looking around, it seemed that the store had a bit of everything; besides the expected foodstuffs, there was a small selection of hardware, miscellaneous camping supplies, and other things that locals would likely buy here to save them a trip to Smithville, the nearest town.

"Yup. Good thing I finished the harvest last week," the other man said. He had taken off his hat, and walked along the aisles in the store, looking for the items he wanted as he passed. "Let the farm hands go just the day before yesterday. They were good men. Hope they find work soon." He picked a few items up, as he continued. "Well, how're things going with you, Sam? I see Terry isn't here; she's usually here in the mornings."

"Terry just went away to college. Bright girl, she is. Shouldn't waste time helping her Pa with some two-bit shop out in the boondocks."

"And Judith?"

"She's okay, but with Terry gone, she says I spend too much time in the store. Can't say that I blame her. She hopes that I can get some help soon."

"Mmm... Y'know, Billy's getting old enough for a job. He could stand learning some responsibility..." He stopped pacing the aisles and asked, "Hey, Sam, got any tarps?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Fitzgibbon. Should be over there by the fishing supplies." He gestured over to the far end of the shop.

"Thanks," he said, walking to where the other had pointed. "I'll need them to tie a few things down before the storm." Once he reached the other end, he pulled a couple of tarpaulins from the shelf. He paused, looking at a bulletin board hung on a nearby wall with what looked like old news clippings tacked onto it. "Need to freshen up some of the news you've got here. Looks like a lot of these are pretty dated. 'Gate Malfunction Damages T. R. Dam,'" he read aloud from one clipping, "that was nearly three years ago."

Tamera's ears perked at the mention of the dam.

"Well, you know what they say," the clerk said in a smiling voice, "'those that don't remember history are doomed to repeat it.'"

He made a sound of acknowledgement, but he still appeared to be reading the article. "Thank God that thing was nixed, though. Did you know they planned to stick a highway through the middle of my property? Right through the garden...," he mused. "Nearly made me regret buying property so close those woods. Would've had to move away; couldn't stand being that close to a tourist attraction."

"Can't argue with you there; the Trout River Dam would've wrecked a lot of people's livelihoods. Even the extra business wouldn't be worth it to me, to see so many friends leave. Besides, I'd likely've gotten pushed out by a Seven-Eleven or some such anyhow."

Mr. Fitzgibbon nodded in agreement and his eyes returned to the items he was carrying. "Well," he said, breaking away from the bulletin board and returning to the counter, "better ring these up. I'll have to get home and tie everything down before the storm hits."

"All right, let's see what you've got here; some batteries, twine..." He continued listing items, but Tamera wasn't paying attention anymore. She had heard enough. Quietly, she made her way back to the window and lowered herself down. It was a bit more difficult climbing down, but she managed, and soon she was on the ground. She couldn't believe her luck. Perhaps it won't take another three weeks to get there after all, she thought, if those woods he lives so close to is the national forest.

Thinking quickly, she ran on all fours to where the truck belonging to the man was parked. She stopped and eyed the back of truck, wondering how she'd stow away, when she noticed a set of wires dangling from the back bumper. The wires ended with an odd-shaped plug suspended a few inches above the ground, which, Tamera surmised, would be used to power the rear lights of a trailer hitched behind the truck. Securing her small knapsack, she gathered herself and jumped up to grab the side of the plug, swinging for a moment as she scrambled for a better grip, and pulled herself up onto it. She climbed up the slightly slippery wires to rest on the bumper of the truck. Thankfully, the truck didn't have a real tailgate, which would have been difficult to climb over. Instead, it had a plastic net with wide holes where the tailgate had been, and Tamera easily climbed into the bed of the truck.

And not a moment too soon. The man had just come out of the store and was walking towards the truck. Tamera scampered to the closest available hiding spot; behind a spare tire which had been attached to the frame of the truck bed. Not daring to look, she listened to the approaching footsteps in the gravel. The footsteps stopped, and she heard and felt a clang as the man loaded his purchases into the truck bed. More footsteps, a jangle of keys, a door opening, and the truck rocked from side to side as the man pulled himself into the gab and slammed the door shut. There was a pause, then she heard the engine starting, and, with a lurch, they were on their way.

A pair of eyes watched the truck from behind a clump of grass as it departed.

After pulling out of the store's parking lot, the truck sped along the rural road. Tamera was glad that the truck had settled into an even vibration after the jostling that rattled her as it had regained the roadway. She peered out from behind the tire in the truck bed. Aside from the man's--a Mr. Fitzgibbon, wasn't it?--recent purchases, there was a large toolbox at the end of the truck closest to the cab, a couple of large, burlap sacks, a case of engine oil, and a gasoline can. Looking outside the truck bed, she could only see tall telephone poles or the occasional tree, which went by so fast as to seem almost a blur. Although this was her first time actually in an automobile, she was not afraid nor even awed. Living as closely as she had to them and seeing what they could do, she was beyond surprise when it came to humans.

Feeling a bit braver, she stepped out from behind the spare tire -- and her heart sank in fear. The wind, which had only been picking at her ineffectually before, suddenly grew stronger as she moved out of the shelter of the spare tire, threatening to pick her off her feet. She slipped, gasping, and grabbed at the treads of the spare tire to keep the wind from throwing her out the back of the truck. Gathering her strength, she pulled herself back to the shelter behind the spare tire and sat back against the truck's frame, gasping for breath and trying to calm herself after her panicked state. Gradually, her breathing slowed, her heartbeat returned to normal and she was able to think clearly again as her panic died down. Idiot, she berated herself. You could've gotten yourself killed! Then what would happen to Mom and Dad, with noone to help them? She shivered at the thought.

Sitting back against the cool metal frame of the truck, she looked up. Watching the telephone poles whiz past once again, she thought that perhaps humans did have a few surprises left in them after all. Having nothing else to do, and not wanting to risk the wind again, she let her mind wander. Her senses were dulled with the constant humming and vibration of the truck. She closed her eyes, thinking only to rest them, and within moments she fell asleep.

A jolt awoke Tamera with a start. The truck's vibrations were more violent now, punctuated with sudden jolts every so often. She could hear the sound of rocks and gravel hitting the underside of the truck; they must have left the highway for a gravel road. After a few minutes, the truck slowed and stopped; the engine idled for a few moments and then died. Tamera felt the truck shift from side to side and heard the door open and slam shut as the man got out of the truck. There was some rustling as he reached around in the back for his purchases, and footsteps as he left. She cautiously peeked out from her hiding place and, upon seeing that the coast was clear, quickly ran out of the truck bed, slid down the wires attached to the bumper, and from there dropped to the firm ground with her small bag.

From the shadow and relative safety of the truck, she took in her new surroundings. It was a farm, as she had expected from the human's conversation. The truck was parked near the farmhouse; further away, she could see a grain silo, a barn, and fields that stretched almost as far as she could see. Looking the other direction, she saw an old shed, a rosebush, and a large, flat area of brown earth; before the harvest, it had probably been a garden. Almost directly behind it the border of a forest covered nearly everything in that direction, and the terrain beyond became much more hilly and rugged. In the distance she could see some mountains poking out above the treeline of the forest. Looking at the sky, she saw the thunderheads, much nearer now; she must find shelter soon.

Finally, only a few yards away from her stood a tree; a hickory, if Tamera remembered her botany correctly. What attracted her attention the most, however, was a small figure gathering nuts at the base of the tree; it was a chipmunk. After taking a quick look around, she stepped from the shadow of the truck and walked over towards the chipmunk. It didn't notice her, as it was facing away from her, and its own busy sounds masked her approach.

She cleared her throat to get its attention. "Excuse me," she started.

The chipmunk turned quickly, startled into near flight, and regarded the mouse. Tamera saw that the chipmunk was male, perhaps a tad on the small size as chipmunks go, but easily half again as large as her. He took the nut he was carrying out of his mouth and looked around to see if there were any more surprises waiting for him.

"Yes?" he asked. "What can I do for you?"

"Umm... I was wondering if you knew of a good place to wait out the storm," she said, pointing up at the darkening sky. "I'm not from around here," she added.

"You're not, eh? Well, I don't know of any specific places you could hole up in, but I'd be willing to bet that there are some abandoned holes in the garden." He gestured over to the flat area of earth she had seen earlier. "Anything else?"

She hesitated a moment, then asked, "Do you know of any rats that live around here?"

The chipmunk seemed somewhat surprised at the question. "Not personally, but there are a few families of rats that live around the farm. Used to be a fair-sized colony of them that lived under that rosebush there, but they moved away to someplace in the forest. Strange bunch, they were. Kept to themselves a lot." He regarded her quizzically. "Why do you ask?"

Tamera was heartened by this information; surely it must be them. "I need to deliver a message to them," she answered simply.

"Ah. Doesn't surprise me," the chipmunk grinned ruefully. "Well, in that case, you'll probably want to find Timothy."

"He's a rat?"

"No, but nearly. He's a mouse, lives in an old cinderblock buried next to the large stone in the garden. He's..." The chipmunk had glanced over at the stone to indicate where it was, but upon looking back he froze, his eyes widening. "Dragon!" he exclaimed breathlessly. "I'd get out of here, Miss," he said quickly, and with that he dashed up the hickory tree.

Dragon?

She turned around quickly, and saw, not more than six feet from her, the largest cat she had ever seen. Gathering itself under its haunches, the cat screamed and launched itself after her.

RUN!

In a blur of motion, she dropped to all fours and ran, the cat crashing into the spot that she used to be. Unthinkingly, she ran towards the stone in the garden that the chipmunk had referred to, perhaps fifty feet away. As she closed the distance, she could hear the snarling of the cat behind her, its footpads getting closer. She was panting hard, and looked ahead for a place to hide, throwing her stride off for a moment, but it was enough. Only a few feet from the stone, she felt the claws of her attacker dig into her side; there was pain, but she gathered all the strength she could and pulled away from them, feeling her flesh rip as she did.

Thus freed, she rolled away from the cat, who was apparently too surprised that its prey had escaped to chase after it, and into some tall grass that had grown around the stone. One of her feet and her hindquarters slipped down into a hole; not bothering to think who might live there, she pushed herself backwards into the opening. Once past the ground level she tumbled down the short tunnel. She barely registered the room she had fallen into as the light faded and darkness enveloped her.

Casting anxious glances up at the darkening sky, Timothy Frisby hurried home from the fields. He had been out making a few final measurements of the experiments he was conducting on the soil in an effort to improve the yield of the Rat's farming efforts. Experiments that'll likely be destroyed by the coming storm, Timothy thought, frustrated. It was just as well, though; he had all but completed the experiments anyway, and one more week probably wouldn't have revealed anything he didn't know already.

He suppressed a shiver as a gust of wind blew at him. The storm would be a fierce one, he could tell. Normally he would have stayed out later, but upon seeing the first signs of the storm, he quickly finished what measurements he could and struck out for home. As it was, he didn't know if he'd be able to make it before the rains fell. Nothing was worse than wet fur on a day like this.

Reaching the edge of the garden, Timothy paused to look for any signs of danger. The garden was flat and, aside from the boulder near the center of it, almost completely without cover. Towards one side of the garden, he saw Dragon sauntering off in the direction of the farmhouse; if he was not mistaken, the old cat seemed a bit miffed in addition to his normal brooding temperment. Probably tried to chase after some birds, Timothy thought, uncharitably. Stupid cat. Still, he remained a predator to be reckoned with, so Timothy waited until the cat was out of view before heading out onto the field. Walking briskly, he arrived at his home just as the first sprinklings of rain began to fall.

As he reached the entrance to his home, Timothy paused. Something wasn't right. He approached cautiously, tentatively probing the air with his nose for anything out of the ordinary. The scent of the cat was strong, but that was not unexpected; Timothy had already seen that he had been nearby. No, it was something else...

To be continued...

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