The Christmas Rat (3 page)

“I don't know anything about this one,” I confessed. “When I first saw him, he was in that box of Christmas things. Like I said, eating that angel.

“I was supposed to bring up the decorations,” I went on. “So we can do our tree tonight.” Then I said, “Maybe the rat was just getting out of the cold.”

“Exactly,” Anje agreed. “A rat is a creature of opportunity. He would head right for the basement. Where it'll be warm and dark. Maybe a little damp. They store garbage down there?”

“It's burnt. So it's just the ashes.”

“Hey, any way they can get it. They thrive on the stuff. Okay. Here's what you need to do. Get back into the basement. Like I said, that's where he'll most likely stay. Reconnoiter. Find where he's hunkering down. Are the lights always on down there?”

“I think so.”

“Okay. This time, when you go down, get the lights off. Use a flashlight. You got one?”

“I don't know.”

“I'll lend you one.” He dipped into one of his metal boxes and handed me what looked like an ordinary, cheap white plastic flashlight. It was small. Not much bigger than my hand. On its side, in gold letters, was his name: Anjela Gabrail.

I took it.

“Okay,” the exterminator said. “Use this. But when you're down there, just make sure you keep your eyes open. Walk quietly. Stay alert. Work out the lay of the land. Remember, they are really nasty. If cornered, a rat will attack. But that light should protect you. Okay, can you do all that?”

I swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”

“You'll be my deputy. What's your name?”

“Eric. Eric Andrick.”

“Okay, Eric, you really with me on this?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” I said, adding, “got nothing better to do.”

He stiffened and looked at me hard. “Well, you got something now. Raise your right hand.”

I wasn't sure what he was getting at but I did as I was told.

“Do you swear to oppose and attack all rats in your vicinity, so help you God?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Or pay the penalty?”

“What's the penalty?”

“Just say it, kid.”

“Or pay the penalty.”

He glared at me. “Buddy, you're supposed to say, ‘So help me God.' ”

“So help me God.”

“You're in.”

I thought of asking, “In
what?
” but I didn't.

He stood up. “Okay, Eric. Don't worry. Hey, you still got my business card?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Forget sir. Call me Anje. When you get more information, call me. Day or night. For rats, I'm on twenty-four hour alert.”

“Cool.”

“We'll get him.” He held out a hand. I felt I had to shake it. His grasp was cold and even hurt a little.

“Let's see,” Anje went on. “Christmas is Friday. Okay, that's our target date. Our mission is to make sure that rat doesn't enjoy Christmas. Yeah, he'll be our Christmas rat. Okay?”

“Okay.”

I let the exterminator out. Before leaving, he saluted me. “Code name . . . this building have a name?”

“The Eden Apartments.”

“Okay, code name for the operation is Eden . . . trap. Got it? Eden trap.”

“Yes, sir. Eden trap.”

“Roger and out. I'll expect a report this evening.” He marched off. Before turning a bend in the hallway, he saluted again. It was like I'd been taken into the army. His army.

I double-bolted the door. The stink of the poison fog still hung in the air. Bitter. And it made my nose itch. Still, the apartment was so cold I shut the living room window.

I went into the kitchen and, with a comforter wrapped around me, I thought over what had happened.

That rat was so creepy. Just to think about him made me a little queasy. And when I thought about Anje . . . I mean, the guy was really fierce. Sort of angry. When I had told him about the rat he, like, took it personally. As if I insulted God or something. But, as I thought about it, I sort of agreed with him. You had to get rid of rats. You couldn't have them where people live, right? Besides, I didn't have anything better to do. In fact, I got to thinking that there was no point in waiting until nighttime to reconnoiter. I liked the word. It sounded strong, full of action. What I needed.

Making sure I had the apartment key in my pocket, I grabbed the little flashlight Anje gave me, clicking it on to see if it worked. It did, but in an odd sort of way. It wasn't just the front part that shot a beam and all. The whole thing glowed. Cool.

I took the elevator down to the basement.

When I got there the lights were off. I mean, that sucker was dark, totally dark. I did wonder for a second how come the lights had been on before, and were off now. But I didn't spend a bunch of time thinking about it. Besides, Anje had said it would be better if it was dark. So I just flicked on the flashlight. There was a beam all right, but like I said, the whole thing glowed too.

I started off down the corridors, past the wall of storage bays, then around what I remembered was the turn the rat had taken. In all that dark, it was really confusing. So I moved slowly, poking the beam of the flashlight into any corner I saw, almost scared about what I might find. The glow of the flashlight case made me feel like I was in some sort of cocoon. Made me feel safer.

Then, suddenly, I saw the rat on the top of a large canister labeled
CLEANING SOLVENT
.

He was up on his hind legs like a dog begging, those tiny, pink-clawed paws of his waving in the air. All the while he was squeaking, opening and closing his mouth wide so that I could see his chisel-like, yellow front teeth. It was like he was making a speech. Not that I understood anything.

I stared at him, fascinated and, you know, scared. From my light I guess he knew I was there because he seemed to be looking right back at me with those bright black eyes. At the same time he kept clawing the air as if he was pulling in invisible threads. Or climbing a net.

The next second the rat leaped off the canister, landing close to where I stood. I jumped back.

He stood up on his hind legs, then dropped to all fours and began to scurry along the floor at the base of the wall. After a brief moment of being shocked, I ran after him.

Let me tell you something. That rat was fast, a lot faster than me. But my flashlight gave me enough light—and the corridor was long enough—so that I could follow him, catching glimpses of that long naked tail of his as he zipped around corners.

All of a sudden I was facing a dead end. The rat was at the far end, sniffing frantically along the walls. He was squeaking too, like he was searching for an escape route or something. I mean, real panicky. He even began scratching at the floor. At one of those dirt spots. Suddenly he stopped, looked up, fixed his beady eyes on me and just stood there, absolutely still, except for his quivering nose. Once, twice, he let out sharp squeaks.

The thing is, I had trapped him. He must have realized it, too. But I didn't know what to do about it.

All of a sudden, he dove at me. Like he was attacking me. Freaked, I leaped back and pressed myself against the wall.

The next instant he was on me. I mean, I could feel his small feet galloping over my sneakers. Then he was off in a shot, and, as my flashlight beam played about, I watched him dash along the corridor and vanish into the dark.

I didn't follow. I couldn't. My heart was pounding too fast. I was finding it hard to breathe. I had to lean against the cement wall for a minute. As I did I had this feeling come over me, like I had failed at something because, I have to admit, I was really glad he was gone.

After I calmed down, I made it back to the elevator, the flashlight marking my way. The beam was still working. But the flashlight case had stopped glowing. Not that I cared. I was just glad I didn't see the rat, not one sign of him, as I inched back to the elevator. Once I got to our apartment, I made sure I locked myself in. Tight.

Sitting on our living room couch, I thought over what had happened. I mean, I was pretty upset. I kept wondering what the rat was doing in the building. Was he just getting out of the cold? Was there such a thing as a homeless rat? Was he alone? Or would there be more of them? Did he have family? Was he intending to stay? Was he as bad as Anje the exterminator had said?

Then I got to thinking about how brave the rat had been. After all, I was probably huge-looking. Maybe he thought I was coming at him. Which in a way I was. I tried to imagine how I might have looked, like some giant, I suppose. Was he scared? I wondered. Did he know I was? And, I asked myself, what did being freaked by a rat say about me, an eleven-year-old kid? Was I normal?

I mean, I had all these questions but no answers.

Still, I kept coming back to the main question: What was I supposed to
do
about him?

That's when I fished Anje's red business card from my pocket and called his cell phone number. A recorded message told me to leave my phone number and a simple message. I did. My message was, “Eden trap.”

I don't think it took five minutes before a call came in.

“Gabrail here!”

“Anje?”

“Yeah.”

“It's me, Eric, the boy from the Eden Apartments. Five-B. You know, the one who saw the rat. I went to the basement like you said. I found him.”

“Good job!” he cried. “You kill him?”

“I . . . chased him but he got away,” I said apologetically.

“Hey, don't worry about it. They're scary.”

That made me feel better.

“Look,” Anje went on, “I'm still around your building. Meet me in the basement.” He hung up.

I don't know where Anje had been but he was waiting for me when I got down there. He was holding one of his steel boxes and this humongous black flashlight. Which was a good thing because the lights were still off and I forgot to bring the flashlight he gave me. As I stepped out of the elevator, he offered a crisp salute. “You did good, kid!” he snapped.

I smiled stupidly. I really didn't think I had been good but I was glad he thought so.

“Show me where you saw him,” he said.

It took a while to find the place where I had cornered the rat. But being with Anje made the whole scene less scary.

When we got there I pointed to the dead end area. “There,” I said. You could see where the rat had been at work in the dirt—except the hole was bigger than I had remembered.

“Not bad,” Anje said. “You had him cold. Good strategy, bad tactics. I mean, you got him where you wanted him, up against a dead end, but you didn't have the right firepower.”

“Firepower?”

“If you had an M-16 assault rifle, hey, no problem. Blast him to nothing. Wouldn't be a hair left. Not a smear. He'd be in rat hell right now. Burning.”

I glanced up at Anje. He was so huge, with that long blond hair and mustache. I was glad he was there, but at the same time he was making me suddenly feel uncomfortable.

“Failing firepower, there's always my crossbow,” he went on. He removed it from his box.

Fascinated, I watched as he positioned a brass bolt with an iron tip—it was like a small arrow without feathers—into a slot along the top of the weapon.

I automatically stepped away.

He cocked the thing by pulling the bow back. It made a distinct
click
. Then he aimed the weapon at the concrete wall and pulled the trigger. The bow made a high-pitched twanging sound.

Thwack.

“See,” Anje said.

I looked where he pointed. The bolt was sticking right out of the wall. I mean, it had gone
into
the cement about an inch. Awesome.

At the same time, I began to feel a little sympathy for the rat. I mean, Anje was right, that shot would have turned him into a bunch of nothing. All I said, though, was, “What do we do now?”

Anje yanked the bolt from the wall and put his crossbow back in his box.

“Traps,” he said. “Traps will bust his back. Or maybe poison, which is cleaner. Look here.” He pointed to the floor. “That rat found a weak spot and was trying to dig a hole.”

“Maybe there's cement under the dirt.”

“Nothing stops a rat. Come on, let's inspect some more.”

He led the way, his powerful beam poking and probing like a light sword into dark corners. I came along cautiously, looking around him, trying to see what he was seeing.

When we reached the elevator again, he paused.

“Difficult terrain,” he said. “But not impossible. Got the flashlight I gave you?” he asked.

“In the apartment.”

“Hey, you want to keep it with you at all times. If you don't have the right equipment—we call them
assets
in the military—you never can win.”

“Win?”

“Got to get our Christmas rat, don't we?”

“I suppose . . .”

“The thing is,” he said, fixing me with an angry glare, “you tell someone he's dead, and if you don't follow through, he's gonna live forever.”

“Someone?”

“The rat, bud. Who'd you think?” He looked around, waved his flashlight. When he caught sight of the door marked
ELECTRICAL
, he pulled at it. It was locked but that didn't bother him. He dipped into a steel box again and pulled out a big ring of maybe a zillion keys. He studied the lock, flicked through his keys and had the door open in seconds.

“See,” he said, “I can open anything.”

I looked up at him.

“Yeah,” he added, with the closest thing to a smile I had seen from him. “Even your apartment.”

Inside the electrical room—which was small—there were three walls covered with switch panels.

Anje probed them with his flashlight beam. “Okay, here we are. See,” he said, pointing to a label that read
BASEMENT LIGHTS
. He reached out and flicked the switch. The basement lights went on.