Young Fredle - Louise Yates [37]
So deep had Fredle sunk into the deliciousness of ice cream that he barely heard the dogs barking in the garden. He filled his mouth and tasted. He was so concentrated on sweetness that he didn’t hear the whispering voices or the soft steps that approached as soon as the dogs had gone. If he had been paying attention to anything other than ice cream, he would have heard this conversation:
“It’s not like that’s the only ice cream container you’ll ever see, Cap’n.”
“It’s the only one right here right now.”
“The farmer could come back any minute.”
“I’ll risk it.”
“The dogs.”
“Those dogs—they’re pets. If you’re so nervous, you can wait here.”
“You know me better than that, Cap’n. I’m not nervous.”
“You could fool me, Rad. In fact, you are fooling me.”
“Cap’n, be—”
And Fredle was knocked down onto the bottom of the container, into a puddle of ice cream, and then in a rush he felt himself rising—carried in the container—up into the air. At first it felt the same as when Missus had trapped him and taken him outside, but after that everything was different.
The container was moving so fast and so unevenly that he couldn’t get his feet under him to look up and see what was going on. Now he did hear the voices.
“You’re brave, Cap’n, but still—Hey, they didn’t wait for us. Let’s get out of here. It’s a good thing that farmer went to check the garden first.”
Above his head, Fredle heard a strangled sound: “Gugg-huh?”
“No, no gun. Another good thing. I hope there’s enough ice cream to make it worth the chance you took. I don’t want to have to fight off everyone else to get my fair share.”
After that, Fredle’s ride became, while no more comfortable, at least rhythmic. He slipped from side to side in the container at regular intervals, while also bouncing up and down with equal regularity. His feet could find no purchase in the ice cream, so he couldn’t get his balance for long enough to look up to see what it was that was carrying him. Not a human, he knew, and not a dog. Besides, he didn’t really need to see what it might be. He had his suspicions, and they were not happy ones. He remembered his mother’s worried voice: Will you never learn that your sweet tooth gets you in trouble?
Gradually he became frightened, and his fear grew into terror as the journey went on, and on. His legs wanted to run in panic, but they couldn’t. Bouncing made it impossible for his nails to grip, and besides, it was painfully, terrifyingly obvious to him that even if he could get a grip and run, there was nowhere to run to.
It continued on, this blind, helpless journey. Where would it end?
It would end in went, he couldn’t help but know that. He heard little squeaking sounds coming out of his mouth.
And still he was carried along. In one way, Fredle wanted the journey never to end, but with each bounce, each slide, his fear expanded, until he thought his whole body would explode. His heart beat so fast he almost couldn’t see, and he knew he couldn’t hear anything except for the wild pounding of his heart.
Fredle had been afraid many times in his life, out foraging in the kitchen, climbing up walls behind Axle, and especially when he’d been so sick and they had all joined together to push him out. After that he’d been afraid alone, outside, day after day. But this was a worse fear, larger and darker and unending, all-encompassing—
Until suddenly, unexpectedly, fear left him.
Fredle felt himself growing calm. His heart slowed, his ears opened. It wasn’t that he had stopped being bounced about, being slid from side to side, and it wasn’t that he had thought of a way to escape; neither of those had happened. Nothing had changed in his situation. But something had changed in Fredle.
He knew what was going to happen and he knew how bad it was, and that was that. He didn’t know for sure what creature had captured him but he suspected raccoons. So if it was any consolation, he would see a raccoon before he went.
It was no consolation.