Raccoon Rampage - The Raid

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter 1 - The Rules

Chapter 2 - Bear Feet

Chapter 3 - Ivan the Terrible

Chapter 4 - Rocky Rescue

Chapter 5 - Dam Buster

Chapter 6 - The ‘Accident’

Chapter 7 - Still Life

Chapter 8 - The Meeting

Chapter 9 - Hitching a Ride

Chapter 10 - Make-up, Fake-up

Chapter 11 - Tea-Tray Slalom

Chapter 12 - Faking It

Chapter 13 - Inside Job

Copyright

About the Publisher

The trees were heavy with snow. Clouds scudded across the night sky and an owl hooted. The Hole-in-the-Tree gang scampered through the forest, heading for the twinkling lights of the village. Rocky’s teeth were chattering, a combination of cold and fear. “What if he’s waiting for us?” he panted. “Max isn’t stupid. And he’s got a gun. I’ve heard he kills animals and stuffs them. And then keeps them in his house to look at.” Rocky’s teeth started chattering even faster. “He looks at d—dead animals! For fun!”

Quickpaw stopped abruptly and pulled his team into the moonlight. He put a paw across Rocky’s mouth. “Shush,” he ordered. “We need cool raccoon heads. Max knows we’re coming. We’ve seen him setting traps.” Rocky’s eyes widened and he let out a muffled shriek. “That’s why we’re going with Sunshine’s plan,” explained Quickpaw. “He’s the most cunning raccoon in the forest. He is an expert at breaking and entering. Has there ever been a job too difficult for our light-fingered friend?”

All eyes fell on Sunshine. His half-tail was a souvenir of a previous mission that had gone horribly wrong. He carefully raised the brim of his cowboy hat and cast a glance at the gang. “Ain’t nothin’ that this outlaw can’t break into,” he said, sounding more confident than he felt.

“And what exactly is your plan?” asked Dempsey. “I sure am hungry. But Rocky’s right, Max is on red alert. How on earth are we going to break into his shop?”

The Sunshine Cub stood tall, meerkat-style. “Max is expecting us to break into his shop. Right?”

“Right,” chorused the gang.

“Which is exactly why we’re not going to break into his shop.”

The other raccoons looked at Sunshine in puzzlement. “We’re not?”

“Rule number one of breaking and entering: hit ’em by surprise.”

Rocky tugged nervously at the elastic in his pants. He didn’t like surprises.

“It’s winter, right?” continued Sunshine. “All this cold white stuff means food is scarce. And the lake is frozen. And Max knows that us hungry critters will do anything to get our hands on his food. So I cased the joint yesterday.” Dempsey looked puzzled. “Did a bit of snooping,” explained Sunshine. He moved to a clear bit of snow and drew a map of Max’s General Store with his paw. The gang huddled round the moonlit diagram. “Traps at the front door,” explained Sunshine, putting a cross in the snow. More crosses followed. “Traps on the top shelf next to the gherkins. Poison next to the oatmeal. And a newly installed guard dog sleeping in a basket behind the counter.”

Rocky couldn’t take much more. “P— p—poison? And a d—d…”

Sunshine barged on. “So we’re not going to go anywhere near where Max expects us to be. That’d be curtains for the Hole-in-the-Tree gang. Our last supper! No siree.” He drew another box on the side of Max’s shop. “That’s why we’re going to break into Max’s storeroom.”

There was a collective sharp intake of racoon breath. “The storeroom!” echoed Rocky. “Nobody’s ever broken into Max’s secret store!”

Dempsey sat upright. “I saw in there once,” he drooled. “Loads and loads of fish, in a cold cupboard. And enough packets of biscuits to last a raccoon lifetime.”

“I saw it too,” moaned Rocky. “It’s raccoon suicide. Not only is the storeroom inside the shop, but there are padlocks everywhere. There’s a good reason why animals have never broken into the storeroom. We’ll never get through the door!”

“Who said anything about going in through the door?” beamed Sunshine, cocking his hat and raising an eyebrow. “Rule number two of breaking and entering: be creative. Humans would call it ‘thinking outside the box’.” His friends stared at him expectantly. “The storeroom has one door, padlocked and bolted, right?”

The gang nodded. “And no windows,” added Dempsey.

“Exactly!” exclaimed Sunshine. He paused to take in their blank faces. “Don’t you see? No windows? If there are no windows then Max isn’t going to expect a break-in through a window.”

Dempsey scratched his ear. He could feel one of his headaches coming on. Rocky blinked hard. Even Quickpaw was struggling to keep up.

“So we make a window,” continued Sunshine. “Rule number three: expect the unexpected. And tonight is the perrrrfect night for the unexpected.”

The other three raccoons listened intently. The moon disappeared and the forest went black. Sunshine had an excellent breaking-and-entering record, but this seemed an impossible raid. “There’s been a posse of workmen in town. Making a crazy racket! Digging up the roads and laying cables.” The raccoon removed his hat and felt for his camera. He’d stolen it from a tourist a few months ago and it was his favourite gadget. He clicked it on and the gang crowded round to marvel at the saved pictures. There were several men in luminous jackets, some with huge drills and one driving a digger.

“So we’re going in through the tunnels...” guessed Dempsey, jumping up and down with excitement.

“An interesting idea,” nodded Sunshine. “But no.” He looked around as if somebody might be listening, and drew the gang closer. “I enlisted the help of Headbanger and he’s been working on our behalf.”

“Headbanger?” chorused the gang. “The woodpecker?”

“We’ve taken advantage of the noise. While the drill’s been drilling, Headbanger’s been pecking. Nobody saw him and, more importantly, nobody heard him.”

Sunshine led the raccoons across the empty road and they scampered through the shadows towards Max’s General Store. They tiptoed past the front door, being careful not to wake the dog. Sunshine unfolded a piece of paper that he’d been carrying and studied it. The gang watched as he stood at the corner of Max’s shop and marched ten extra-large raccoon paces, leaving tiny footprints in the snow. He stopped abruptly and beckoned to his friends.

“Rocky, you’re the lightest. Get on my shoulders.” Rocky didn’t look sure, but he was helped aboard by Dempsey and Quickpaw. Sunshine turned to face the wooden wall of Max’s storeroom. “Headbanger should have cut a circle,” he barked. “Loosened the wood. Hit it, right there in front of your face and we’re in.”

Rocky looked down at his friends. He turned back to the wooden wall, formed a fist and thumped as hard as he could. Sure enough, a small circle of wood disappeared, clattering on to the floor inside Max’s storeroom. The gang tensed, waiting for the dog to bark. There was no sound so Rocky peered into the hole. His keen raccoon eyes picked out rows and rows of gherkins and his nostrils filled with the smell of mackerel. His eyes shone as he looked down at the team below. “Bingo!”

Rocky was first through the home-made window, falling softly to the concrete floor. Quickpaw sat on Dempsey’s shoulders and landed quietly next to Rocky. Dempsey hauled Sunshine up and before long the Hole-in-the-Tree gang were standing in an Aladdin’s cave of raccoon food. Moonlight beamed through the small hole, illuminating more goodies than a raccoon could ever imagine. Dempsey was slobbering. Rocky’s tummy made funny gurgling noises.

Quickpaw Cassidy was the natural leader of the gang. He assessed the situation and whispered the orders. “Genius to get us inside Sunshine,” he said. “But this is where the project really begins. If we play it right we can secure enough food for the whole winter.” He grabbed a bag of birdseed. “For Headbanger,” he said. “It’s the least we can do. You guys fetch the food and I’ll sort out a bag.”

The raccoons went silently about their business. A small mountain of food was assembled below the hole in the wall. Quickpaw found some plastic bags. He leapt up to the hole and threw them into the outside world. “Now the tricky part,” he whispered, explaining the system.

Dempsey waited on the outside. Quickpaw sat in the hole. Rocky and Sunshine took turns throwing tins, packets and bottles to Quickpaw. He caught them and threw them to Dempsey who was chief bagger. The raid lasted less than fifteen minutes.

Three bags would probably have been enough. But the raccoons couldn’t resist going for four. They had built up a decent rhythm, and confidence had tipped into over-confidence. Rocky clasped a pot of jam and prepared to throw it to his leader when suddenly there was an almighty crash from the room next door. The guard dog barked furiously. Rocky’s fur went on end as he imagined being torn to pieces by a ferocious Alsatian. The raccoons heard more crashing and banging, the dog’s barks turning into whimpers of fear. Glass smashed and shelves came crashing down. The raccoons heard muffled footsteps overhead as the store owner sprinted across the landing, then light flooded under the crack in the door.

Quickpaw knew better than to hang around and investigate. Theirs was a secret raid. Whatever was going on in Max’s shop was waking the whole village and, judging by the racket, it was bigger than a raccoon. There was more smashing of windowpanes as Quickpaw and Rocky leapt from the hole into the snow. They saw a flash of white as Dempsey’s tail disappeared into the woods. There was no time to drag the bags of food. This was a life or death moment. They left their stolen goods and scampered towards the line of trees. They didn’t need to look back; the sound of Max’s shotgun said it all.

Max woke with a start. He was nimble for an old man and burglars always gave him an extra spring in his step. He thumped the light switch and leapt from his bed. He was sprinting across the landing before his wife realised what was going on. The dog was barking wildly. “What’s happening?” she wailed.

“Thieving raccoons,” shouted Max as a series of massive crashes and smashes were heard from the shop. Max yanked open his gun cupboard and pulled out his favourite 12-bore shotgun. He cocked it and inserted two cartridges, his hands shaking with excitement. He snapped his gun shut and made for the shop. The old man yanked open the door and the dog flew towards him, its tail between its legs. Max was surprised. Why would his dog be scared of raccoons?

He pointed the muzzle of the gun inside the shop and pulled the light cord. Light flooded the shop, illuminating a scene of total devastation. The front door had been bashed in and his shelves pulled over. “What on earth?” muttered Max under his breath. Cold air blasted through the smashed windows and Max felt a chill under his pyjama collar. “This ain’t no raccoon raid.” There was glass everywhere so Max stepped his bare feet into a pair of wellington boots. He crunched around the shop, gun pointing and his trigger finger itching.

He heard a yell outside and it made him jump. He pulled the trigger and a shot rang out, blasting a hole in the ceiling. “Who’s there?” he yelled, edging towards the broken window.

“It’s me, Uncle Max. Don’t shoot.”

“What on earth was that?” puffed Rocky, huddled in the safety of a redwood tree with the rest of the Hole-in-the-Tree gang. They had an excellent view of the village and watched as the action unfurled below. They saw the village begin to light up as people were woken by the commotion. Windows opened and heads peered out. A man walked out of the forest and headed towards Max’s store.

“Raymond?” shouted Max into the darkness. “Is that you, Raymond? Are you OK?”

“I think I’m OK, Uncle Max,” yelled the voice. “Did you see the bear?”

Max crunched his way to the shattered window and peered out into the snowy night. He took a flashlight and shone it out into the street. A young man came into view, his face ashen. “There was a bear, Unc,” he stammered. “A big, brown grizzly. And he sure was in a bad mood.”

Max stepped outside on to the veranda and his nephew limped up the steps to meet him. The men were wearing identical blue and white stripy pyjamas. “I heard a noise,” explained Raymond, panting like a steam train. “And I came downstairs, Unc. Thought it might be raccoons.”

Max nodded. “A menace,” he agreed.

“But it weren’t raccoons, Uncle Max. The door caved in and a bear threw me around the shop. I got your bat, Unc – the one you keep for burglars – and whacked him good and proper. ‘Take that, you grizzly monster. You ain’t stealing my Unc’s food.’ And I keeped on hitting him, Uncle Max. But he chased me and I think he knocked some shelves over.”

Max’s eyes were wild. He nodded in amazement. “And he escaped through the winda, Unc, so I keeped on chasin’ him. Out into the snow. Looky here. Here’s his big grizzly footprints.”

Max’s torch picked out the bear’s prints. “And he headed for the trees. And that’s when you showed up and I heard the gunshot and everything.”

A small crowd had gathered, villagers in pyjamas and dressing gowns; some carrying torches, some pitchforks. “Sounds like your young nephew saved your shop,” panted Miriam from the cafe. “He’s a hero! If he hadn’t chased that old grizzly into the forest, who knows what might have happened?”

Max lowered his shotgun and hugged his nephew. “Raymond,” he said. “Your ma’s wrong about you. You’re a good boy.”

“But it’s still winter,” said Tyrone from the hardware store. “Grizzlies don’t surface till the spring. They should be hibernating.”

“W—well this one most certainly wasn’t sleeping,” stammered Raymond. “My uncle’s shop proves that. And the footprints in the snow. And it’s nearly spring, ain’t it? Maybe this old critter just woke early. Maybe it’s global warmin’?”

“I guess he was just plain old hungry,” nodded Max. “Hungry enough to trash my shop,” he said, casting a rueful glance at the damage. “Come on, nephew, let’s get you back inside. Maybe things will look better in the daylight.”

The raccoons watched as the humans went back to their houses and one by one the lights went out. Sunshine persuaded the gang to go back for their supplies. “Just one bag,” he said. “Otherwise our raid was for nothing.”

“But what about the bear?” asked Rocky.

“Stay on red alert, boys,” suggested Quickpaw. “One bag and we’ll be away.”

The four raccoons slunk back to Max’s, remaining in the shadows at all times. Rocky was extra nervous now that a bear had been added to the hazards. They picked up the heaviest carrier bag and carried it aloft. They made their way silently across the road and followed the bear’s pawprints. “He’s a big fella,” said Dempsey, looking at the size of the prints.

Quickpaw stopped and sniffed the air. “Waddaya smell, guys?” he asked, his nose twitching in the crisp mountain breeze.

The gang stopped, noses to the breeze. “Nothing, boss,” replied Dempsey.

“And what’s the one thing we know about bears?”

“That they’re always in a bad mood?” piped up Dempsey. “That’s why we call them grizzly.”

“And the other thing?” prompted Quickpaw.

“They stink,” said Rocky, pinching his nose. “Everyone knows that bears poo in the woods.”

Quickpaw’s nose went to one of the pawprints. He put his keen raccoon nose to the ground and sniffed again. “And nothing here either,” he said, his raccoon eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. “Very curious. This bear has no smell.”

The raccoons spent the night huddled together in their den, their tummies squeaking with hunger. Quickpaw knew that leadership wasn’t always about being popular, and he decided the food was to be rationed. “The villagers are on alert,” he explained. “So food raids are out for the time being. The lake is frozen so there’s no chance of fish. We have to make this bag of food last as long as possible.”

Dempsey slept fitfully, a silly raccoon grin on his face as he dreamed of apples, chutney and peanut butter. Rocky had put on his warmest pants and pulled them up to his neck. But the cold got through to his bony body and he shivered his way through the night. Quickpaw curled his bushy tail round the gang in an attempt to keep them warm. As leader he knew his job was to keep his friends safe and keep their tummies full. This was his toughest leadership test.

Quickpaw didn’t sleep a wink. As Rocky’s teeth chattered, his mind played out some cunning plans. But even his creative genius was struggling to come up with a plan that would see them through the winter. He looked at the carrier bag of food and thought things through. He reckoned it would last one week at most. This was going to be a very tough winter.

The sun came up and Quickpaw unfurled his tail, allowing the chill to wake Rocky and Dempsey. The raccoons stretched, yawned and shivered. Quickpaw allowed them an apple and one scoop of apricot jam each. The troop sat on the branch outside their den and surveyed the scene below.

The snow was thick and a biting wind chased through the trees. The villagers were going about their business. Max and his nephew were hammering at his windows, boarding them up to keep out the chill. The bakery was doing brisk business. Dempsey had peered in through the window once and he imagined how warm and cosy it would be right now, with the smell of fresh bread and the ovens on full blast. He wiped the slobber from his mouth. “Sure am peckish,” he complained, licking the jam from his whiskers.

“We all are,” said Quickpaw. “We have to be strong. We have two months of deepest winter left.”

“And about a week’s worth of food,” continued Sunshine. “So we’d better get used to being hungry.”

Rocky’s shoulders wilted. He nipped back inside and put on an extra pair of pants, his favourite Superman ones.

“We need a plan,” he said, returning to the branch. “Quickpaw, any ideas?”

Three pairs of beady eyes fixed on their leader. He always had a plan. Or an idea. Quickpaw looked into the distance. “I have an idea...” he began.

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