Mama always say, "Survive first. Think later."
Rusty? He do da opposite.
So when we sat in da dark, shiverin' from da fight, Mama plannin' our next move, Rusty was busy pokin' da flashlight an' whisperin', "Sweek, sweek…" ("If hoomans make da sun go in a stick… what else dey got?")
Mama didn' even look up. "Squeak." ("Shut up, Rusty.")
Rusty sat back, hummin' to himself, still pokin' da light.
Me an' my siblings huddled close, listenin' to da night. It was too quiet now. No bugs. No owls. Not even da wind. Just… waitin'.
Mama took a deep breath. "Squeak." ("We need to move.")
Rusty tilted his head. "Sweek?" ("Where?")
Mama closed her eyes, thinkin'. "Squeak." ("Away.")
Rusty nodded real slow. "Sweek, sweek." ("Smart plan.")
Mama shot him a look. "Squeak." ("Not da time.")
Rusty put his paws up. "Sweek!" ("Okay! Okay! No bonkin' Rusty today!")
Mama groaned. She was tired. But tired don' matter. Not when da stabby-fluffies still out dere. She pulled herself up, shakin' out her fur, den turned to us. "Squeak." ("Stick close. Move fast. No noise.")
We all nodded. Even Rusty.
Den, we ran.
Da Wilds was huge.
Sanctuary was tunnels, wires, soft dirt under our paws. It was lights dat never went out, food dat never ran low. But da Wilds? It was everything else.
Dark trees stretchin' high. Sharp, crunchy leaves underpaw. Bugs hummin' low. Tiny lights dancin' in da air like stars got lost an' didn' know where to go.
It was beautiful.
It was terrifyin'.
Mama stayed low, nose twitchin'. Rusty waddled behind her, ears perked up. Me an' my siblings skittered close, eyes wide.
Den Rusty stopped.
His fur puffed. "Sweek!" ("Wait!")
Mama whirled on him. "SQUEAK?!" ("WHAT?")
Rusty pointed ahead. "Sweek, sweek." ("Dere's sumthin' big out dere.")
Mama's whiskers twitched. She sniffed da air. So did I.
Nuffin'.
She narrowed her eyes. "Squeak." ("No dere ain't.")
Rusty frowned. "Sweek!" ("Yes dere is!")
Mama sighed. "Squeak." ("Rusty—")
Den da ground moved.
I don' mean wind. I don' mean shadows. I mean da whole dirt floor breathed.
Mama froze.
Rusty's eyes went wide. "Sweek." ("Told ya.")
Den da ground opened its eyes.
I ain't never screamed so loud in my life.
We scrambled back, fur puffed so big we looked like lil' spiky potatoes. Mama shoved us behind her. Rusty grabbed da flashlight like he was 'bout to BONK da whole planet.
Da ground stared at us.
Two big, glowy-yellow eyes, half-buried in da dirt. Big long whiskers. Sharp teeth peekin' from a twitchin' snout.
Den it spoke.
"Ssssqueak…?"
Mama's breath caught. "Squeak?" ("Who—?")
Da dirt twitched. Den—da rest of it rose from da earth.
Not a cat. Not a fox. Not a stabby-fluffy.
A rat.
A huge one.
Bigger dan Rusty. Bigger dan Mama. His fur was brown-gray, rough, patchy, like he been livin' out here a long time.
His ears twitched. "Ssssqueak." ("Not hamsters. Not hooman pets. Not cats.")
He sniffed. Eyes narrowed.
Den, he grinned.
"Not prey."
I didn' trust him.
Mama didn' trust him.
Rusty? Rusty looked too interested.
Da rat tilted his head. "Ssssqueak." ("What hamsters doin' in da Wilds?")
Mama's fur stayed puffed. "Squeak." ("We runnin' from cats.")
Da rat's tail flicked. "Ssssqueak." ("All hamsters runnin' from cats.")
Mama's ears twitched. "Squeak?" ("You got a problem wit dat?")
Da rat chuckled. It was a weird sound. Low an' rough. Like he ain't laughed in a long time.
"Ssssqueak." ("No. I got da same problem.")
His name was Grizz.
He was old. Real old. Said he used to live wit' hoomans, but not like us. Not in a soft cage, not in some big fancy Sanctuary. He lived in da hooman underground. Da sewers. Da trash heaps. Da places da hoomans forgot.
He knew da Wilds better dan anyone.
An' he hated da cats.
Mama didn' like him. Didn' trust him. But she listened.
Grizz told us 'bout da real war. Da one we didn' see when we was hidin' in Sanctuary.
Da hamsters thought we was da first ones to get smart. We wasn't. Da rats? Dey got it too. Dey got da same spark we did. But hoomans didn' like dat.
Dey called da rats mistakes.
Dey hunted 'em down. Killed 'em. Said dey was too dangerous.
Grizz watched his whole colony get wiped out.
He hated hoomans for dat.
But he hated da cats more.
Cuz da stabby-fluffies? Dey didn' just wanna live.
Dey wanted to rule.
Grizz looked at Mama. "Ssssqueak." ("You can stay. If you strong.")
Mama lifted her chin. "Squeak." ("We strong.")
Grizz's eyes flicked to Rusty.
Rusty was gnawin' on a stick.
Grizz sighed. "Ssssqueak." ("We'll see.")
That night, we stayed in Grizz's burrow.
It was dark. Warm. Smelled like dirt an' old leaves. Safe.
Mama curled up around us, tail twitchin' even in her sleep. Rusty snored, sprawled out like he owned da place. Grizz sat near da entrance, starin' out into da night.
I didn' sleep right away.
Cuz for da first time since we ran, I wasn't just scared.
I was curious.