The Mice Meet a Hero

THE MICE MEET A HERO

  by

  Wilde Blue Sky

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  PUBLISHED BY:

  The Mice Meet a Hero

  Copyright © 2014 by Wilde Blue Sky

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  The author would like to thank Louise for her support in editing this work and also Conore for the artwork.

  Note to reader - if you appreciated this short story please, if you are able, make a small donation to a charity of your choice.

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  The Mice Meet a Hero

  Rolo had made his way around the whole of the theatre’s floor without finding a single tasty morsel. His tummy rumbled. ‘I’ll have to try the foyer.’ As he rounded the corner, his eyes were immediately drawn to a huge piece of toffee coated popcorn underneath a display cabinet. He quickly looked around then darted across to the treat. Suddenly he froze as the air was filled with the sound of metal being scraped against glass. He turned. An old black Labrador with a metallic leg and a jagged scar running across a bloody white eye was slumped against the glass exit door.

  Rolo’s mouth dropped open. He scampered under an old newspaper; his whole body shaking and teeth chattering. ‘A monster!’ After a few minutes he poked his nose out from under the newspaper but couldn’t see the strange animal. He tiptoed out and looked around. The dog was still slumped against the door. A tear slowly trickled down its face.

  Rolo scratched his head and inched towards the dog, hugging the wall as he crept along. When he was two feet away he shouted out, ‘Who are you?’

  The dog turned its head and gazed with his one big sad eye. ‘Help me.’

  The sadness in the dog’s voice touched Rolo’s heart. He walked to within a few inches of the dog. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘I was wounded in the war.’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘War Dog.’

  ‘What are you trying to do?’

  ‘I need to get back to Master. But I don’t have the strength to open the door.’ The dog’s head sagged in defeat.

  ‘I don’t really know much about the doors, sometimes they open automatically, sometimes they don’t. I’ll get my brainy friend. He’ll know what to do.’

  A couple of minutes later Rolo returned with Squeak who explained, ‘The doors are on a timer. They operate automatically when the people are here, but when they go away the doors won’t open. They won’t function again until tomorrow.’

  War Dog stared at Squeak. ‘Is there any other way for me to get out of here?’

  Squeak looked at the size of the dog and his false leg. ‘There are a few windows but they are high up and the ventilation holes are all mouse sized.’

  War Dog looked mournful. ‘I need to get back to Master.’

  Squeak asked, ‘How did you end up here?’

  ‘I saw a policeman and thought he might take me back to the convalescent home, so I ducked in here.’

  Rolo looked puzzled and started to open his mouth, but Squeak nudged him and he remained silent.

  Squeak said, ‘Why don’t you come with us. There’s a nice warm waiting area where you can sleep.’

  War Dog winced as he limped after Squeak.

  Squeak asked, ‘Do you want anything to eat? We could probably find some old beef-burgers in the kitchen?’

  War Dog shook his head. ‘Not for me. I can’t eat solids anymore.’

  In the waiting area Squeak pointed towards some chairs. ‘Make yourself at home. We’ll be back in a bit.’

  War Dog lay against a sofa and stared into the distance.

  Shortly Squeak, Louise and Rolo appeared with a carton of milk balanced on top of an old roller skate.

  War Dog managed a smile.

  The mice pushed the carton on to the floor then Rolo chewed a small hole in the top and tipped it over. War Dog lapped up the milk. When he finished he said, ‘Thank you.’

  Squeak answered, ‘Glad to help. We’d better leave you to sleep. Good night.’

  War Dog lay down to sleep as the mice made their way to their den.

  In the middle of the night there was an awful howling sound. Squeak woke with a start and anxiously looked around. There was frantic banging at Squeak’s door. He ran over and opened it. Rolo was standing there shaking. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘I don’t know. We’d better go and look.’

  Louise stuck her head out of her bedroom. Squeak waved his paw at her. ‘Stay here we’ll go and check what is happening.’

  In the theatre, the noise got louder and louder. Squeak pointed to the waiting area. ‘It’s coming from in there.’

  As the mice peeked in they could see War Dog thrashing around on the floor. ‘Don’t go! Don’t go! Look out! We’re hit! We’re hit!’

  Rolo asked, ‘What’s the matter with him?’

  ‘He’s having a bad dream.’

  The mice edged towards him then suddenly he opened his eyes and started to scream, ‘Where am I? What’s happening? Where’s Master?’

  Squeak yelled out, ‘You’re safe. You’re back home.’

  War Dog shook violently for a few minutes and then mumbled, ‘What happened shouldn’t be a secret. People should know. I must tell people.’

  Squeak asked, ‘What do you mean?’

  War Dog shook his head and seemed to come back to reality. He stared at Squeak. ‘Nothing. I’m alright now.’

  ‘Is there any way we can help?’

  ‘No. I’ll be alright.’

  Rolo and Squeak made their way back upstairs. Louise was waiting for them, ‘Is everything OK?’

  Squeak looked pained. ‘War Dog was having a nightmare.’

  Louise asked, ‘Is there anything we can do?’

  Squeak replied, ‘We’ll talk to him in the morning and see if we can help.’

  The next day the mice found War Dog cleaning himself. Squeak turned to Louise and Rolo. ‘Why don’t you get another carton of milk?’ They nodded and disappeared.

  Squeak coughed.

  War Dog looked up. ‘I’m sorry about last night.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘I was dreaming about what happened in the war.’

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  War Dog looked out through the window at the clear blue sky. ‘We were on patrol. Me and Master were leading the team through a small village. I was looking for bombs, when.’ The dog inhaled deeply and a tear rolled down his face. ‘We’d detected a couple of bombs then one exploded. It all happened so fast. One minute everything was peaceful the next there was a deafening roar and we were flying through the air. I didn’t know what had happened. When the dust and smoke had cleared I found Master lying on the ground. I couldn’t hear anything, because of the blast, but I knew we were under attack. Bullets were hitting the dirt all around us. I tried to drag Master back to base, but I couldn’t move him.’ The dog stared at the sky.

  ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘He died. He was probably dead before he hit the ground. He was between me and the blast. That’s why I survived.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It should’ve been me.’ The dog’s face was wet. He wiped away his tears.

  Squeak shuffled his feet. ‘Where is Master?’


  ‘In the cathedral cemetery. He was buried with full military honours. I try to stay at his grave, but they keep taking me back to the convalescent home - to be with all the other broken down relics. I was going to him when I saw the policeman.’

  Squeak bowed his head. ‘Tragic.’

  War dog sniffed. ‘So different from what I expected. I remember when I’d finished my explosives detection training. My mother came to the base. She was a sniffer too. She was so proud of me. Master took us both to the park and we played ball. Then we went around the back of the supermarket and got an old steak out of one of the bins. It was a really good feed. I told my Mum I was going to be a hero. She bit me on the ear and told me just to come back in one piece. Inside I was so proud. I was going to serve my country.’

  Squeak tried to sound optimistic. ‘We’re going to the park today. Why don’t you come along?’

  War Dog shook his head and looked at his false leg. ‘What’s the use of going to the park? I can’t run with this lump of metal strapped to me.’

  Squeak scratched his chin. Just then Louise and Rolo came back with another carton of milk balanced on top of the roller skate. Squeak clicked his paw. ‘Maybe we can rig you up something.’

  A few hours later the wheels of the roller skate had been bolted to the bottom of War Dog’s metal leg. After a few trial