Read the book: «Raccoon Rampage»

Dedication

For Sophie and Ollie.

And, no, before you ask, you can’t have a pet raccoon!

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Chapter 1 - The Raid

Chapter 2 - Daydream Believer

Chapter 3 - Something Fishy

Chapter 4 - No Surrender

Chapter 5 - The Leap of Faith

Chapter 6 - Four Minus One

Chapter 7 - A Shot in the Dark

Chapter 8 - City Life

Chapter 9 - A Pizza the Action

Chapter 10 - Raccoon-napped

Chapter 11 - Drainpipe Pete

Chapter 12 - Paradise Found

Chapter 13 - Mad Max

Chapter 14 - Community Service

Credits

Copyright

About the Publisher

The moon was bright and everything in the forest was still. All the action was at Max’s place. Rocky couldn’t help but worry. “It’s b-b-breaking and entering,” he stuttered, pointing at the broken window. “What if the old man hears us?”

Quickpaw’s head poked out from a litter of biscuit wrappers and he wiped crumbs from his whiskers. He stood up, dusted himself down and stifled a burp. “We’ll tidy up before we leave,” he said. “Max won’t know anything about our little raid.” He moved along the shelf and examined a tin. His reading wasn’t the best, but he could recognise a picture of a salmon when he saw one. “Gotcha!” he squealed. “Guys, a tin of our favourite fish!”

Sunshine looked up from his meal, cat food smeared round his mouth. “Cool! Nice find, boss,” he chomped.

Dempsey had scoffed so many apples that his tummy was hurting. He was prowling the top shelf in search of something that always made him feel better – muffins.

“B-But what about Max?” hissed Rocky. “We shouldn’t be here, sneaking around his shop in the dead of night. He’s got a gun, you know.”

“Stop fretting,” scoffed Dempsey from up above. “Max is snoring. And he’ll never hear us, so long as we’re quie—” The small raccoon brushed against a bottle. It wobbled. Dempsey gulped. He was very high up. Not good! He reached to steady the bottle and made things worse. His paws went to his eyes as the bottle fell, smashing on to the concrete floor. All four members of the Hole-in-the-Tree gang froze. Dempsey peeped out from behind his claws. “Sorry!” he whimpered. “Maybe Max is a heavy sleeper?”

Light flooded from the crack under the door. All eyes went to Quickpaw. “What do we do, boss?” squeaked Rocky. “I told you we’d be in trouble.”

“Hide!” instructed Quickpaw, leading by example and diving into a sack of oatmeal. Instinctively, the three other raccoons made for their hiding places. Dempsey squeezed behind a jar of pickles on the top shelf; Sunshine wiped the cat food from his mouth and leaped into a Wellington boot; Rocky looked around frantically. All the hiding places were taken! Max’s footsteps were coming down the stairs. The old man was grumbling. “Either robbers or raccoons,” Rocky heard him mutter. “Either way, they’ll be getting some of this.” Rocky’s panic nearly boiled over as he heard the shopkeeper rummaging in the hallway cabinet. That’s where he keeps his gun!

Rocky remembered casing the joint. There was something that Max called a “cash register”. He remembered Max pressing a button and a little drawer shooting open. Just enough room for a raccoon, he hoped.

Max’s hand was on the door handle as Rocky pressed the button, the cash register opened and he dived in. The till closed and the room fell silent.

Max barged through the door, flicking the light switch as he did so. It was three o’clock in the morning and his eyes were as wild as his hair. The barrel of his gun scanned the room, his brain putting the clues together. Broken window. Glass on the floor. His old-fashioned shop was very cluttered and he figured there were a lot of places for a robber to hide.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” wheezed the shopkeeper. “Anyone burgling Max’s store is going to get what they deserve.” The old man shuffled his slippered feet to the end of the aisle, crunching on the broken glass as he walked. He jumped round the corner, ready to shoot at an intruder. Quickpaw sank deeper into the oats; Sunshine scrunched himself into the foot of the boot and held his breath as the man stalked by; Dempsey dared to peer down from the top shelf. Max was wearing blue-and-white-striped pyjamas and a very angry face.

The raccoons heard a distant voice. “Anyone there?” shouted Max’s wife from the safety of the bedroom.

“Soon see,” muttered the storekeeper to himself. The old man hauled open the door of his storeroom and prodded the gun inside. He pulled the cord and the storeroom light came on. Dempsey gasped from behind the pickle jar. Boxes and boxes of food. A whole treasure trove that we’ve never discovered! Next time, he promised himself. If there is a next time!

Max seemed calmer. The old man assured himself that whoever had tried to burgle his store had disappeared into the night. And, from what he could gather, nothing seemed to be missing. He was pleased that he’d scared them away. “Better check the till,” he croaked. Dempsey’s eyes widened as the old man approached Rocky’s hiding place; Quickpaw’s eyes and nose poked out of the sack; Sunshine’s black-and-white face twitched out of the top of the boot.

Max shuffled behind the counter. His bony finger pressed the cash-register button and the drawer sprang open. Max was used to the satisfying ker-ching noise.

But he dropped his weapon in horror as a screaming black-and-white animal hurled itself at him. Man and beast yelled. Max staggered around the room as he tried to yank the furry intruder from his face. Rocky clung on. The gun hit the floor and went off, a bullet shattering the jar next to Dempsey, splattering pickles against the wall. Yikes!

Dempsey was first out of the door. Quickpaw made for the window, cutting himself as he fled. Rocky was peeled from the man’s face and thrown to the floor. The raccoon was winded. He looked at the shocked man while he got his breath back. Max was reaching for his gun. It’s now or never! Rocky was away, scooting towards the door. The terrified raccoon darted through the legs of Max’s equally terrified wife.

“Burglars?” wailed the lady.

“Worse,” growled her husband. “Thieving raccoons. And if there’re any left in here, they can expect some of this,” he said, pointing to the barrel of his gun. “Five shots left!”

Sunshine was out of the Wellington boot. He was flat against it, working out the odds of making it to the window. He eased one foot from behind the boot and a shot instantly rang out, ricocheting off the stone floor. “There’s one!” yelled Max. “Probably missing a foot by now.”

Not quite, thought Sunshine, his heart thumping. But that was too close for comfort. He heard the old man’s slippers shuffling towards him and he eased round the other side of the boot. “Come out, you varmint,” coaxed the shopkeeper. “I have a little something for you.”

Sunshine tried to think clearly. He picked up a tin of salmon and hurled it across the room. Max twirled and fired in the direction of the noise, blasting several jars of gherkins to smithereens. Sunshine sniffed the air. He could smell the gun and he also sniffed a chance to escape. He knew he didn’t have much time. Max was distracted, so this was his moment. The raccoon’s sharp eyes fixed on a barrel near the door. He wasn’t sure what “live bait” meant, but he liked the look of the picture. Wiggly worms! The raccoon crept across the floor as another shot pinged into the chair next to him. He dodged the wooden splinters and sprinted for all he was worth. Two more shots rang out, but he made it to the barrel, chest heaving. With a mighty shove he managed to push the barrel over. It hit the hard floor and the lid fell off, wriggling worms oozing into the room. The lady screamed and fainted. The floor was alive and the old man slipped. His slippers came off and his toes squelched. He tried to get to his feet, but slipped again, on to his hands and knees in a sea of worms.

Sunshine played it cool. The man’s gun was out of reach. The raccoon smoothed his whiskers and straightened his hat. He loved his trusty cowboy hat. He took a plastic bag and filled it with apples before sidestepping the worms and making his way out into the night.

He stood at the door and saluted the old man. Respect Max, he thought. You came close. But I think we can chalk this one up as another victory for the Hole-in-the-Tree gang.

His friends were waiting for him as Sunshine scampered up the redwood tree and hauled himself into the hole. He pulled the bag in and apples spewed out on to the floor. He high-fived Quickpaw, then Dempsey and Rocky. “Borrowed these off Max on the way out,” he said, crunching into a juicy apple.

“I thought you were a g-goner,” stammered Rocky. “He had a gun and everything.”

“He was no problem,” exaggerated Sunshine. “Remember, this raccoon can break into and out of anything,” he said, cracking his tiny knuckles. “You’ve heard of a cat burglar? Well, guys, meet the world’s best raccoon burglar!” he bragged, bowing to his friends. “Oh, and young Rocky-me-lad, I thought your hiding place was excellent, by the way.”

Rocky smiled with pride. “I collected these,” he said, holding out some gold and silver coins. “They were in the drawer. They sure are pretty. Humans use them to swap for stuff. So maybe next time we can swap instead of steal?”

Quickpaw Cassidy was the brains behind the outfit. He knew Max was on to them. In fact, the whole village was on to them! He looked around their den. It was carpeted, courtesy of bathmats from Maggie’s Gift Mart. There were four small cushions to sleep on. Quickpaw smiled as he remembered this particular raid. Off the sofa at number twenty-three. We had a nice drink of lemonade too. And some candles from there. Then there were the toothbrushes from the mini-market. Mmm, being chased from there by a man with a golf club was a bit hairy! And the mirror, he thought, his chest swelling with pride. Our biggest and best job to date. He glanced at his reflection, his shiny black eyes smiling. That took all four of us, working as a team. We risked seven years of bad luck getting it down from that first-floor window!

The law of the forest meant that no animal could survive on its own. The Hole-in-the-Tree gang worked well as a unit. They were still very young raccoons, but they were learning fast. Quickpaw was full of daring ideas and he knew the others looked to him for direction. And, as the biggest, he was always expected to be at the front if there was trouble. He’d recently stood up to Calamity Colin, the roughest, toughest and meanest raccoon in the forest. Luckily for Quickpaw Cassidy he could count on his friend The Sunshine Cub and together they’d fought off “The Calamity”. A shame about Sunshine’s tail, though, thought Quickpaw. Still, half a tail is better than none!

His tail aside, Sunshine was the coolest raccoon in the forest. He even used the fight with The Calamity to his advantage, exaggerating to make it sound like he’d fought off a pack of wild dogs. When everyone else went into panic mode, the gang could count on Sunshine to stay calm. And added to that, Sunshine could break into anything. He’d even broken into the police station and stolen a walkie-talkie that sat proudly next to the mirror. Sunshine liked the mirror, never missing an opportunity to spruce up his whiskers and straighten his cowboy hat. Sometimes he’d press the walkie-talkie button and jabber away in Raccoon to the police. From the tone of their reply, he knew it annoyed them. But it was great fun!

Rocky was the worrier, always predicting bad weather, predators and famine. He was skinny and nervous and would flinch at the slightest noise, but was good to have in the gang because he nagged the others until things got done. It was Rocky who’d insisted they build their den high enough to avoid bears. It was Rocky who insisted on a small store of food “for a rainy day” and it was Rocky who’d made sure they didn’t steal honey from the killer bees.

In fact, Rocky was the perfect antidote to Dempsey, who saw the bright side of everything and the good in everyone. Dempsey was also a bit of a dreamer. He loved to sit and watch Max’s TV through the window and he dreamed of a new life in the city. His stash of City Life magazines was stacked neatly in one corner of the den and he’d plastered the walls with pictures of skyscrapers. So when Dempsey said they should move to the city and get an apartment with a TV and Xbox, it was important to have Rocky around. He was the sensible one. “We’re raccoons,” he would say. “We live in the forest. In trees! It’s what raccoons have always done and what they always will do! And we should be cautious.”

Like all good leaders, Quickpaw was a good listener. Maybe Rocky had a point? Quickpaw knew there was a fine line between being cautious and being daring. He also knew there was a fine line between being well fed and starving. While their tummies were full, courtesy of Max’s General Store, he knew that winter was coming and they needed to put on weight before food became scarce. Quickpaw Cassidy cut through the excited chatter. “We need to do one more big job,” he said to his gang. “Something that will get us enough food to see us through the winter.”

“B-B-But—” began Rocky.

“No buts,” snapped Quickpaw, waving his paws for calm. “You see this,” he said, jabbing at his tummy. “It’s not fat enough to keep me going in the winter. Have you guys felt the temperature change? Snow’s coming.”

“Which means frozen ground,” agreed Sunshine. “No grubs or fruit.”

“And the lake will be iced over,” continued Quickpaw. “So no fish.”

“No fish!” Rocky whimpered. “Disaster. I love fish.”

“Then listen carefully,” said Quickpaw, “because I have a cunning plan.”