"The trucks that are on their way down to Skrimville. They're just leaving. Every farm truck in the area is headed your way, to haul starlings."
"Oh my gosh," Charlie said, and hung up. When he had collected himself, he called the mayor. Then he called Jerry Wise and Joe Blake. And then he took off for Mush's house, hoping that flute would do what he thought it could do.
By nine o'clock they were all crowded into the little office among the motor parts and tools: Joe Blake, Jerry Wise, the mayor, Charlie, and Mush and his flute.
And by midnight Charlie's great plan had failed. Failed dismally. By midnight every hissing, evil starling was perched for the night on Skrimville's rooftops once again, and they looked as if they planned to stay forever.
Charlie sat alone in his dad's dark office, feeling miserable.
It had started out so well. They had pulled one of the crates up so its back was against the closed office door, and its opening facing the hangar. Charlie and Joe Blake had crouched in the hangar beside it, while inside the office Mush began to play. They all held their breaths—except Mush of course—not knowing whether the starlings would be lured into the box or would explode in a passion of fury.
At first the birds had stopped quarreling, grown quiet, and sat staring toward the office and the crate from which Mush's playing seemed to issue. Slowly their expressions had changed from evil to a mindless pleasure, as if they had been drugged. Then one bird swooped down and circled the crate. Then another. The flute bleated. Then a mass of starlings dropped suddenly, to crowd right into the crate, scrabbling and pushing as though they wanted to get through the back to Mush. Charlie and Joe grabbed the lid, pushed it over the crate, and nailed it down. Then they moved the crate as fast as they could and shoved another in its place.
Mush played on, and the starlings kept coming.
They had nailed up the third crate when Jerry Wise and the mayor slipped out of the office to help.
The nailing and the moving of crates upset the birds, but they would come right back as soon as things calmed down—as long as Mush played. But now with two more men there, the birds hesitated. These men were standing, not crouching out of the way. And the mayor was pretty big. As they moved the fourth crate into place, the birds gave them wide clearance; and then suddenly, inside the office, Mush stopped playing.
"Keep it up!" Charlie hissed through the wall. "Keep playing!"
"I'm tired, Charlie. I just need to rest my lips a minute. And I'm thirsty."
"I said, keep playing!" Charlie growled frantically. Mush started again, halfheartedly. But something had happened to the starlings. They were not mesmerized any more. They perched on the rafters, leering down in their normal, nasty way. They heard their companions flapping and hissing inside the closed crates. They whistled, and their crated companions whistled back. And the starlings on the rafters straightened their ranks, and suddenly a mass of starlings swept right at Charlie and the men, beating wings into faces, pecking. Charlie couldn't see, could hardly breathe. He tried to get the office door clear of the crate. The mayor was cornered between crates. "Get them off me, Chester! They'll kill me! Get your dratted birds off!" Charlie beat at the birds, but it was like trying to bail the ocean. "Open the door, Chuck! Open that hangar door and get them out of here! And stop that infernal flute!"
Charlie could hardly move for starlings. He felt Joe's hand on his arm and followed Joe blindly as the pilot tried to get the mayor into the office and as starlings beat and swept against them—then suddenly the mayor broke free, was swerving toward the big hangar door, swinging wildly back on the handle, pulling it . . .
"Oh no!" Charlie cried. "Oh, don't!"
But it was too late. The starlings saw a crack in the door and they swept out like a tide, into the moonlit sky.
The hangar was empty.
Charlie stared at Joe and Jerry. They all stared at the Mayor. Charlie began to feel really bad. Mush looked bewildered and opened a warm Coke.
In the morning, Allensville's trucks would be there, and Skrimville had only three crates of starlings to offer them at the end of their long drive. Charlie's plan had failed. The starlings were loose again in Skrimville. Charlie and Jerry and Joe were scratched and bleeding and full of feathers and bird droppings. So was the mayor, and mad as hops besides. When Mush started to play a tune to cheer them, the mayor nearly broke the flute over his head.
Everyone left but Charlie. The hangar was a terrible mess. Charlie stood staring at it for a few minutes feeling hopeless, then he turned out the lights and sat in the dark thinking grim thoughts.
CHAPTER 22
charlie didn't go home, he was too depressed. He curled up under an old pair of coveralls in his dad's office, slept fitfully, and about four a.m. got up and made his way down the moonlit airstrip to the dump. The breeze was chilly. The tall grass at the edge of the airstrip caught the moonlight. The world seemed very deserted at four in the morning. Charlie's head ached.
There was a light in the piano box, and Rory and Crispin were up and eager to be off, now the rain had passed. They were waiting for him to remove the plywood. "If I hadn't come, what would you have done?" he asked grumpily.
"Wrenched it off ourselves, sonny! What else?" Charlie told them about the starlings' escape. The animals listened silently. Rory turned away to make a few last adjustments to the Fox, then looked up at Charlie. "Listen, sonny, don't you worry about them starlings. At least you have those three crates to send up to Allensville. But I have a hunch, sonny—just a hunch, that them starlings'll all be gone from here soon."
Charlie tried to look hopeful, even though he knew the kangaroo rat was just trying to cheer him. "Well," he said with as much life as he could manage, "well maybe you're right, Rory." He forced himself to smile. "You'll be in Jonesburg tonight. That'll be great!"
"No, sonny. We'll be in Charmin tonight. And in Allensville tomorrow night."
"Allensville? But I thought you were going south."
"Well, there's the air show in Allensville, sonny. We thought we'd just take a look at it," the kangaroo rat said hastily, and turned away again to adjust the rudder trim tab of the Fox, which he had already done twice.
Charlie carried the Fox out to the airstrip just as the first faint hint of dawn touched the night sky. The moon had set. He put the plane down on the wide, empty asphalt and Rory climbed into the front cockpit.
"Listen, be careful up there until it gets light," Charlie said. "Just circle the field until you can see something, for gosh sakes!"
"I'll be careful, sonny. Come on, Crispin, give that prop a spin!"
Charlie stepped back. Crispin spun the prop and ducked away. The Fox roared, then purred as Rory retarded the spark. Crispin climbed into the back cockpit and strapped himself down.
Rory let the engine warm up, then taxied out to the center of the big strip. Charlie could hardly see the Fox in the dark. Rory revved the engine awhile, then suddenly Charlie heard him let the Fox go, saw her dark shape speed down the runway, saw her lift into the dark sky and disappear almost at once.
And then he heard the hissing, quarreling approach of the starlings coming from town. He held his breath. Would they see the Fox and go after her?
But he guessed they didn't see her, because they settled noisily onto the garbage dump. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. He stood there for quite a while as the sky lightened, gazing off in the direction the Fox had taken. The sky was completely empty.
It was going to be a dreary four days until Rory and Crispin returned.