A/N- Here you are with the next chapter! So, there is not much to say, but there is a trigger warning—blood and gore. If that makes you uncomfortable, please read at your own risk or try to avoid reading it. Besides that, enjoy this chapter that I had the pleasure of writing!

Reviews:

STG96: That's a great quote! And as far as that goes, you shall just have to wait and see how the rest of this fanfic goes ;)

ric castle: Lol, I tend to do that when it comes to writing XD ~ You are very much correct!

William RP: Haha, I've gathered that much for sure! Can you blame me?

godzillanfan1: I agree that it can definitely be included in stories, and you will have to wait and see my friend! Also, thank you! I had fun on my vacation ^^

Sharks Potter: Thank you so much! I'm glad to know that you're enjoying it! Lol, it's undoubtedly tricky combining all that in my fanfic, but that's the fun part—I get to go wild and creative!

Chris is definitely a cinnamon roll OC I had fun making and coming up with! I knew from the beginning I wanted something like what you mentioned with him, and it seems many people are pleased with that result! And yup, you will find out soon what'll happen next and so forth as the story progresses!

I think many of us can agree on that one for sure, haha!

Oh yeah, I've actually been wanting to read your fanfic for a while—I knew your pen name looked familiar! Your fanfic honestly looks really interesting, and when I got the time, I plan on reading it! I'm sure it will be fun getting into it! Thank you again for this lovely review :D

Tok'ra Operative: Well, all I can say is that you'll just have to keep on reading and find out what happens next ^w^

Queen Kiara 36: Yup, I do plan on writing a sequel!

josephjouf20: I'm happy you think so!

Kill Boss: Aww, thanks a lot! They were great scenes for me to write out, indeed!

Fan Boy 101: Thank you! And you're about to find out what happens now in this chapter ;)

Chapter 26

Escaping, Rescuing, and Death

It had not been easy forging a plan, but they managed to flesh out one. Chris, Justin, and Mr. Ages agreed that it would be better for Justin to stay back with the others so he could help with the house moving while Chris retraced his steps back to the farmhouse when his family went to sleep. The tiny human knew his family's schedule regarding such matters as the daily farm chores, and their usual bedtime was around nine o'clock. It wouldn't be long until that time rolled around, and Chris was getting antsy the more he waited in the wings, but to kill off some more time, he went inside the house to explain to the children what had happened as they did deserve to know the truth.

Chris herded Teresa, Martin, and Cynthia into Timmy's room so Timmy wouldn't get up from bed and did not hold anything back from them as he gave them the rundown. The children were patently and rightfully stunned, and worry lined their faces. While Chris felt the same emotions grinding in his stomach like a batch of soured milk, he forced himself to remain calm and collected in front of the children so their feelings wouldn't go off the rails. As the only adult in the room, he had to set an example to the children that one would need in such times.

"Is Mother okay?" Teresa desperately inquired. "Is she hurt?"

"If they did something to her," Martin began, "I'm going to march over there and–"

"She's okay," Chris assured the children, cutting off Martin's sentence, "there was just a little hiccup when your mother tried to retreat to the hole."

"What's going to happen now?" Teresa spoke again. "We can't lose our mother like we lost…" She trailed off, her eyes downcast.

Understanding filled Chris's eyes, and more determination to save Mrs. Brisby pooled to the marrow of his bones. "And you won't. I will help your mother, and I promise she'll return to you safely." He allowed the children to drink in his words, significantly when his gaze fell on Timmy for a few seconds, not having forgotten a similar promise he made to him earlier before blazing on. "I need you to listen very carefully, though…"

The kids leaned forward a little, all ears and not once averting their eyes.

"Auntie Shrew is going to stay here with you all while the rats move the house. Under no circumstances are you to leave the house, and I need you to keep each other safe. I can't say that this night will go smoothly, but I will say that we will get through it as long as we hang in there. Do you understand?"

The children exchanged looks with each other in pin-drop silence, their perturbations easy to make out. Chris did not blame the children. No one could say for sure what was to come, and the future can sometimes be a scary thought—a gamble per se—especially when faced with dire situations. What Chris knew for sure was that he would ensure the kids didn't lose another parent. He loved Mrs. Brisby as much as the children did and would be damned if something horrific came about her. She was worth protecting, and if it came down to it, he'd sacrifice every ounce of his being to be sure she still had a beating heart of gold.

Having reached a mutual agreement, the kids nodded, with Timmy then saying, in a bit of a jagged voice, "I could care less if the house is moved in one piece; having our mother back in one piece is all that matters. You can have many houses in your lifetime, but you only get one mother…"

For those such words that came out of a boy, they hit hard but threaded with truth. A parent-child relationship is one of Earth's most precious gifts, but the sad reality was that everyone would have to part with the world eventually, whether anyone liked it or not. Teresa, Martin, Timmy, and Cynthia still needed their mother, and Chris would curse the world if they took her away from them too soon… from him as well.

"Your mother is one of the strongest people I got to know, and if anything, her love for you four will overcome anything," Chris said without any wavering in his tone because that statement was irrefutable. The children seemed to know that, too, as they briefly glanced at one another.

"Everything will be okay then?" Cynthia probed innocently.

A ghost of a smile reached Chris's face as he knelt before the girl. "It's just as I've said: We'll get through the night as long as we hang in there."

The kids held onto his words with all the hope that still swirled inside them, and after imparting a few more sentences to each other, Chris pushed to his feet, but before he left, Teresa, Martin, Cynthia, and even Timmy embraced him, and he requited the gesture. Upon making his way out, he never once failed to notice the shrew lingering near Timmy's room, likely having been eavesdropping on their conversation, but it didn't peeve him. As Chris exited the house into the opening, Auntie Shrew dogged him and called out to him.

"Fitzgibbons!"

Chris brought his head over his shoulder, patiently waiting for what words would follow.

Auntie Shrew's head was held high, but in the depths of her shrewd eyes held a hint of revere, something alien of her to conjure toward the tiny human. "Do whatever you can to bring Brisby back."

In response, Chris slightly nodded his head with his own form of respect to the shrew and then strode onwards, seeking out Justin and Mr. Ages, the scent of iron and earth welcoming themselves as potent scents in his olfactory, and one could practically taste them.

The rats around him were still hard at work setting up what was needed, doing all they could to follow the blueprint they had to work with to a T. Their progress was superb, going on without a hitch. The sounds of tools, metals, and other items rang in the air, intermingling with the occasional clap of thunder. The colony did not seem intimidated by the thunder at all, and if that were the case, they wouldn't let even a little or more rain—when it finally broke through the dark clouds, of course—cease them from doing what they came here to do.

Chris eventually spotted Justin and Mr. Ages amongst the throng of rats going to and from their assigned areas. Justin quickly discussed something with Arthur while Mr. Ages was seated on a stone to rest a little from being on his foot all day and being supported by his makeshift crutches. Chris crossed over to them, making his presence known.

"I'm about to head out now," he informed them. "I don't know when I'll be back with Elizabeth, but we'll return as soon as possible."

"You be careful then, Mr. Fitzgibbons," Mr. Ages spoke in a dour tone, "and neither you nor Mrs. Brisby come back with a broken leg." He waved his hand over his leg cast for emphasis. "One broken leg is more than enough we need."

A flicker of amusement danced in Chris's green irises, but he took the old mouse's words earnestly as he nodded. "That will certainly not happen, Mr. Ages."

Mr. Ages hummed to himself but took his words for with a nod of his head.

"Do you think you might need anything?" Justin questioned. "Perhaps some tools?"

Chris mulled over that. Would he need anything? Different scenarios played around in his head—things that could go right, wrong, out of nowhere, etc. It felt like grasping at straws that would fray the unknown. However, after a few heartbeats, Chris settled on his answer, one that would look unpremeditated.

"I'll risk it without any tools," he answered, taking a leap of faith. "If it comes down to it, I'll improvise."

"Are you sure?" Justin queried.

"Yes."

A beat of silence passed, but then Justin nodded. "Alright, then. We will wish you luck then. I'll inform Nicodemus that–"

"It's okay. I can tell him myself," Chris reassured Justin as he broke off his sentence. "You need to help the others anyway; the less effort wasted, the better."

Having overheard the conversation, Arthur chimed in as his gaze landed on Justin. "He makes a valid point."

From his emotion alone, Justin appeared to have agreed with the two, keeping his eyes leveled on Chris as he said, "Then I shall not stand in the way of that."

Justin wished him some luck once again, with Mr. Ages and Arthur echoing that to him. After that, Chris sought out Nicodemus, which didn't take him too long. The rat leader was perched on a precipice. His robe billowed out behind him from the wind as he surveyed everyone's progress while gripping his staff, a placid demeanor about him. Chris approached him from behind, hand wrapped around the hilt of Thunder Blade that was currently sheathed at his side, and whether or not Nicodemus sensed his presence, he gave no indication whatsoever.

"Nicodemus," Chris got across, standing behind the rat leader. "I need to go back to the farmhouse… it's Elizabeth, and–"

"Go, we will handle things from here," Nicodemus spoke with understanding as he sliced off Chris's sentence. "Do not let us hold you back. You have my luck."

Chris was grateful to him at that moment as he dipped his head with respect. He didn't even need to explain himself as if his desperation to help Mrs. Brisby was palpable to Nicodemus, even when he didn't show it. "Thank you." He pivoted, but within a few steps, the rat leader called out to him.

"Mr. Fitzgibbons."

Chris rotated his head over his shoulder, listening for Nicodemus's following words with no indignation.

The rat leader finally turned to face him. "If something should happen to me, I know you didn't do it."

Chris's shoulders tensed. He couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding from the way Nicodemus strung out his sentence. He couldn't decipher any emotions splayed on his face, but often, words alone had more meaning behind them than anything a face presented. That was exactly how that felt in that very instance. Chris wanted to ask what Nicodemus meant, but nothing came out. All he could do was nod.

Back to the rat leader once again, Chris compelled his legs to move at a walking pace, which soon turned into a jog, making his blade tucked in his scabbard bounce against his leg. Then he shot off like a dart, stealing through the night. As he did, thunder cracked again, and it did not take long for fat raindrops to drip from the sky.

Unbeknownst to him, a pair of eyes had been watching him the whole time.

Mrs. Brisby woke up sprawled on the ground. She'd been crying for so long that she hadn't even realized that sleep had overtaken her. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, a fogginess rolling through her head. Her throat was parched, like cotton was stuffed in her mouth, feeling spent. Her forehead pulsed, a familiar headache returning—only slightly—and her fingers found their way to it, massaging it.

After a moment, Mrs. Brisby cast her eyes around. She was still in the gilded cage. The food that was once there on the floor was now gone, likely removed, as if the Fitzgibbons realized she wasn't going to consume any of it anytime soon, and the kitchen was flooded in darkness, the moonlight being one of the only light sources there was. It was now raining cats and dogs, the water streaming down the windows seeming more like waterfalls than anything, and lightning split the sky, illuminating the room.

Mrs. Brisby smoothed out the fur on the cheek she'd slept on that had been sticking out in random directions before climbing to her feet and getting a large drink of water from the water bowl. After she did, she splashed some water onto her face, sloshing a bit of it from the bowl. A sigh spilled from her lips, mopping her face a little. What was she to do now?

Pacing around in her prison in an agitated manner, she began pulling out ideas from the back of her mind, but no dice. They didn't seem right to her, nor did they speak to her. They were just falling flat and uselessly like petals.

Think, Elizabeth, Mrs. Brisby urged herself. Think.

But nothing came.

Another sigh came out of her lips, and she sat on her haunches, her mind dwindling with ideas. She couldn't sit here, though, and do nothing. What would the rats do? …What would Chris do? …What would Jonathan have done?

Her thoughts fled when ringing filtered through the air, and her head shot up. It was coming from the foyer, and she soon heard footsteps thumping down the stairs.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Mr. Fitzgibbons' jaded voice came in, followed by a yawn. "Hold your horses." On the third ring, he picked up the corded phone. "Hello?"

Mrs. Brisby drew closer, straining to hear as she fastened her fingers around the cage bars.

"Who? NIMH?" Recollection came into Mr. Fitzgibbons' tone as he spoke again. "Oh, yeah, NIMH. Yes, yes, I know, you called about the rats."

A boulder lodged in Mrs. Brisby's throat, her eyes goggling from the one name that sent a shiver of apprehension skating along her spine. Surely it couldn't be…

"I don't know nothing about any special behavior, but the traps sure don't work…" Mr. Fitzgibbons admitted, pausing each time the person on the other line spoke. "The morning? Suits me fine… No–no–no. You can bulldoze that rosebush right out of there. I want those rats exterminated."

Ice spilled through Mrs. Brisby's blood. NIMH was coming here… which meant the rats were in danger! And to add salt to the wound, the rats were oblivious to the peril that wanted to purge them.

"Now, uh, there's no charge for any of…" A sudden laugh tore from Mr. Fitzgibbons' throat that seemed rather forced. "Good. Okay, well, I'll see you in the morning. Uh-huh. Buh-bye."

Mrs. Brisby tuned out the rest, shock and consternation coming in all at once. "NIMH," she whispered. "They're coming here…" A shaky breath made its way out of her mouth. The rats' biggest threat would soon loom over them once again, not unless she did something to prevent it. Something akin to purpose found its way through the entanglement of her current emotions, realizing what she had to do. "I must warn everyone."

The field mouse pounced at the door locking her way out. She latched onto the bars as tightly as possible and jiggled at them madly, hoping to get them loose.

They were now ready. The contraption consisted of rope, wooden wheels, a pulley, a scaffolding system, and other materials. It would be enough to move the cinder block to the lee of the stone.

Rain battered down on the rats, the ground slick with mud, as the rats, currently soaking wet and stained with mud, worked together to get the contraption going. They were moving a hook that was part of the pulley toward the Brisby home, the sound of metal reaching all who were in the area, working their tails off. The cinder block was bound tightly in cords with a few rings on, and if anything, it had fewer chances of falling out, thanks to a few tests. The hook slid through the ring at the top, and once it did, a few of the rats that had their own space at a large wheel for rotation pushed by clenching stubs that were jutting out of it, grunting and trying not to slip in the mud under their feet, channeling their strength into it.

"Heave!" Arthur commanded.

For those that weren't at the wheel, they were pulling at ropes for extra strength to lift the Brisby home, and it slowly began going up, making an inch.

"Heave!"

Heaps of sludge coated the cinder block, but after being lifted a few more inches off the ground, most of it slid off, dripping from the bottom. The cords were pulled taut once the Brisby home was high enough, and rats began steering it toward the other end of the scaffolding system, where the safety of the explicit stone was.

"Pull on the inhaul," Arthur instructed. "Careful. Careful! Steady! Easy does it!"

While that was all happening, not everyone assisted with the house moving. Instead, they had other plans in mind.

Jenner and Sullivan had snuck over to some rope that was the main lifeline to the house moving, and no one was the wiser. Jenner was in possession of the tiny human's pocket knife—the blade out of its shell—with his flamberge sheathed at his side while Sullivan had his short sword, hands encircling the hilt. They were currently waiting for the right moment to initiate their assassination attempt on Nicodemus, taking no heed of the rain and how damp they were getting like the others weren't, and the thought of killing sent a rush of sadistic glee through Jenner. He could practically almost see Nicodemus's lifeless body through his mind's eye.

"Nicodemus is cooperating beautifully," Jenner said with bloodlust in his vile eyes while staring at Nicodemus. The rat leader was scrutinizing the hard-at-work mischief from the precipice he was standing on—the last place he would soon be taking his last breath.

"Jenner…" Sullivan began speaking in a nervous tone, but Jenner brushed him off.

"Standing in the right spot." He chuckled maliciously.

"Jenner, I–I can't do it!"

A twinge of irritation poked at Jenner. He glanced at Sullivan with slightly narrowed eyes. However, he decided to give his companion the benefit of the doubt and proceed with testing his loyalty.

"When that block reaches midway, you cut the line," Jenner spoke with sinister weight to his words, slicing his hand down in the air like a cleaver.

Sullivan's eyes shifted in agitation, his fingers twitching around the hilt of his sword as the suspense ate at him. "I–I…"

Jenner was upon Sullivan in the blink of an eye, grabbing a handful of his tunic and pulling him forward, shoving the edge of the pocket blade against his neck. "Don't get any ideas, my friend," he warned. "You're in this up to your neck!" For emphasis, he jabbed the blade against the burly rat's neck.

As expected, Sullivan's eyes flared with fear, and anything else he thought of saying died on his tongue.

Satisfied that those words got through the burly rat's thick head, Jenner retracted from him and directed his attention back onto the cinder block. Any moment now, Jenner thought, readying himself as Arthur shouted out encouraging words to the others. Nicodemus is a few lengths away from death.

Chris tore across the plain as fast as his legs could carry him, splashing through puddles. He was drenched head to toe from the rain pelting him, hair flat against his head, and his pants and shoes had layers of mud. He barely took notice, though, for his main concern was for Mrs. Brisby, and he intended to make sure she was out of the family farmhouse, whatever it took.

While Chris urged his legs to move faster, he noticed something black at the edge of his vision but didn't think too much about it. However, he failed to register that it was getting closer and closer until it rammed into him.

"Oof!" Chris sounded as he slammed into some mud, having gotten more wet and mucky. A crude word left his mouth.

"Excuse me, pardon me!"

Chris blinked a few times, recognizing that voice and those usual uttered words, and he quickly sat up to see none other than Jeremy.

"Jeremy!" he spoke out loud.

Jeremy was blinking out the rain careening toward him and partially blinding him, feathers puffed up, but when Chris's voice floated to his earholes, his head perked up. When he looked down, his eyes became at ease and even a little elated. "Chris!" the corvid got out. "I'm glad I bumped into you!"

Chris shook his arms. "More like flew into me."

Jeremy chuckled sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry about that. It's pretty hard to see out here in the rain; it doesn't really help that it got dark out, either. On the bright side, though"—the crow deposited a soggy sack from his back onto the ground—"I got what you and Miss B requested! I brought the whole nest!" He then began laughing, seeming proud of himself.

Sure enough, Jeremy did not disappoint. There was so much yarn ranging from different colors. It was like a rainbow that somehow got tangled up.

"I brought the whole nest!" The corvid produced a few colored strings and showed them to Chris, a few drops of water flicking out. "There's plenty more where this came from, too. I got connections!"

"No time for that, Jeremy," Chris was quick to say before the latter could say more, earning him a puzzled look. "I need to get to my family's farmhouse—Elizabeth's inside it."

Right then and there, Jeremy suddenly looked ashen. "Wait, what? What happened?!"

"It's a long story, but I need to hurry."

"You can explain while I give you a lift!" Jeremy suggested when Chris was about to get a move on.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Chris said honestly. "You can hardly see out here, and it's also raining and thundering."

"I'll be fine. Besides, you still have that flashlight of yours, don't you? You can use it while I fly you over to the farmhouse. I mean, how bad could it be?"

Very bad, Chris wanted to say wryly but swallowed down those words.

Jeremy had a pleading expression as if trying to convey that he would be careful.

A few beats of silence passed before Chris pinched the skin between his eyes, a sigh following. This would likely be the death of him…

Mrs. Brisby plummeted off the bars a few times while trying to find the gilded birdcage's most vulnerable part. She wasn't sure how long had passed, but she did pinpoint what was keeping the entrance sealed shut. What looked to be a vine looped through the gaps and was twisted together to a certain degree to keep the door from flying open, and if she could just undo that work, perhaps she could get the door open.

With that idea set in motion, Mrs. Brisby sprung at the bars, grappling for purchase. Her hands caught hold of the vine-like item, and her forehead lined with concentration as she tried to untwine it. She had not expected it to be so resilient, for it was adamant on becoming undone. Her arms shook, and her muscles strained while trying to keep an iron grip on the vine-like item and loosen it.

Almost… Mrs. Brisby grunted with effort. Almost…

The vine-like item slipped from her fingers, and one of the ends slashed across her forearm. Mrs. Brisby exclaimed in pain, lost her hold on the bars, and found herself gravitating toward the floor once again. She smacked back first, sending the cage into a shaking frenzy. Her back was throbbing, which wasn't a big deal, but when she went to stand, the field mouse winced when she moved her forearm. Her gaze drifted down. A line was drawn across her arm, and blood was slicking over it, dribbling onto the ground.

She balled her hand into a fist while her other draped over her upper arm. Mrs. Brisby jumped onto the block, climbed on top of the water bowl kept in place, and dipped her forearm into the water to stem the flow. She stifled a moan as the cool water alleviated the sting of her wound, and she lay in a prone position somewhat while pinning her feet against a perch.

I hope Chris's family didn't hear that, Mrs. Brisby thought as a growing flurry of timid nerves popped up in her stomach, but there were no sounds of footsteps from upstairs, indicating that the family must still be asleep.

As Mrs. Brisby was tending to her wound, she noticed something out of place with the bowl. If most of it was in here, what of the other end? Her hand snaked through the water, and to her surprise, it ended up on the other side. A surge of hope filled her insides. What if…

Mrs. Brisby held her breath and went underwater. Her face and hands broke through the surface on the other end, and she tried to squeeze the rest of her body through while gasping for air, but the space was too small. Her head kept bobbing in and out of the water, her limbs thrashing, and she had no choice but to go back the other way. She vaulted out of the water bowl and to the other side of the cage to gain momentum. Then, she charged at the bowl with her legs extended and connected her feet to it. The bowl inched out a little, and Mrs. Brisby picked herself up and attempted to get out again, but the opening was still too small.

She would have to try again.

Back at the field, the cinder block was still being transported, the rats being extra prudent, especially since the children and that shrew were inside it. That was the least of Jenner's concerns, though.

All that mattered to him was seeing through the assassination.

The block was gaining closer to the right mark Jenner had in mind, and he immediately said to Sullivan, "Ready with the knife…"

Jenner curled his fingers around one of the ropes, preparing the pocket blade while ignorant to the fact that his companion was shaking his head vehemently. The block was nearly over Nicodemus's head now, and Jenner's expression couldn't have looked more murderous enough, especially with the smile he wore on his face that could put someone at unease.

"Ready…" Within a couple of heartbeats, the block was now in the perfect position—at least to Jenner. "Cut now!"

Jenner sawed at the first rope with quick and easy precision, and it snapped apart. One down, two to go.

"I… I…" Sullivan sputtered.

"Now!" Jenner spat out right as he split apart the second rope. "Cut it!"

"No!"

It fell on stony ground as Jenner finished what Sullivan couldn't. He severed the last rope, and all hell broke loose when the contraption was eradicated. Rats were catapulted off to the side or dunked into the muck, materials linked to the contraption tilted over, free fell, or splintered into pieces. Unfortunately for Nicodemus, he had no time to evade the demolition that ensued, for some of the materials bashed into him, and he was sent over the edge of the precipice right as the Brisby home crash-landed into some sludge.

It all happened so fast that Justin almost forgot how to breathe. He shook out of his stupor, though, and as the Captain of the Guard, he began calling out orders. Nicodemus was under all the wreckage, needing their help and fast.

"Okay, help me," Justin spoke as he, Arthur, even Mr. Ages, and a few others rushed over to the ruins, a couple of them bearing torches they had quickly lit, and together, they removed a few pieces of wood. "We've gotta hurry! That's it."

Soon, Justin and the others descended into the debris, having to move aside objects and weave and race through it all as fast as their heartbeats, their torches bleeding away the darkness. Where was Nicodemus now?

"Come on, come on!" Justin threw over his shoulder as he led them further into the bowels of the remnants, dashing through the muck. He then looked back ahead of him. "We're coming!" He wasn't sure if Nicodemus heard him, but one could only hope. Then suddenly, Justin noticed something ahead, and recognition immediately hit him the closer they got. "Okay, I see him!"

Everyone stopped in their tracks when they got close enough, breathing heavily, but breathing ceased immediately when they gazed upon the sight. What they saw had their jaws unhinged and would forever be burned like a brand in their memories.

"Nicodemus…" Justin quietly uttered in a weak voice. His mouth was gaping like a hooked fish, shocked and utterly crestfallen. "Oh, no! No!"

Crumpled in a heap like a ragdoll in the sludge was Nicodemus, with a pulley smashing on top of him and a piece of wood running him through. It was too soon… but it was something no one could change…

"Gah! Jeremy, easy!"

Chris was starting to regret this decision; it was a bad idea from the get-go, but yet here he was, riding Jeremy in a frickin storm, and somehow managed to divulge to him the whole drugging cat incident. It was like being on a plane with the captain being intoxicated. Only there were no interior walls, a ceiling, a seatbelt—not even a seat—or any other things anyone would expect to find on a flying aircraft. Chris was holding on for dear life, but griping Jeremy's feathers was like trying to hold onto some algae—slick through the fingers. He was starting to wish he had snagged some string from the sack Jeremy had to leave behind to use as reins. It did not even help that it was one hand he was using while the other was using a flashlight to guide the crow through the veil of rain and the darkness.

He would've found it fun to fly on Jeremy in the daytime like he did a few days ago, but as of now, it was practically suicidal.

"Sorry, Chris!" Jeremy cried out as he continued with the flight, the sound of his wings beating the air along with some squishiness from the number of raindrops his feathers were sopping up. A damp smell wafted in the wind from him, but Chris didn't judge that, for he likely smelled the same way.

The wind was biting at Chris's face, making his eyes sting, while raindrop upon raindrop kept bombarding him—what he would give for some goggles and a raincoat. Those thoughts ended in a split second when Chris perceived the farmhouse in his peripheral vision.

"There!" he told Jeremy, pointing the flashlight at a specific spot beside the house. "Land there!"

"You got it!" Jeremy replied, doing an awkward salute midflight before diving toward the ground. He soon touched the ground, but not smoothly, and he skated across the ground a little and tripped, faceplanting into some mud.

Chris cringed at that. "You good, Jeremy?" he asked.

Jeremy muffled something but managed a thumbs up, somehow using his wing to do that.

Chris swung his legs over Jeremy and then hopped off. "I'll be back out with Elizabeth!" He didn't wait for Jeremy to say something or gauge his reaction, as he already made his way inside through the crevice in the trellis.

The tiny human was welcomed with a cold embrace, a chill shuddering down his spine, but didn't let it stray him from reaching Mrs. Brisby. He cannonballed off the ledge and into the straw, and after he did, he shoved to his feet, quickly scraped them across the ground to dry them and make them less dirty, and scaled the mound of junk leading to the hole in the ceiling and pulled himself up into the kitchen. Chris swept his gaze across the room, checking to see if the coast was clear, and when he was sure it was, he snuck into the open, trying to smother the squeakiness his shoes were tempted to make on the floor.

Can't believe how small I am compared to everything in the house, Chris thought, his mind reeling as he took a look around him, distracted. Only a few days ago, he was tall enough to reach for anything, like a cup from the cabinet. He almost didn't notice a shadow shroud him nor hear a gasp, but when his head sharply tilted up, he yelped when something was about to collide on top of him, and he quickly tossed himself off to the side.

There was a dull thud and the sound of water splashing.

Chris's brow puckered, and he found the source. It was a plastic bowl, once containing water, now empty, with the last of that said water splattered into the shape of a whirlpool on the checkered floor. Once more, he raised his head, his eyes ballooned, and his heart swelled with joyous relief. There on the ledge of the gilded cage that once contained Billy's canary was Mrs. Brisby, having escaped it herself.

"Elizabeth?" Chris said in a hushed tone.

That startled Mrs. Brisby a little, but when she tipped her head down, tension loosened across her shoulders a bit. "Chris?" she emitted. "Are you really here?"

A small smile involuntarily curled on Chris's lips. "I told you I wouldn't dream of abandoning you."

Mrs. Brisby couldn't hold back the smile that brushed across her face, but as fast as it came, it evanesced, her sapphire blue eyes flitting with harrowing thoughts.

Noticing that, worry creased Chris's forehead. "What's wrong?"

There was a pause, but Mrs. Brisby finally found her words. "It's NIMH."

An uneasy knot formed in the tiny human's gut at those words. "What about NIMH?"

"They're coming here in the morning to wipe out Justin and the other rats."

A lump caught in Chris's throat. "What?"

"I heard your uncle talking to someone from NIMH on the phone. Chris, we have to warn everyone before it's too late!"

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. How did NIMH know that the rats were here? Did his uncle or aunt reach out to NIMH about them? He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his teeth together hard. It didn't matter now. Mrs. Brisby was right; if they didn't hurry and warn the rats, who knew what would happen, though he had a clear idea of how it could all play out.

Prying his eyes open, Chris gazed back at Mrs. Brisby. "We will. Jump down, I'll catch you."

Mrs. Brisby nodded before saying, "Hang on," and went to reach for something in the cage. Pulling out a blue string that matched the color of her irises, she turned around, the string over her shoulder as her hands clasped it tightly. She took a glimpse at the floor, though that was a mistake, and fear crept across her face, freezing her in place.

"Don't look down," Chris instantaneously said. "Close your eyes, take a deep breath, don't think about anything else, and jump. I promise I'll catch you."

Then, Mrs. Brisby's face said it all: She believed him. She gulped but sucked in a breath and shut her eyes. And then she gave way to gravity, taking the string with her. Chris stretched out his arms and managed to catch the field mouse, but when he attempted to ground his feet onto the floor, a puddle that had been underneath him from the water dripping off his clothes knocked him off balance and onto his rear end. He and Mrs. Brisby found themselves gliding across the floor like they were on ice, and something cushioned them to a halt.

The two shook their heads, but when they raised them, they were face-to-face with an all-too-familiar feline eye that stared into their souls.