Echoes of campfire horror stories about rats killing babies in the night came to him. Not Rat. No. He said, “You can’t do that!” “Can,” Rat signed, finishing the motion with an almost too-fast-to-see swipe at his knee. Jeff jerked the knee away, but it was already too late. There was a pop, then a slicing spike of sharper pain. “Yee-ouch!” He circled the knee with his fingers, pressing hard against the sting. Five tiny beads of blood welled up, shiny and dark as Rat’s eyes. “Hey, what’s the idea?” Rat had hurt him before by mistake, but this swipe had been on purpose! “Sharp toes. Sharp teeth.” Rat splayed her toes and bared her four long, curved teeth for inspection. “Good for fighting.” A misunderstanding, Jeff realized. Rat thought he was questioning her fighting abilities, so she demonstrated them. “Toes, teeth, no use.” Rat gestured at the broken leg. “Need gun.” “A gun?” “Special gun. For spyvest.” Rat spread the homemade spyvest flat.
