Dave Eggers - The Wild Things

Max was trying to decide what their next course of action should be when a huge projectile hit the tree trunk behind them and fell to the ground. When it landed, it uncoiled itself and sat up. It wasn’t dirt. It was a raccoon. Or a toothy pink animal, striped like a raccoon.

“Hey Larry,” Carol said to the animal, stroking its fur. “Sorry about that.”

The animal shook its head, dazed. Apparently someone on the Bad Guys’ side had balled up this animal, named Larry, and had thrown him at Max’s team. Max couldn’t decide whether he should ban the use of animal-projectiles or not. But before he could make a decision, and as Larry began to scurry off dizzily, Carol grabbed him, balled him up again, and hurled him back.

There was a shriek from the Bad Guys’ camp.

“Larry, you traitor!” Judith yelled.

Max knew that now, while the enemy was distracted, was the time to move out for a counterattack.

“Let’s go!” he ordered, and his team followed him out of the bunker. But the second they exposed themselves, they were hit by a barrage of rocks, dirt, and, most disturbingly, a few dozen other animals — tiny cats, snakes, and a sheep-like animal with a head on either end of its body.

“Retreat!” Max yelled, and they slipped back into their bunker. Above and around them, more animals flew. Hundreds of tiny cats, flightless birds, and, with an enormous thump in the trees behind their bunker, something the size and shape of a buffalo, though hairless and yellow. All of the projectile-animals survived the trip, and, after some time recovering, wandered off.

Still, Max decided that something had to be said about this practice of throwing animals. He knew he would have to signal a temporary truce, and for that he would need a white flag. But the only white material he had would be his undershirt or underwear, and could he really take off either to use as a flag? Just then, a volley of tiny cats, a hundred or more this time, all wailing as one, sailed over their bunker, landing in the trees above. They all slipped down the trunks and dropped to the ground, disoriented and not seeming to be having much fun.

Max didn’t really see why the animals had to be involved in a war between consenting parties, so he knew he had to do something. He just needed to establish some parameters with the enemy. So without taking off his wolf-suit — he knew not to do that — he manuevered himself from within his fur until he had removed his T-shirt. He pushed it out from his collar.

Carol and Katherine were very surprised to see such a thing happening. But before they could ask about the thing emerging — some kind of dispensable organ? — Max had tied it to a stick and began to wave it above the bunker. And the barrage ended soon after.

Sensing it was safe, Max climbed from the bunker and was faced with the Bad Guys, all four of them, standing in the clearing, unhidden, surrounded by what seemed to be a thousand animals of all sizes, lined up like ammunition, waiting to be used in the battle. The Bad Guys were looking at Max with deeply confused expressions. They couldn’t seem to figure out what Max was doing with the stick and the undershirt. Meanwhile, Max was trying to figure out how the enemy had gotten all those cats and dual-sided sheep to stand, still and docile, awaiting their inclusion in the war. It was impressive and Max intended to ask them about it later.

But for now he wanted to set forth a new set of rules. He put the flag down momentarily and stepped toward the Bad Guys. “Okay,” he said. “There—”

The sentence went unfinished, as Alexander’s arm swung and Max was hit in the mouth by a gelatinous ball of something. It knocked him flat on the ground. While he recovered, he got a look at and taste of the projectile — some kind of land-dwelling jellyfish, many-tentacled and many-limbed, that tasted bitter and medicinal. It got up and scurried off and then down an unseen hole.

Max got up. “Wait!” he said. “You can’t—”

He was hit again, this time by a rock. Just a simple rock, thrown by Judith, which hit him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He gasped, blurry eyed, doubled over, looking at his crown, which had fallen to the dirt. While he was struggling to find his next breath, the Bad Guys unleashed an incredible barrage of gelatinous balls, tiny cats, eight-legged mushrooms, and buffalo-seeming creatures. They fell all around him, and at least five more Larrys hit him, three of them in the nether region. He grabbed his crown and turned and ran, barely managing to make it to the bunker, where he collapsed on the ground, holding his lower self.

“Great war so far, King!” Carol said.

“Yeah,” Douglas said. “Who’s winning?”

Max lay on the ground, unable to speak. He also realized he’d left his undershirt on the battlefield, and now had no way to indicate ceasefire or surrender. After a few minutes, Max caught his breath and was able to ask, “Why didn’t they stop?”

“Stop what?” Carol asked.

“The war.”

“Why would they?” Carol asked.

Max explained the meaning of the white flag.

“Oh, I don’t think they understood that,” Carol said.

Katherine giggled. “We were all sitting here, wondering why you were doing that thing with the stick and the white thing. We thought it was some kind of weapon you were using, but then you got clobbered so bad that we figured, you know, it probably isn’t a weapon, given how badly he’s getting clobbered and all.” She laughed till she couldn’t breathe. Carol and Douglas joined in.

Max was losing his patience. He explained to his comrades that he was trying to explain to the enemy that they shouldn’t throw animals during the war, and that rocks were too hard and could cause real injury, and that sticks might poke out one of their eyes. “They could cause permanent damage ,” he said, making sure that Katherine heard him.

She nodded seriously now. “So only we should use them. That makes sense.”

“No, no!” Max said. “No one should.”

His teammates contemplated this for a while, as more animals, rocks, and trees exploded around them.

“Wow, King,” Douglas said. “I wish you’d explained all that to them before we got started. It’ll be hard to get them to abide by the new rules now, with us being in the middle of a war and all.”

Just then, Max saw that Alexander was making his way around the stand of trees, attempting — could it be? — to infiltrate their bunker. Or at least execute some kind of blindside attack. Thinking quickly, Max grabbed the biggest rock he could and gave it to Douglas.

“Get the goat!” he yelled.

In one fluid motion, Douglas wound up and unleashed a laser shot that sent the rock directly into Alexander’s back, flattening him utterly.

“Wow, you have a good arm!” Max marveled. Douglas looked at his arm, as if he’d never really seen it before.

“Do it again!” he said, and Douglas threw another devastating blow at Alexander, who was still on the ground. This one hit him in the thigh, and made a very loud and painful-sounding thwack. Max really didn’t like Alexander so much, and was happy to be avenged for the initial sneak attack that had started the whole battle.

“That’s amazing!” Max said to Douglas. “You have the best arm around!”

Carol’s head turned, and he gave Max a very surprised and then stern look. Max wasn’t sure why and didn’t have time to think about it because at that moment, Alexander began to get up. He was sniffling, wiping his nose, and maybe even crying. “You’re not supposed to hit me in the back!” he yelled. “That wasn’t fair!”

Now Judith’s voice was heard: “Oh c’mon, Alexander. Don’t cry. You can’t cry in a war.” Then there was a murmur of discussion between her and Ira. “Even Ira says you shouldn’t cry in a war. Oh wait.” She turned to Ira again, who whispered something in her ear. “Ira says you can sob, but you can’t cry.”