London Racer: A6R Trilogy, #2

By Joe Vercillo

Princeton and the gang are back in this action-adventure sequel to Age Six Racer. When their best friend, Charlotte, goes missing, Princeton, Troy and Juice go out on a mission to find her and end up in London, England where an underground war is raging between rats and mice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joe Vercillo
• Release date: Mar 13, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386271970

Book preview

LONDON RACER

Text copyright © 2018 by Joe Vercillo

Website: www.facebook.com/joevercilloauthor

Cover art by Imogen Rose

Cover art copyright © 2018 by Joe Vercillo

Wild Thorn Publishing

www.wildthornpublishing.com

All rights reserved by Joe Vercillo. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

First Edition: April 2018

A6R Trilogy

AGE SIX RACER

LONDON RACER

RACER FOR LIFE

Prologue

Charlotte couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned, fiddling with her tufted Jerboa tail, trying to relax. It was no use though; her mind was racing. She decided to get some fresh air, thinking that would help.

Slipping out of the woodpile and squeezing herself under the garage door, she looked up to see a faint light on the eastern horizon. It was already dawn. The September air felt cool and crisp against her back as she hopped around to the back of the house. She headed straight for the bird feeder hanging from the big elm to get a quick bite to eat.

Under the tree, rummaging through fallen seed was the chipmunk named Frances, whom she'd met the day before.

Are you always up this early? Frances asked, stuffing a worthwhile seed into her cheek.

No, I couldn't sleep, replied Charlotte.

Why not?

Not sure, just restless I guess, she lied. Ever since she overheard her cousin, Amir, telling her friend, Princeton, the story of their parents ending up in captivity in Syria—which was now a war zone—she couldn’t stop thinking about them, wondering if they were okay.

C’mon, maybe you just need something to eat, said Frances. I’ll make you some breakfast.

Charlotte followed Frances over to her burrow, which was under the faux rock waterfall next to the house.

While rounding the base, Charlotte happened to glance up through the bay windows that looked into the living room of the house. 

She stopped in her tracks. Something inside had caught her eye.

You coming, Charlotte? asked Frances, about to duck into her home.

Charlotte didn't answer, she just stared into the house, eyes wide with horror.

Charlotte? Frances asked again, now sounding concerned.

I have to go, Charlotte finally said, still staring at the window, her eyes now watery. Frances looked at her curiously.

Go where?

There... said Charlotte, motioning her head toward the flat screen TV on the wall above the fireplace.

The morning news was on. It showed devastating footage of humans walking down an apocalyptic-looking street, many crying or covering their eyes with their hands. There was a Breaking News caption running across the bottom of the screen in bright red: NEW DEADLY CHEMICAL ATTACKS IN SYRIA.

"You have to go to Syria? Frances asked, reading the headline. Why on earth would you have to go there?"

My family is there, said Charlotte gravely, I have to go there to find them… and bring them home.

1

Gone Girl

The elation I felt after digging myself out of my own grave—after being accidentally buried alive beside the maple tree by my favorite human, J.P.—was cut short when my best friend, Troy, came barreling around the corner.

Princeton! Charlotte’s gone!

What do you mean? I asked, somewhat distracted. I was shaking the damn dirt out of my ears.

She took off to Syria! I was just grabbing some breakfast out back and ran into Frances. Charlotte told her to tell us she had gone to look for her parents and to not worry about her, she’d see us back here in a few weeks.

"She’s going to Syria? Is she crazy?"

You’re damn right she is.

But how will she know where to start looking? Does she even know for sure what part of the country they ended up in?

I don’t know, the only other thing she told Frances was that she was gonna fly out of JFK or La Guardia.

Hmm… how did she get up to New York?

Frances said she used Darren, that bat who brought us home last night.

Darren! The nicest guy in the world.

C’mon, let’s head to the park, I said.

Why? What’s in the park?

We have to find a ride.

We’re going after her?

You know it, buddy. And we’re gonna help her find her parents.

"In Syria? Are you insane, too? Troy asked, brows raised sky high. She told us not to worry about her, though!"

She’s our friend, Troy, and she could use our help. Besides, it’ll be an adventure!

I don’t know about this, Princeton…

C’mon, remember what you’d always say to me when we were kids: ‘Don’t be a pansy—live on the edge.’

Hey! I’m no pansy!

Well then, saddle up, Big Wheel.

He paused a moment, then said, Alright, let’s do it. He still didn’t sound a hundred percent confident, but whatever. Troy loved going on adventures, and I knew he’d thank me later for talking him into it.

It took us about five minutes to run from the house to the park. It’s a nice, open grassy area where the deer like to hang out and munch on shrubs. I was banking on finding us some transportation there—some fellow Canadians, to tell you the truth.

So bats can live for twenty years, eh? said Troy as we were running over, rehashing our conversation with Darren just a few hours ago. That’s garbage. We got a shit deal there. The only difference between us and them is they have wings.

If only we were born with wings, eh, Troy? I said jokingly.

Sonsabitches, he chuckled under his breath.

On our trot over, another thing occurred to me. So wait, aren’t you curious to know why I was buried under the maple tree?

No, I saw what happened, he said, casually.

You saw me get buried?

Yeah.

Well why the hell didn’t you do anything? Why didn’t you wake me up?

You looked peaceful.

You idiot!

Settle down, Princeton, at least you didn’t get tossed in the garbage bin. He laughed so hard at the thought of it that he went into a coughing fit. What a character.

As we came up to the clearing, I spotted them—two Canada geese. If you’ve ever crossed paths with a Canada goose, you know they can be moody bastards, especially when they have younglings with them. Luckily, this wasn’t parenthood season. No little ones in sight. Still, I approached with caution.

Hey there! Troy yelled out.

I punched him in the arm for his lack of subtlety. Their heads swung around in alarm, looking confused.

Down here! shouted Troy, our heads barely peaking above the grass.

The male goose reared right up and hissed venomously—his long neck and head poised like a cobra about to strike.

Oh shit, Troy and I said at the same time.

The goose then charged at us.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! the other goose shouted, who was female. She was running in to cut off the charging male. Honey, calm down! It’s okay, it’s just a couple of deer mice."

Actually, we’re white-footed mice, I said, trying to ease the tension a little, before adding, from Canada!

Canadians! said the female goose. They’re friendlies!

The male goose then did a u-turn and stormed off. What an a-hole. The female goose stood by watching him walk away.

"Well he’s in a fowl mood," Troy mused, before proudly chuckling at his own super witty pun.

Get it, Princeton? he whispered to me. ‘Cause he’s a waterfowl?

Oh I got it, Troy. I said, shaking my head.

Sorry about that, the female goose finally said when the male was out of earshot. Owen’s been a little down lately. Empty nest syndrome—our kids are at that age where they’re ‘too cool’ to fly south with their parents. They decided to stay an extra couple of weeks up in Canada. Owen’s pretty rattled by them growing up so fast.

It just goes to show that you never know what’s going on in someone else’s life. My dad gave me that bit of wisdom when I was a kid. A lot of times, when someone was rude or mean to me, I would always take it personally and let it ruin my day. But my dad pointed out that most of the time, when you cross someone who is mean, rude, or just generally in a bad mood, it usually has nothing to do with you. It’s something else going on in their own life that has their feathers ruffled—no pun intended.

Oh, no worries, I said.

Thanks for understanding, he’s not always like this. My name is Madeline, by the way.

Nice to meet you Madeline, I’m Troy and this is my buddy, Princeton.

I gave a little wave to her.

Nice to meet you guys. So what are you up to anyway?

Well, I began, we were actually coming over to ask you and your partner for a huge favor, it’s kind of an emergency, we need a ride to New York—

For sure! Let’s do it… fellow Canadians and all, she said, before shouting back to her hubby, Honey! I’ll be back in a little while, okay?

He just threw his wing tip up to acknowledge.

All right, hop on boys, let’s fly! said Madeline.

The flight with Madeline was fun. Since geese are such big ass birds, Troy and I had lots of room to lounge around on her back. The views going into the city were real nice too—the New York skyline bathed in sunlight and all. It was quite different from the night views we had seen just a few hours earlier—equally as beautiful of course.

After talking it over some, Troy and I came to the conclusion that we’d need some help with our operation.

I pointed Madeline toward the tall skinny residential skyscraper behind the Empire State Building that jutted way up above the rest. First stop: 432 Park Avenue. If anyone would know exactly where Charlotte was headed, it was her Iranian Jerboa cousin, Amir.

2

Back on Top

After Madeline dropped us off on the rooftop of 432 Park Avenue, Troy and I snuck into the penthouse the same way as the other day—through the vent system and then into the pool.

As soon as we squeezed under the pool room’s glass door, we heard human voices. They weren’t speaking English. Must have been the Arabic billionaire owners.

When we scurried past the master bedroom I caught a glimpse of two adult humans talking with one another. Rounding another corner, we came to the kid’s room where Amir’s terrarium was located. After making sure the coast was clear of humans, we ran in and hopped up onto the little daybed that was positioned in front of the glass enclosure, which was built right into the wall.

Scanning for Amir, we spotted him munching on a long green leaf in the back corner.

"Amir... AMIR!" I said, tapping on the glass.

He looked over and saw us, and a great big