“I said I was sorry,” said his smaller companion. “What more do you want from me?”
Briggs, the larger of the two boaters, sat stone-faced, staring grimly ahead.
“How was I supposed to know I’d cause a flood?” asked the small one, whose name was Miggs. “I just pushed something down the hole. I’ve done it dozens of times before and nothing happened.”
Long moments passed in silence save for the slap-woosh-slap rhythm of their oars slicing through the water.
“I don’t see why you’re so upset, anyone could’ve…” began Miggs again, only to be angrily interrupted by a snarling Briggs.
“I’m upset because now THEY know we’re here!” hissed Briggs. “Do you know what this means? DO YOU? Of course you don’t. You haven’t been around long enough. Because if you had been around long enough, you would know not to STUFF THINGS DOWN THE HOLE!”
The chagrined Miggs, duly chastened, slumped his shoulders and moaned. “What’s going to happen now?” He asked his former friend.
“First, a bright light will shine from above,” answered Briggs, grimly. “Then, you’ll hear a piercing wail, followed by Death from Above -- lethal objects falling from the sky. If you manage to survive that, traps will be set all over the city. You won’t be safe anywhere. And after that…”
“What?” gulped Miggs, dreading the answer.
“The gas. THE GAS.” Briggs began sobbing softly. “Nobody survives the gas. Our entire city will be destroyed, and our people will be forced to leave, evacuate, find someplace new.”
Briggs paused, overcome by sorrow for the moment.
“And all because you had to stuff a dozen napkins down the hole!” Brigg’s eyes bulged with fury and he wrapped his four top legs around Migg’s thorax and squeezed.
“I’m…sorry…” wheezed Miggs, struggling to breathe. Briggs released his hold.
“Just keep paddling,” muttered Briggs, despondently. “Maybe we can escape before the bright light comes.”
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