Squirrels 2: Revenge of The Rodents Intro Teaser
- 6 days ago
- 4 min read
Friends! As the date draws ever closer, I'm having a blast editing Squirrels 2: Revenge of the Rodents - TBR Oct 30 2026. So thought I'd share.
Summary: Mayor Stern decides to hold a rootin tootin bluegrass jamboree to bring prosperity (and voters) into Harton's Crossing, Canada, after the big disaster. And, hunting season is off with a bang. But when newly arrived squirrels inexplicably go on murder sprees, bloody havoc ensues ... and this time they're not the only homicidal maniacs in town. Will the jamboree become a hunting ground for flesh-eating rodents and other crazed lunatics?
Hint: yes.
Preorder now for the low low price of 99¢ til Oct 1. The intro page below gives you a sample of what you're in for!
Preorder: Squirrels 2: Revenge of the Rodents
See also:
5-star reviews of Squirrels: Protect Your Nuts!
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SQUIRRELS 2: Revenge of the Rodents
It was a brutal massacre, and she survived only because she abandoned her host in time. She sprang over hot stones and flaming wreckage, her tiny feet hardly touching the ground before she shot up into the air again. Heat suffused her senses, pressing close. One tongue of flame could zap her into oblivion, an unnoticed speck of ash among burning cinders.
And her unborn children with her.
With a final desperate leap, she felt the relief of fresh air, and soon the ground cooled beneath her. She gathered the last of her energy. In a rush of joy, she sprang up into the nearest furry body, hungrily crawled through the hair, and clamped her mouth upon warm skin. A needle-like stylet emerged and she pierced through to a vein. Hot moist nourishment traveled into her weakened stomach. She drank with voracious need, and grew stronger.
Then, she laid her eggs.
Three weeks later, November night air breezed through a partly open window. It found Howard Babcock at the kitchen table as he polished invisible smudges from the gleaming barrel of his rifle, and ruffled the fringe of his hair. “I don’t care what you say, Marge,” he fumed. “I ain’t taking you deer hunting with me. No women allowed.”
Marge puckered her brow, blue eyes cold. “You let Rita Dawson come along last year.”
“That’s different. She’s a hunter. She’s like one of the guys.” He saw her wince. Was. Shouldn’t have mentioned it. But, Howard decided, it was all over now, and he wouldn’t let it ruin his hunting excursion. Apparently, Marge planned to do that instead.
What an idiot idea, to put some hippie wildlife lover in charge of eradicating a big mess of vermin. The town and half the province were still cleaning up.
Howard carefully kept the hope from his tone. “Ain’t you on the decorating committee for the bluegrass jamboree?”
With the peanut factory gone and its wretched fields abandoned, it was the perfect place to host the event, according to Mayor Delbert Stern. A little banjo, dancin’, light romancin’, hype the vibe, bump the beat and give the voters lots to eat!
The breeze nipped her nose, and Marge closed the window with a thunk. She turned and folded her arms, creasing her oversized kittycat tshirt. “Didn’t you notice the flowers and ribbons on the street lamps? And the big banner across the center of Main Street? And the cardboard cutouts of fiddlers and banjo players stuck up on the festival fence? School kids are gonna paint them Saturday. Opening night's Thursday." Her tone tightened. "I still got time to spend this weekend with my husband in the country.”
He and the boys were heading to Fred Montgomery’s cabin just south of Harton’s Crossing. Fred’s old flea-bitten hound Ralph was the best tracker in the county, and the two of them had been up at the cabin for a week already, Fred drinking beer, brushing off cobwebs and pretending to clean up the rickety place for the season, while Ralph bounded joyfully through the woods, chasing squirrels.
The bushy-tailed rodents were making an appearance again, after the processing plant disaster obliterated them from the area. Squirrel noses twitched as the scent of plump, ripe acorns brought the animals out of the deep bush. On the ground, chipmunks stuffed their furry cheeks. It was a bumper crop of acorns, a mast year, which happened only once every few years, a windfall for wildlife all over Lanark County.
Marge raised her voice. “I don’t want you going into the woods by yourself, Howard.”
Tiny teeth of irritation nibbled at his brain, and he turned away. “I’m not by myself, I’m with the guys.”
Marge followed him into the bathroom. By the toilet, he unzipped his fly and a yellow stream splattered into the water of the white porcelain bowl. She tapped a foot. “How do you know it’s safe?”
He shook off the drops and tucked his treasure away with a sigh of frustration. “There's been no trouble. Them killer critters are gone. The new ones are just normal squirrels.”
His phone rang rat-a-tat and he fumbled it out of his vest pocket. “Yeah, Fred! What’s up, bud?”
The picture flicked on the screen. Fred was a bleeding ghoul, half his face torn away, a ragged gash where his eye and part of his nose had been. He sputtered, mouth contorted as words tried to form, and blood flew from his lips to hit the screen.
Howard’s eyes widened and a pulse rushed through his head. At least he still had a head. As he watched the terrifying scene, Fred’s seemed to hang in the air for a moment, then toppled from his body.
A shadow of movement, and the screen went blank.
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This hilariously gorrific tale will also be on Amazon when fully edited and ready to roll. Join me on Bluesky or Substack for all the latest details.
Thanks for reading,
Sylvia
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