The Storm (4 page)

“There,” he woofed. “Is the starving dog happy now?”

Callie peered over the edge of the hole. She was shaking so hard, the grate was trembling along with her. She licked her jowls over and over.

“You really think I can make it?” she asked, leaning back and then forward on her paws, as if preparing to jump.

“You can make it,” Shep barked. He tried to sound more confident than he felt.

Callie closed her eyes and leapt from the grate with a howl. “Ayeee!” Her little legs pawed at the air, and then she disappeared into the pile of black bags. There was a loud
whump
and the bags exploded into a fountain of human trash.

“Callie!” Shep barked. The little yapper could drown!

“I'm all right!” A part of the trash pile began to shiver and shake, and then out squeezed Callie, covered from head to tail in muck.

“Thank the Great Wolf!” Shep bounded to her side, rolled onto his back, and pawed and nipped at her neck.

Callie panted at Shep's display, but then joined in the play, nipping him back and kicking her hind legs at his belly.

Shep licked her shoulder. “Hey, you taste good.”

Callie licked at the same spot. “I
am
quite tasty.”

Both dogs hopped to their paws and began to dig through the trash pile, hunting for whatever had smeared itself onto Callie's fur. They never found that exact morsel, but they found plenty of other goodies to fill their bellies.

After stuffing themselves completely, Shep moved from puddle to puddle, lapping up enough water to fill a Bath.

Callie lay in a brown box near the entrance to the alley, licking her paws daintily. “So now what?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” Shep sat down beside her to get out of the rain.

“We have the whole city to ourselves,” she said. “We can do anything.”

Shep looked out at the street at the end of the alley. It was normally busy with Cars and humans, all noise and smog and confusion, but now the street was silent and empty. The drizzle of rain glinted in the dull light and gusts of wind pulled at the green fronds of the palm trees.

All Shep really wanted to do was climb back into his den and wait for his boy. A chilling thought occurred to Shep — if there were no people on the street here, where was his boy? Was he trapped somewhere? Did
he
need rescuing?

Callie hopped to her paws and shook herself from nose to tail. “Let's explore,” she said. “I've always wondered what's in these other buildings.”

Shep felt like a tug toy caught between two hounds. Part of him knew he should wait and see if his boy returned on his own, but another part thought he should go out and search for his boy in case he needed Shep's help. Still another part bristled at the thought of how it would look to this yapper if he — the big dog, the rescuer — turned tail to cower alone in his den.

“You ready?” Callie yipped, bursting with excitement.

Shep looked up at his den and whimpered. He also had no idea how to get back up there. Before he could answer, Callie bounded out of the alley and into the street.

“Off we go!” she howled.

“Wait for me!” barked Shep. He raced to catch up. Half of him was thrilled to smell what awaited him around the corner, but the other half was filled with dread. Two more stretches, and he wouldn't even be able to scent his den.

They'd covered several hundred stretches, raced across the street and back, and sniffed their way down two alleys, and still Shep waited to feel the friendly tug of his boy on his collar. He had to remind himself that there was no boy, no leash. His collar jingled, loose around his neck. He was free to roam where he wanted, sniff every tree. The thought made him terribly sad.

The street was different without all the people. Shep had never felt afraid Outside with his boy, but Outside had been transformed. The rain made every surface glossy; its patter and the whistle of the wind's gusts deafened all other sounds. Shep could hardly smell anything over the scent of the rain. After sniffing several doors and smelling nothing but wet, Shep gave up all hope of being able to find his boy.

Worse yet, things that he knew weren't dangerous, things he'd never thought twice about, were on the attack. A trash can — a thing that Shep thought couldn't move on its own — tumbled down the street toward him and grazed his paw, causing a sharp pain. Shep yelped as much at the hurt as at the shock of having been wounded by a lowly trash can. He felt as helpless as a pup.

Shep couldn't rely on anything, it seemed — he had to remain vigilant, suspect every thing, be ready for any threat. His eyes trained over every wall and tree and box. He flinched at a bag blowing past his flank. A flapping door caused him to scuttle across the street.

Callie, on the other hand, skipped from grass clump to trash pile to metal post, sniffing and marking and yipping with delight. A paper rustled in an alley; she dove after it and tore the paper to shreds. A bird flew over the street and she chased it, leaping into the air every few stretches. Nothing scared Callie. It was as if the strangeness of the empty street brought her to life.

“My fur!” she barked. “Isn't this the best?” Her eyes sparkled and her tongue lolled from her open mouth. “No leash holding me back, no one yelling for me to Come or Sit — ooh, shiny!” She scrabbled along the gutter after a silver strip drifting in the trickle of rain water.

“I think we should go back,” Shep grumbled. “We have to find a way into our dens before nightfall.” He shook his fur. If there was no chance of finding his boy, why was he out wandering in the wet? He was soaked, and the rain was falling harder with each passing heartbeat.

“Just a few more blocks,” Callie begged. “Then we'll go back, okay?” She waggled her tail and nuzzled her head into his neck.

“All right,” he growled playfully, nipping her ear. “Great Wolf, you're a pest.”

Callie trotted ahead of him, but not too far. “What's this about a Great Wolf?” she asked. “You keep saying that. What's a wolf?”

Shep loped over to a tree and sniffed at the short fence surrounding it. “Just something I heard about as a pup,” he woofed. “The Great Wolf was the leader of the dogs many cycles ago. The story goes, ‘The Silver Moon looked down and saw dogs running about, tearing into one another as they might a scrap of meat. She loved dogs above all other creatures, and did not want to see them suffering alone, dog against dog. So she found a lowly pup, newly weaned, and sprinkled him with moonstuff. The moonstuff shimmered on his hide, and he grew into a mighty dog — the Great Wolf. All dogs cowered under his sparkling white mane, and all stood to listen when he howled. He asked them to join his pack so they might hunt together and live in peace, and all bellowed with joy.'” Shep wagged his tail at the memory. “At least, that's the way the old timer told it.”

“I like that story.” Callie sniffed the fence, then sat beside him. “What's an old timer?”

Shep explained about the fight kennel — the dim, drafty structure filled with row upon row of narrow metal-linked cages — and about the young pups and the old timers. “This one dog had been there for many moons. His muzzle was pocked with scars and he was missing an eye. He was in the cage next to mine, and he kind of looked after me. I was a scrawny pup, just weaned and taken from my litter. I had bad dreams and barely slept with all the howling and barking in the kennel. I guess he felt bad for me, and so he told me stories of this Great Wolf to help me sleep.”

“That sounds nice,” Callie said.

Shep stood. “It wasn't.”

“Not the fight kennel, but the old timer, I mean.” She scratched her ear, then licked her hind paw. “I've never lived with another dog before. I was taken from my litter and given to my girl. I've lived with her all my life — there's a good smell on this post — anyway, as long as I can remember. It would have been nice to have had an old timer looking out for me.”

“Well, now you have one,” Shep said, cuffing her on the ear with his paw.

Callie reared and slapped his muzzle playfully. “You're no old timer.”

“I feel like one sometimes.” Shep sighed. “Worn out and in need of a soft bed and my boy.”

“Weird,” said Callie. “I feel this energy buzzing around inside me all the time. Now, running here — this is the first time I haven't felt like chewing or digging or tearing my way out of my fur.”

Callie shook her coat, sending a spray of water off her back. “Squirrel!” she barked, then tore off across the street.

A blur of gray fur splashed through a puddle — that was all Shep saw. But Callie was after it like it was a Ball. As Shep watched, the fur took form: It was indeed a squirrel. How had Callie seen that?

The squirrel bolted for a tree trunk, claws scrambling to catch hold on the stone street. Callie closed in, leapt, and landed right on the squirrel's tail. Her jaws snapped closed. The squirrel shrieked.

“I've got it!” Callie's triumphant bark was muffled by squirrel fur.

While her jaws were open, the squirrel pulled its tail free and jumped onto the tree.

“Oh, no you don't!” Callie slammed the squirrel against the bark of the tree with her paws, then sliced at its head with her fangs.

Shep raced over to the battle. The little animal squealed and scratched at Callie's nose, but Callie clenched her jaws around its neck and raked its body with her claws. Shep had no idea why Callie felt the need to fight such a little animal. He'd often chased squirrels in the Park, but why fight one?

“What are you doing?” he asked, flabbergasted.

The squirrel's attacks slowed. Its body twitched a few times, then fell still. Only then did Callie loosen her jaws. The gray thing fell from her jowls onto the sodden dirt surrounding the tree.

Callie had a crazed look in her eyes, like that of a dog in the fight cage.
The Black Dog.
Shep raised his hackles; he readied for her to turn her attack on him. But then her eyes cleared, and she wagged her tail. Her tongue circled her jowls.

“My fur, that's delicious!” She sniffed the squirrel's body. “It came from the squirrel.” She licked a gash in the gray fur. “Taste this!” she said, pushing the little body toward Shep.

Shep calmed himself, happy to see that the Black Dog had not taken hold of the yapper. He sniffed the squirrel's body. “It's food?” Shep asked.

“It's that voice I told you about,” Callie yipped. “I saw the squirrel and the voice said, ‘Chase that!' And when I caught it, the voice said, ‘Bite!' so I bit. I can't believe I actually caught the thing! I've tried so many times, but there was always a leash or I was too slow. I guess the rain helped me, maybe hid my approach. But can you believe it? I caught it! And bit it! It tried to escape when I called to you, but then I
smashed
it down —” Her eyes began to glaze over again.

Shep nipped her scruff. “Stop.”

Callie shook him off. “What?” She licked her shoulder.

“You were getting a little wild,” Shep woofed. “Slow down,” he said. “Start with that voice. It said the squirrel was food?”

“Not exactly. Well, maybe. But it is food! Taste that!” She nudged the body closer to Shep.

Shep sniffed the fur, then licked it. It tasted amazing, like the best kibble he'd ever dreamed of, like what he was meant to eat….

Callie picked up the little body and trotted under an overhang. Out of the rain, she lay down with the squirrel between her paws and began to lick it. Then she caught a piece of fur in her teeth.

“Oh, Shep! Come taste this! This part's even better!”

But Shep could not move. His stomach soured watching the little dog devour the squirrel. He knew that taste: It was lifeblood. It was inside that squirrel, and it was also inside of dogs. Shep had tasted lifeblood far too often in the fight cage — to him it
was
the taste of the fight cage. One lick, and his mind was flooded with the smell of the sand floor, the howls of the other dogs, claws and fangs slashing, the motionless body of his opponent, lifeblood spilling forth …

“Hey.” Callie had come back over to him. She licked his nose. “You all right?”

Her ears flopped out, friendly, and her tail wagged low. She was not an opponent; he did not have to kill her to survive.

“Yes,” Shep said, shaking his head. “It's just the squirrel. That stuff is lifeblood. I've tasted it before.”

“In the fight cage?” Callie licked his muzzle, trying to comfort him.

Shep shivered and the memory shook off him like the water from his coat. “I don't want to taste that ever again.”

“You don't have to,” she woofed. “We'll find some more kibble in the trash, okay?”

Shep panted, grinning, and waved his tail. “Okay,” he said. “How's your nose?” The little dog's snout was covered in scratches from the squirrel's defense.

Callie licked her muzzle. “Huh,” she grunted, then licked it again. “Tastes like the squirrel.” She licked her nose once, twice, then stopped, her eyes wide. “Does this mean I could
eat
me?”

Shep panted again. The little dog was serious. “I wouldn't advise it,” he said.

Callie nipped Shep's neck. “Well, I don't mean
me
,” she grumbled, “but dogs. Are
we
food?”

“I guess,” Shep woofed. “But I don't see anything on these streets that can chase us down.”

“That's right!” Callie barked. “So watch out, squirrels! Lizards, too! We're the meanest, baddest things around!”

As they continued down the street, Callie strutted like she owned the whole city, like she was a big dog, the Great Wolf himself. Shep couldn't help but pant at her tough act. He did not feel so secure himself. He hadn't wanted to scare the little dog, but there was something on these streets that was tougher than her: wild dogs. If they ran into that Kaz from the Park, they'd have real trouble on their paws.

 

The sky began to darken, and the rain continued to fall in sheets. Shep hadn't scented, seen, or heard a human during their whole trek. He clung to the hope that this was simply a result of the rain having washed every recent scent away, but a part of him knew that this wasn't true. There were no humans anywhere. Every building was empty and most of the lights were out. Some windows were covered with big pieces of wood, others with metal shutters. The city was abandoned.

Other creatures sensed this abandonment by the humans. Animals used to skulking around the fringes of the human world were out in the open. Long green iguanas crawled on top of sleeping Cars. Stray cats scuttled across the streets and stood in the alleys, feasting on trash. Flocks of pigeons and gulls strutted down the middle of the empty streets. These Outsiders knew that the humans were gone from their dens, and that they wouldn't be returning for some time.

Anxiety radiated from Shep's every hair and whisker. Where had his humans gone? Where was his boy? But Callie was not at all worried. She kept telling Shep that they'd scent a human around the next corner, or the next. Still, Shep couldn't shake the feeling that he might never smell his boy again, that the man and the woman had taken him somewhere far away, where Shep couldn't find him. Why would they have done such a thing?

“I think we should go back,” barked Shep. The splatter of rain on the pavement had gotten so loud that Shep had to repeat himself twice before Callie even noticed he'd barked.

“Go back?” she yipped, trotting over to where Shep stood in a doorway. “But it's not even night out.”

“We can't wait until dark to return home. Things we don't want to run into will be out on the street by that time.”

“Like what? I haven't seen or smelled anything bigger than an iguana.” Callie sniffed the air and twisted her ears, listening. “Nothing.”

“Like you could hear an enemy stalking you in this rain,” Shep woofed, snickering. “You couldn't even hear me barking as loud as my lungs could manage. I can't see or smell anything, and that makes me feel worse, not better. We'll have no warning of an attack.”

“Attack from what?” Callie asked, annoyance creeping into her bark. “You said we're the biggest things out here.”

“I lied.”

Callie's eyes opened wide and her tail flattened between her legs. “Lied?” she whined, cowering. “About what? What's out here?”

“Dogs,” Shep said, his bark softer. He hadn't wanted to scare the fur off the little yapper. “Wild dogs. Remember what I told you about the Great Wolf? Well, there's another legend, about the Black Dog. As my old-timer told it, he means death for any decent dog, simple as that. He doesn't care about anything except fighting. That's what a wild dog's like. I've seen them do things, bad things.”

“Like what?” Callie was trembling from nose to tail now, her legs bent, her belly low to the ground.

“Things I don't want to see again, okay?” Shep barked. “So let's hightail it home before night sets in and it becomes even harder for me to smell danger.”

Shep began sniffing his way back along the faint scent of their trail, hoping the rain hadn't washed it completely away. Callie pressed herself against his flank. Every few stretches, he felt her tremble. Her eyes flicked this way and that, searching the shadows for menacing wild dogs.