Darkness Falls (13 page)

The pup scowled but didn't say any more. Lucky watched as he started to wash his short tail.

Lucky was about to say something about continuing their walk in the morning when he heard a rustling. Ears pricked up, he stalked toward a nearby hedge. Ignoring the sounds of Mickey and the pups as they stirred nearby, Lucky focused on the hedge. He saw a glimpse of a velvety coat.

They would eat tonight after all!

Lucky and Mickey crouched down next to the pups, tearing the vole that Lucky had caught into small chunks. The pups watched, wide-eyed, their tails thrashing in excitement and anticipation. Lucky could taste the warm, tender meat and it was all he could do not to swallow the pieces down.

I had the last rabbit all to myself
, he reminded himself sternly.
This is for the pups!

First he lowered his head and offered a chunk of the vole to the smallest pup, who eagerly licked Lucky's muzzle and gobbled up the meat, crunching and gulping it down contentedly. Following Lucky's lead, Mickey offered some vole to the female, who took it from his jaws, her tail thrashing.

Lucky returned to the vole and took another careful bite, chewing it between his back teeth. The juice ran down his throat, and he could feel his belly opening to accept the delicious food—but, again, he resisted the urge to swallow it down. He approached the larger male, who bound toward him with his tongue lolling. The pup's suspiciousness seemed to have disappeared as he licked Lucky's muzzle, receiving the chunk of meat gratefully.

The pup turned to his smaller litter-brother. “It's your turn,” he told him.

Lucky was touched by how supportive the pups were of one another, and how gently they received the food. As the smallest pup stepped forward, his short tail wagging, Lucky felt a twinge of pain in his chest.

These pups need us. . . 
. He peered at the surrounding trees.
Thank you, Forest-Dog, for delivering this meal, and for saving their lives
.

The little pup yelped happily, his body wiggling, rump moving this way and that as he licked Lucky's muzzle.

The pups finished the vole and curled up together contentedly, washing their paws. Mickey stood over them, stooping to lick their ears. He seemed much more at ease with them now. Lucky looked out into the forest. Even the crows had stopped cawing—it was almost no-sun, and the air thrummed with insects. He turned back to Mickey and the pups.

“There's something
very important
that we need to do,” he announced solemnly. Mickey looked worried, until Lucky let his tongue loll playfully for just a moment. The Farm Dog relaxed, wagging his tail. Lucky went on: “We'll keep moving at sunup, but we really can't do that unless we find pup names for all of you.”

The puppies looked at one another, then back to Lucky.

“When you're older, you'll get your real names, but you should have pup names for now. . . .” He turned to the smaller male, remembering how the little dog's rump had moved back and forth with happiness when Lucky had fed him a chunk of vole. “I think we'll call you ‘Wiggle.'”

The pup responded by turning a tight circle, tottering on tiny legs. “Wiggle!” he echoed.

Lucky turned to the plucky female. “And you . . .”

Mickey piped up. “How about ‘Lick'?”

“Yes, that's a good name,” Lucky agreed.

The female's short black tail thrashed as she raised her muzzle to lick Mickey's nose.
I think she likes her new name
, Lucky thought happily.

He turned to the larger male. “As for you . . .”

The pup glared back challengingly, suspicious and guarded once more. “I don't need a ‘pup name,'” he grunted.

Lucky thought for a moment. “We'll call you ‘Grunt.' Yes, that's perfect.”

Mickey barked his agreement and the other pups yelped happily, but the larger pup stayed still, his expression blank.

Lucky felt an odd sense of relief at having named the pups. He had come to care for them, even in this short time. It hadn't felt right when they were nameless. They were Lucky's responsibility now. He had rescued them because it had seemed like the right thing to do, to bring them back to the Wild Pack, but now . . .

Now I care
.

With this contented thought, Lucky settled down near the three pups, back-to-back with Mickey.

Lick and Grunt slept soundly but Wiggle was shifting and fidgeting. Lucky leaned over and licked his ears.

The pup gazed up at him. “I can't sleep,” he whimpered.

Lucky's heart twisted with pity. He thought of his days in the Pup-Pack. When he couldn't sleep, his Mother-Dog had drawn him close and he'd relaxed against the beat of her heart.

“Rest your head on my chest,” Lucky murmured.

Wiggle shuffled close to him, burying his small dark head against Lucky. In moments he was breathing deeply, his eyes shut and his lips parted. Lucky closed his eyes too, but his ears stayed alert, listening to the sounds of the forest.

A howl echoed in the distance. Instantly Lucky sprang to his paws, eyes wide as he sniffed the cool night air. The pups yipped in alarm and Lucky was quick to silence them.

“It's okay,” he soothed. “Whatever made that noise is far away. But we need to be very quiet and not draw its attention.”

“What
is
it?” Mickey asked. Lucky could just make out the Farm Dog's shape in the darkness.

“I'm not sure,” Lucky told him. “It sounded like a dog, but not quite . . .”

Mickey gave a nervous whine. “A wolf?” he asked.

Lucky had heard wolves before, and he shuddered at the memory. “I hope not.”

There was another long howl, which was joined by more voices. They seemed to be closer than the first howl. The hairs prickled along Lucky's neck and his heart thumped in his chest.

“There are lots of them!” whined Mickey.

“We'll be okay, but we must get moving.” He nudged the pups with his snout and they scrambled to their paws, dazed and scared. “Mickey, you stay to one side of the pups, and I'll be on the other.” He sniffed the air but could not pick up a scent.

“Have they smelled us?” asked Lick.

“No, I don't think so,” Lucky murmured. “They don't know we're here.”

“You're not going to leave us, are you, Lucky?” Wiggle whimpered.

“We're going to be by your sides the whole time,” Lucky promised. “There's nothing to fear. Just stay quiet and keep moving—we'll soon find somewhere safe to rest.” Lucky hoped he sounded reassuring, even though he was telling them a lie. The creatures they had heard sounded large and dangerous.

No dog spoke after that. They walked silently through the forest, the pups scrambling over fallen leaves, twigs, and thorns. Lucky knew it was hard for them, but he wanted to keep all his senses sharp and it would be easier to do that if he was not carrying a pup.

He could smell a sharp odor in the air—it smelled a little like wolf-stink, and also fox, but something told him these creatures were neither.

And a cold fear told him that whatever they were, they had caught the dogs' scent. He could hear leaves crunching beneath paws, could smell the sharp odor getting closer.

“Wait!” Mickey yelped, as he stalked low behind the pups.

Lucky turned to him quickly. “What's wrong?”

“It's Wiggle. He's falling behind.”

“He's really tired,” yipped Lick. “He's not used to walking this fast, or this far.” Lucky guessed that none of the pups were, but the female's eyes flashed with proud resilience, and Grunt jutted his pointy snout out alongside her.

Lucky was ashamed that he had not noticed. Now he could hear the smallest pup's labored panting. Mickey and Lick were right—Wiggle was tired.

“Here,” he said gently. “I'll carry you for a while. Mickey, you will need to be my eyes and ears.” The black-and-white dog dipped his head in acknowledgment, a shadow of dark fur against branches. Then Lucky scooped up Wiggle gently between his jaws. They all froze as they heard a strange voice.

“This way!” The voice was nasal and brassy. Lucky felt his whole body turn to stone.

“Smells dogsie-pets, smells them close.”

“Cubs! Smells cubs!”

Lucky's heart lurched and he almost dropped Wiggle in shock. He knew what they were now—a Pack of these beasts had once entered the city, snarling and growling. Only longpaws carrying sticks had been enough to chase them away.

Coyotes! Those fierce, sneaky creatures that feast on frail animals. They're swift and spiteful too. They must have picked up the smell of pups. They think they're onto an easy meal
.

“Stay quiet,” he told the others. Then he lifted his snout into the air as he tried to untangle the coyotes' scents.
Six of them, at least
. More than enough to isolate and overwhelm Lucky and Mickey—and more than enough to steal a pup.

I cannot let these pups end up like Fuzz
, Lucky thought with a pang of anguish.

“We need to pick up the pace,” he urged.

“I smell them too,” Mickey whispered. “Do you think we can outrun—”

Lucky gave a quick shake of his head to silence the Farm Dog. He didn't want to say the word
coyote
in front of the pups; it would only scare them. Mickey blinked once, to show his understanding. Lick and Grunt pranced forward, scrambling over the jumble of debris on the forest floor. They passed through a tunnel of narrow-trunked trees at the top of a low hill before dipping toward denser foliage.

If we can get downwind of them in the deep forest we may be able to lose them
.

They made good progress, and Lucky thought his plan was going to work. But then he heard Lick panting and whimpering behind him. He looked back and saw that she was struggling over the rough ground. Her latest surge of energy seemed to have run dry. Even Grunt was showing signs of weariness, his short tail hanging low as he trudged on determinedly.

“This won't work,” Mickey murmured. He was even lower to the ground now, his body melting into the sinews of the forest. “I think they're after the pups. We should all mask our scents, then hide and wait for them to pass.”

Lucky nodded. “How do we—”

“Hide?” Grunt snarled. “A Fierce Dog
never
hides!”

Lucky's ear twitched. So Grunt knew they were different from other dogs. What else did the pup know?

Mickey ignored him, diving down into the dirt and mulch of the forest floor, where he rolled repeatedly. Then he sprang to his paws and pressed against the trunk of a nearby tree, rubbing his back, tail, and muzzle.

Lucky was impressed. He hadn't expected Mickey to have such clever survival skills. The Farm Dog had come a long way since they had first met in the city.

He imitated Mickey, dropping low and rubbing his belly against fallen leaves. “Pups, do what we do. And you must resist the urge to wash yourselves.”

The puppies started rolling, kicking up dirt. Even Grunt cowered down and buried his snout beneath some leaves, allowing Lucky to cover him with twigs and soil.

“That's good,” whispered Mickey. “Now we need to be very quiet and very still.” He took the lead, scrambling beneath a bush, flattening himself on the forest floor. “Come close,” he added. Lick did as she was told, squeezing her body next to Mickey's, little Wiggle at her side.

Grunt made no move to lie down. “I'm not hiding from any dog,” he snarled. He started to walk away from the bush, toward the low hill with its gateway of thin-trunked trees.

“Where's go cubs?”

“Close, cohorts. Smell cubs . . .”

Lucky choked back a whimper of fear, lunging toward Grunt and shoving him into the undergrowth. The pup struggled and Lucky threw his weight against him, feeling Grunt's muscles rippling and flexing beneath his fur. He was already a very strong dog.

“Your bravery is admirable, Grunt,” Lucky murmured, his muzzle at the pup's ear. “But this isn't the time. These aren't dogs; they're coyotes looking for a fight. We have to stay silent. This is serious.”

Lucky felt the pup shudder. “Coyotes? What are they?” he asked, as the beasts drew nearer, rounding the low hill.

“I eats the cubs. Starts with the tender snouts!” hissed one of the coyotes in its raspy voice.

“I crunch the tails!” added another.

Grunt started trembling. Lucky felt a wave of compassion for him—the tiny Fierce Dog acted tough, but he was just a pup, feeling a pup's fear.

Please, wise Forest-Dog
, thought Lucky.
These pups have already lost their Mother-Dog. Let them get through this night. . . 
.

The coyotes gathered at the top of the hill among the tall trees, sniffing and circling. They had thickly furred bodies like wolves, and their legs were long and narrow. Their large pointed ears cut jagged outlines on the dark horizon and their sharp smell turned Lucky's stomach. He remembered Old Hunter telling him about coyotes as they rested by the Food House in the city—how they were sneaky, opportunistic killers, known to eat sharpclaws and snatch pups from their Mother-Dogs. Well, they weren't getting
these
pups!

“They're heres . . . Smells young dogs.”

“Not heres . . . Escapes. Escapes, Mangles, how?”

“This ways; they gone. Cohorts, follow!”

The last coyote that spoke—the one called Mangles—was particularly tall. Its shape was lithe and wiry as it spun on its paws. Its tail was a stump of fur, as though it'd lost the end of it somehow. It started running back through the thin-trunked trees, down the hill toward the path.

If they hold the scent
, Lucky thought hopefully,
they will eventually be taken all the way to the Dog-Garden
. . . .

Soon the coyote Pack had disappeared from sight and finally even their sharp, peaty odors had faded on the night air.