Darkness Falls (8 page)

It took everything he had to ignore the impulse to run away. He needed to find out what was happening here. He couldn't just run. Lucky threw a cautious look over his back. What if the Fierce Dogs had found the hole in the fence that had allowed him to escape? What if they ran patrols around their territory as far as the forested hills? Were some of them out there now in the gloom, watching him?

A piercing howl broke from the valley below and Lucky whined with fright. Careful to stay upwind, Lucky stalked closer to the Fierce Dogs' lair, hoping that the smell of ash would conceal his approach.

It took a few minutes to reach the wall of the Dog-Garden and in that time the noises had hushed. Then he heard it again, much closer, on the far side of the wall. They were the desperate howls of a dog in pain, whimpering, begging for mercy. Lucky knew that he should keep his distance—how dangerous would a
wounded
Fierce Dog be?

Lucky crept along the wall, his ears pricked. He picked up the smell of other dogs in the yard. Those dogs surely knew about their Packmate. They either didn't care, or had intended the dog to be harmed. Either way, they would hardly take kindly to Lucky's appearance.

A twig snapped and Lucky caught the shadow of a Fierce Dog several long-strides away. A huge, stocky male, with a thick neck and a pointed snout, it sniffed at the ground and cast its head left and right.

It's outside the fence!
So the Fierce Dogs had found a way through after all. Was this Fierce Dog looking for prey, or intruders?

Lucky held his breath.
Run! Before he sees you and raises the alarm!

There was nothing to be done for the wounded dog, he told himself firmly. He backed away as silently as he could and retraced his steps through the forest, careful not to crunch any leaves beneath his paws on his ascent. Only a foolish dog would hang around and wait to be discovered. If they caught his scent, the Fierce Dogs would surely rip him apart.

Keep running to the city. It's Mickey you should be helping. He's the one whose life can still be saved
.

Another yelp of anguish rose from the Fierce Dogs' lair. As Lucky hurried back up the hill toward the city, he felt a pang of guilt. A vague memory returned to him from puppyhood. His Mother-Dog had been talking about the difference between wolves and dogs. Wolves were cunning and sneaky. Dogs were noble. Dogs did not leave another dog to die.

I'm sorry, Forest-Dog. I want to help but I can't. . . . Please look after the Fierce Dog
.

He'd never expected the world to bring him to this.

Lucky shook his fur vigorously. He'd walked through no-sun and had crossed the river at its shallowest point. The River-Dog had eased the soreness in his neck and leg where the foxes had bitten him, washing away the pain with firm strokes of his icy tongue. The cool water had shocked Lucky's tired muscles and given him new energy and strength. He did not want to stop now—he had to keep going until he reached the city. Mickey might be there already. Lucky pictured him slowly starving to death but refusing to leave, waiting for longpaws who would never return.

The journey had been tiring, full of dips and inclines where the tall trees clung to the ground. Finally Lucky reached the highest point in the forest. He stopped and looked around. The Sun-Dog trod his path over the land, casting a gentle morning light. White clouds twisted in the sky and the air was damp and clean.

Almost hidden in the distance beyond the soft borders of treetops was the shimmering lake. The nearer end of the lake was in the Wild Pack's abandoned territory. On its far side, by a collection of craggy rocks, were the friends he had left behind. He thought of Bella, his litter-sister, and the other Leashed Dogs. He wondered how they were faring in the larger Pack, and hoped that Alpha wasn't being too hard on them. Then he pictured Sweet with her large dark eyes. His belly clenched as he thought of her, remembering that look of betrayal. . . .

He turned toward a clearing with rolling fields below. It was the Leashed Dogs' first territory, where they had learned to hunt and work as a team. He felt a surge of pride in his friends, despite everything—they had come a long way since they had first left the city.

With renewed energy, Lucky ran, dashing through the trees to open fields of grass until he could see jagged outlines of longpaw homes rise up against the skyline. They grew up like weeds around him as he stepped from the soft, muddy grass back onto the hard, cracked surface of the streets.

Lucky slowed his pace as he entered the city, sniffing for signs of bad air, listening for the familiar rumble of loudcages. But there was only silence. The loudcages stood lifeless between pools of shattered clear-stone. Beneath their twisted muzzles were dried pools of the juice longpaws fed them.

The loudcages have been bleeding
.

The roads were cracked and Lucky had to leap over a foul-smelling stream. The water glistened, its oily sheen catching the light of the Sun-Dog, which climbed overhead.

The city was still deserted. The longpaws had not returned.

It was odd to be back here, to feel the hard stone under his paws. To his surprise, Lucky realized he had become used to the feel of grass. He felt a sudden longing for his old life of wandering, scavenging food, and relaxing with his friends, never depending on anyone else. But there was no denying that part of his life had gone, perhaps for good.

The city he had left behind had not returned to normal. He could never live here again.

Lucky slunk through the quiet streets, searching for the Leashed Dogs' homes. The buildings looked familiar, though changed. The grass in front of the houses had grown almost as tall as he was, and vines crept along the walls without the longpaws to contain them. Everything looked tired and deserted.

He reached the corner of the street where the Leashed Dogs had lived before the Big Growl. Like the other buildings, the houses looked bent, their yards overgrown with neglect. Lucky watched from a distance, sniffing the air, wondering where Mickey had gone. He expected his friend to greet him with excited yaps, but the Farm Dog was nowhere to be seen.

If he isn't here, where is he?

Lucky's heart sank. What should he do now? Explore the city? No, there was nothing for him here anymore. Not even the scraps of food he'd once scavenged.

Lucky shook himself, took a deep breath, and sniffed again.
Mickey!
Yes, he was certain: His friend was nearby.
But why can't I see him?

Lucky followed his nose over the cracked ground, his whiskers tingling; at last, he saw a flash of black-and-white fur in the shadow of a loudcage. Mickey was crouched there. Something in the Farm Dog's scent and posture made Lucky uneasy, and he kept low as he approached, making sure he did not seem threatening.

“Mickey? It's me, Lucky. I've been looking for you.”

Mickey gave a flick of the ear but he kept his eyes fixed, staring across the street beyond Lucky.

Lucky paused. “What's wrong? What are you hiding from?”

“I'm not hiding!” Mickey growled. “I'm
waiting
. Look.”

Lucky followed his gaze. At the far end of the street he saw movement—two longpaws clambering out of a house near the corner of the street.

Unlike the ones he had seen in the fields beyond the city, these longpaws did not have black, mouthless faces and bright yellow fur. Instead they had pelts like the old longpaws used to, but they were torn and the skin underneath was filthy. He watched as they dragged out a large, flat object made of dried tree that had four pawless legs.

Some instinct made Lucky draw back behind the loudcages. These longpaws reminded Lucky of the ones he had seen sometimes before the Big Growl, when he used to roam the streets. Unlike most longpaws, this type did not seem to live in Packs. They lived outside, huddling in their shaggy, dirty pelts. They stank of fire-juice, and would yelp and squabble among themselves constantly, and when they approached other longpaws, they would be chased away.

But now there were no other longpaws to be seen.

Lucky and Mickey watched as the shabby-furred longpaws removed more objects from the house and piled them in the high grass. They dropped them heavily, one of the longpaws leaning over to spit on the pavement. Even from this distance, Lucky could see that the pool of saliva was yellow and there was yellow froth around the longpaw's muzzle. His face was gaunt and sallow, and Lucky spotted the bones jutting out at the base of his neck. Lucky knew that hunger made longpaws crazy, and this was the hungriest longpaw he had ever seen.

The dogs would have to keep their distance.

The longpaws were on the move, pushing open the door to the next house and stumbling inside. Lucky could hear dragging and crashing sounds.

Mickey snarled beneath his breath, his haunches low and ears pressed flat as he watched in silence. “Nasty, disgusting longpaws,” he growled, shifting slightly, still crouching by the loudcage. “They'd better not go near
my
longpaws' house. They better not even think about it!”

Lucky was not entirely sure
what
the longpaws were thinking about. There couldn't be any food for them to find—not after all this time. He kept a wary eye on Mickey as the longpaws advanced, disappearing into each house and reappearing with things they had found inside.

They were getting closer and closer to Mickey's old home.

They seemed more . . .
wild
than ordinary longpaws. He thought about the Leashed Dogs and how they had struggled. Those who didn't learn to survive in this strange new world would surely have starved to death. It must have been the same for the longpaws who were left behind, forgotten by those who had fled the city, just as the Leashed Dogs had been abandoned by their masters.

Mickey stood up straight, his back legs stiffening. He watched with a low growl as the longpaws stopped in front of his old home. They yapped loudly at each other, one bending forward and coughing as the other leaned against the wall.

“Mickey, it's not safe,” Lucky said in a soft voice. “Those longpaws are dangerous. You don't know what they might do.”

Mickey turned around sharply. “I have a duty to my longpaws' home.” His ears twitched and he narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn't understand. You were a Lone Dog before the Big Growl. What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were one of the Pack these days.”

Lucky was stung, but he pressed on. “Your longpaws left a long time ago!”

“It's still their home,” Mickey growled. “
Mine
, too. All my life I've been brought up to defend it. I have to stop these scavengers!” He turned to the longpaws and barked furiously, his ears pressed against his head. Lucky cringed, but the longpaws ignored Mickey and stood yapping in front of the house.

One of the longpaws kicked the door open and both of them disappeared inside. Mickey threw a desperate look at Lucky.

Lucky could see how much this meant to his friend. “Okay . . . follow me, and do what I do,” he instructed. He pulled back his lips, revealing his teeth. Mickey did the same. Growling, he entered the doorway as the longpaws crossed between rooms. One of them glanced at him, but they didn't stop what they were doing.

Mickey started to bark again. “They're ignoring us! We should charge at them!”

“Trust me,” urged Lucky. He remembered a small, wiry-haired dog with a pointy nose who he'd known in the city before the Big Growl. The little dog used to terrify passing longpaws, despite his size. He did it not by barking and hopping around but by standing perfectly still and growling. The trick was to look confident.

Longpaws don't know what a dog is thinking. And that scares them
.

Mickey took his cue, doing a good impression of Lucky, lips curled back and snarling steadily. The two dogs edged deeper into the house, approaching a small room where both longpaws were busy gathering objects. The dogs stood at the entrance, almost motionless, growling in low voices.

The longpaws looked again at the dogs, and stopped moving around. One threw his hands in the air and started barking at the dogs. Lucky held his ground and Mickey did the same, paws planted to the floor and growling all the time.

The longpaws yelped to each other. Up close, Lucky could see the yellow spit gathering at their mouths. Their lips had a green tinge, which reminded Lucky of the poisonous river-water that had made Bruno sick. The one that had tried to shoo them away had angry pink scabs along his jawline. He took a step back but the other longpaw made a grab for a deep, clear-stone dish, and waved it in front of Lucky. The hairs prickled along Lucky's back and fear coursed through him, his paw pads suddenly damp with sweat. Despite this, he held firm. The longpaw flung the object and it flew past Lucky's head, smashing against the wall. Lucky flinched but continued to growl, and Mickey only snarled louder.

Lucky's ears flipped back at the sound of a deep groan. The house was speaking! His body tensed. Was it moving? Would it collapse?

The longpaw who had hurled the clear-stone hastily gathered up more objects to throw at the dogs. Lucky sensed Mickey stiffen, preparing for an onslaught, but the Farm Dog didn't even whimper when a heavy object clipped his ear. Lucky was impressed.

“You're doing great!” he told Mickey. “You've got them spooked!”

There was a twitch of pleasure in his friend's tail as he held his stance and continued to snarl.

Lucky could see the longpaws exchanging nervous glances, backing against the wall of the small room. Then the house growled loudly and a shower of dust fell from above them. One of the longpaws started coughing and Lucky barked at them:

“Get out of here! This is not your place! Get out before we make you!”

His bark echoed back at him in the small room and seemed to dislodge more dust, which fell in white shrouds.

The longpaws cowered, backs against the wall. Lucky felt a wave of satisfaction when he caught the scent of their fear. He knew that they would not defend themselves against an attack—they would run away at the first opportunity. He turned to bark to Mickey but the ground shuddered beneath their paws as the house growled again. With a whine, a long wound tore open along one wall, crawling upward and bleeding more dust and debris.