The Storm Read online

  “What do you mean, Dover?” Oscar barked fiercely. “Shep could’ve killed that Zeus no problem. And he would have, too, except the wave came.” Oscar leapt onto a pile of mud and made a whooshing sound.

  The other dogs grumbled their agreement, and Dover dropped it, but the notion gnawed at Shep like a tick. He’d been looking the Black Dog square in the snout, and he’d dropped his claws. If the wave hadn’t come, he’d surely have been kibble for the wild pack, and who knows what would’ve happened to the others.

  But I did what was right, he reminded himself. I was doing what the Great Wolf did.

  Still, a chill ran down Shep’s spine. He ducked out from under Ginny’s fervent kisses and Boji’s careful ministrations and climbed onto a wooden box brought in by the wave.

  As soon as Shep retreated, Rufus, grumpy as ever, began to yap.

  “It’s all well and good that we survived,” he yelped, “but now what? The kibble’s gone. This den is full of human trash, and worse.” He flicked his nose at the nearby carcass of a wild dog.

  Exhaustion hit Shep like a Car. Couldn’t they rest for a sun? He felt like he’d been on his paws for cycles.

  Virgil growled at the squaredog. “Leave it.”

  “Rufus is right,” barked Callie. “We can’t stay here.” She stood apart, scenting a pile of rubble. The walls of the den groaned as if to emphasize her point.

  The dogs huddled closer together and began to whimper. “Where can we go?” “What if the wave comes back?” “What if we meet more wild dogs?” “I’m scared!” “I’m hungry!” The chorus of dogs became a single wail in Shep’s ears.

  “Enough!” bayed Callie. She stood on stiff legs, ears up and tail proud. “We can’t let fear shake the whiskers from our snouts. We’ll all be safe if we stick together.”

  The dogs quieted, but the fear smell remained.

  Shep dragged himself to his paws. “Callie’s right,” he barked. “We’re safer together.”

  The dogs calmed at the sound of Shep’s bark. It was as if they needed to hear things from him, even if he was simply agreeing with Callie.

  Callie approached what remained of the clear wall and scented the Outside. “The storm smell is faint, but I think we should wait for sun before we leave.” She glanced at Shep and he woofed his agreement.

  “We’ll stay here until it’s light,” she barked. “Then we’ll find a new den.”

  “And kibble?” groaned Rufus.

  “And kibble,” sighed Shep.

  Shep allowed his body to collapse onto the smooth wood of the box. He was so tired, even his bones ached. The cool surface felt good against his side; he stretched his legs all the way to his claws, then let them flop like sticks against the wood.

  Oscar scrambled up a pile of sand and crept onto the box, ears drooping and twiggy tail whipping behind him. “Can I curl next to you, Shep?” he whimpered.

  Shep grunted and shifted his legs to give the pup more room. Oscar leapt forward, pounding Shep’s chest with his skull, and snuggled against his ribs.

  “While we were stuck upstairs,” Oscar yipped, “I was a little scared, so Callie told me the story you told her. The one about the Great Wolf and the Black Dog. At first, I didn’t really get it, but I think I understand it now.”

  Shep closed his eyes.

  “The Great Wolf,” Oscar continued. “He isn’t great because he has to be. He’s great because he chooses to do great things, right? Like you, Shep.”

  Shep breathed deeply. Nothing he’d done that sun felt like greatness. He’d done the only things he could scent to be right. He’d chosen the only way that hadn’t smelled of the Black Dog.

  “I’m no Great Wolf,” Shep groaned. “I’m just a dog, like every other mutt in this den.”

  “You could trounce any dog, any sun,” Oscar said, nuzzling into Shep’s belly fur. “That makes you a Great Wolf.” He yawned.

  “Fighting doesn’t make you the Great Wolf,” Shep woofed softly.

  Oscar continued, ignoring Shep’s barks. “There’s still one thing I don’t get,” he yipped. “What happened to the Black Dog?”

  Shep shifted his shoulder and licked his jowls. Again, Zeus’s muzzle descending into the dark flashed before his eyes. “The old timer never told me,” Shep woofed.

  “Do you think he’s still out there?” Oscar whimpered.

  Shep panted, then licked Oscar’s head. “You said I’m a Great Wolf, right? So don’t worry. I can handle any Black Dog that comes your way.”

  Oscar wagged his tail. “Okay,” he said. The pup fell into an easy, snoring sleep.

  Daisy nosed her way next to Oscar, knotted tail low and knobby head tilted, asking Shep’s permission to snuggle close. Ginny licked Shep’s nose, then threw herself down beside his muzzle. Callie climbed onto the shelf behind him and curled against his spine. Soon, all the dogs were nestled around him, even Virgil and Cheese and the other big dogs. Surrounded by the warm fur of his packmates, Shep allowed his weary self to sleep.

  Only Shep and Oscar slept. The rest watched the gaping beams where the window wall had once stood. They smelled sap bleeding from broken trees and foul gas leaking from the shattered remains of the building across the street. Moonlight shone on the scales of a rotting iguana. They heard creaking metal and shrieking insects, a weird slither and slap. They sensed that their world had been transformed, and they waited, eyes open and ears pricked, for whatever the dawn might bring.

  They survived the storm … but will they make it as a pack?

  Read on for a preview of THE PACK

  “What are you waiting for?” Honey woofed, sticking her head Out beside Shep’s.

  “Shep-dog waiting to see if maybe Fuzz get eaten by snake before meet dog-pack.” The cat hissed at Shep from his perch on Honey’s back.

  Why couldn’t Fuzz have been a nice cat, a friendly cat, a cat that didn’t make you want to bite his bony neck in half? There might have been some chance of convincing the others with a nice cat. With Fuzz, Shep just hoped Callie didn’t eat him before he and Honey could scramble back to their den.

  In the alley, the pack was moaning about sleeping arrangements.

  “Are we sleeping Outside?” whined Oscar. “I don’t think I can sleep Outside. Those poop bags could use their jelly strings to strangle me in my sleep!” His tail was set firmly between his legs.

  “Don’t be silly, pup,” barked Ginny. “No dog of my breeding sleeps Outside like a common mutt.” She stood and shook her fur. “Where are we sleeping?” she woofed to Shep as he approached. “And don’t say this tottering pile of stones.” She flicked her muzzle at Honey’s building.

  Virgil shifted on his paws. “I agree,” he grunted. Virgil paused near a second staircase, which led up to the third level. “Did any dog check up there?” he woofed to Shep.

  Shep loped to the stairs. “Doesn’t smell like it.”

  Virgil gave off an odor of nervousness.

  “I’ll give it a quick scent,” Shep yipped. “We can do a more thorough search in the morning if I catch a whiff of any kib.”

  Virgil smelled relieved. “I’ll take up your post here until you return,” he barked.

  Decision made, Shep noted to himself.

  He padded up the creaking steps. The third-floor hall was identical to the one below, dimly lit by the same front window, but now that it was evening and Shep was alone, the place seemed much spookier.

  Shep sniffed the doorframe at the top of the stairs, nearest the window. There was a strong scent of dog; one was either trapped inside the den, or had been until recently. The only problem was the splintered beam that lay between Shep and the knob.

  Shep pressed the beam with his forepaw. The wood groaned, and sodden scraps of ceiling material dropped onto Shep’s back. Then the whole section of wall — door and all — crumbled into the den with a crash.

  Virgil barked up the stairs, “You all right?”

  “I’m fine,” woofed Shep, shaking flakes of wall f
rom his snout. He coughed to clear the dust from his lungs, then sprang over the wreckage and into the den.

  Everything inside smelled of salt from the wave. Mud lay thick on the floor. The dim light of the late sun filtered through the gauzy window cloths, which billowed out from broken windows. A moldering couch and cracked light-window stood at opposite ends of the room.

  “Hello?” Shep woofed. “Is there a dog in here?”

  A cat sprang from behind the couch, screeching like an old Car, and bolted down the den’s dark hallway.

  Shep sniffed the couch and confirmed that, at least before the storm, a dog had also lived in the den.

  He loped into the den’s food room to check if it was worth coming back up here for breakfast. It was not: The food room was a wreck. A mist of tiny flies hung over a bowl of rotting fruit on the counter. The cabinets had already been opened and scavenged, perhaps by the mangy cat. The room’s outer wall had been torn away by the wave and the cold box had fallen through the floor. Shep stood on the lip of floor that remained and looked down at his packmates, who’d gathered in the street.

  It struck Shep that this was the first time since he’d left his den that he found himself alone. Only the creaking of the building and the whisper of his own breath tickled his ears. The quiet felt strange, though only a few suns before, Shep had lived a solitary life with his boy. How quickly his mind had adjusted to the constant bark and banter of the pack. Then again, Shep was used to radical changes — he’d gone from fighter to wild dog to pet, from the safety of his boy’s room to the violent chaos of the storm.

  Shep sighed. He’d better check the remaining rooms to smell if the dog had survived, then join the others before it was completely dark.

  “Fuzz said we had a visitor.”

  A golden girldog stood in the doorway to the den’s main room. Her wispy fur was matted in places, but Shep could tell that in better times, she’d been well cared for. The scrawny cat he’d seen before sat on her back.

  The girldog padded closer, her fluffy tail flapping. “You smell like a nice dog,” she woofed. “I’m Honey!”

  “Who’s Fuzz?” Shep asked, wagging his tail.

  “Fuzz is Fuzz,” the cat spat in a sort of half meow, half bark.

  The fur nearly sprang from Shep’s back. The cat speaks dog! “You taught him to bark?” Shep snapped at the girldog.

  “Fuzz is my friend,” Honey woofed. “I know it’s not supposed to be done, but I wanted to bark with him, so I taught him a few woofs. He taught himself the rest.” She grinned and waved her tail.

  Shep sniffed the girldog, scenting for crazy. She’d violated the most basic code: A dog never spoke to another species, not ever. Dogs barked with dogs. Anything else was like woofing to your kibble: a sign you were four paws in the hole and going under.

  Why did Honey even want to bark with the bony thing? Shep could smell maybe woofing to a fine hunting cat, but this meower looked heartbeats away from splintering like a cracked window. The cat had been hit by the storm harder than the girldog. His black fur was so matted it stuck to his skin. His spine stood like a line of hackles along his back, and his hip and shoulder bones jutted up like small ears.

  “Well, I’m Shep,” he said finally, “and I’m here to help you.” He explained about the others, about how they’d survived the storm.

  Honey listened, becoming excited as Shep barked, her tail wagging harder and harder. “Oh, Fuzzle!” she woofed. “We’re saved, just like I told you!”

  “How go with Shep-dog and he friends mean we saved?” the cat hissed. “You have food, Shep-dog? You have safe den to sleep?” The cat’s strange slit-eyes glared at Shep.

  Shep did not address the cat; he spoke only to Honey. “I won’t force you to come,” he said, “but you might be safer with other dogs, safe from wild dogs and the like. I can’t promise anything, though.”

  Honey panted gently. “Don’t mind Fuzzle,” she woofed, glancing back at the cat and licking him on the nose. “He’s a worrier. We’d love to join your pack.”

  We? “Sorry,” Shep woofed, “no cats.”

  “Why not?” Honey asked, her head tilting.

  This girldog was looking at him like he was the crazy one, but clearly she was the one who’d grown fur on her brain. “He’s a cat,” Shep barked. “A cat can’t be a part of a pack of dogs.”

  Honey’s tail drooped. “Then I can’t go with you. Fuzz is declawed, defenseless. I’m his only hope until our family returns.”

  “Well, declawed or not, he can’t be in my pack.” Shep glanced down through the floor-hole at his friends. “We’re tight on food as it is. No one’s going to want to share their kibble with a cat.”

  “If that’s how you feel, then I don’t even want to be a part of your pack.” Honey’s tail stood high and her proud eyes glared into Shep’s own, unafraid and unwavering.

  The cat licked his paw, flashing Shep a scathing look. “Some dog have honor, like Honey-friend. You, Shepdog, no honor.”

  Shep growled as he considered things. Here was a big decision, and Callie wasn’t around to make it. That’s good, thought Shep. This will show her that I can be a decider, too.

  He couldn’t leave a dog alone in a wrecked den with no kibble, he just couldn’t, not after everything he’d been through. But the pack would never accept a cat. Right? Cats were … well, not dogs. They were Others; they were strange and solitary and smelled funny. Shep had sometimes watched strays in the alley below his den, hissing and spitting and scratching and screeching — cats were weird, simple as that.

  But this was one cat. A defenseless cat in need of help. And he was a scrawny thing; maybe no one would notice him.

  “Fine,” Shep sighed. “The cat can come, too.”

  Shep hesitated in the doorway. The street shimmered with heat, though the sun was low in the sky and the moon already shone like a ghost near sunrise. He smelled the pack in the alley toward sunset.

  “And I don’t advise we start sniffing around in another building in the dark.” He then lowered his head. “If you’d like my opinion, Shep.”

  “What about the yard?” woofed Honey, stepping out of the shadows. “There’s a little Park behind my building with a stone fence around it. We’d be Outside, but the fence might protect us from a poop bag with jelly strings. What is a poop bag with jelly strings, anyway? Sounds exciting!”

  She trotted into the group, panting happily, her tail wagging, but no one looked at her — everyone stared at the cat.

  Higgins coughed slightly. “Uh, miss, uh, golden mix? Yes?”

  “Goldendoodle! Isn’t that fun? I’m Honey the Goldendoodle! I just love my name.” She flashed her bright eyes at each dog.

  “Yes, dear,” Higgins yapped, “but have you noticed that there’s a cat sitting on your withers?”

  Honey panted. “Oh, yes,” she woofed. “That’s Fuzz. He’s a Maine coon cat. Say hello, Fuzz!”

  “Hello, dog-pack,” Fuzz hiss-barked.

  Every single jaw and tail dropped.

  “Did that cat just bark?” Daisy yipped out the side of her jowl.

  Shep stepped forward. Time to assert some big dog authority.

  “Yes,” he woofed, “the cat barks. And he’s joining our pack.”

  Jaws remained open, but now all eyes were on Shep. Callie flicked her tail to the side, indicating she wanted a private woof with him, but he ignored her. I’m a decider, Shep reminded himself.

  “Fuzz is Honey’s friend, and a special cat, as you can smell.” Shep licked his jowls. “He’s — well, first, he can bark. Which is unusual.”

  “Unusual?” yapped Ginny. “By Lassie’s golden coat, it’s undogly!”

  Shep stood taller. “Unusual or not, he can bark, and we can understand him, which is kind of interesting, in addition to being undogly, right?” He panted lightly, looking each dog in the snout. Cheese waved his tail, and then Boji did. Dover licked his nose. Callie remained still as a rawhide chewie, eyes wide and tail low.


  Shep continued, “And he can catch mice, which will help with the food problem.” He glanced at Honey, who had a dubious expression on her muzzle. The pack caught whiff of Honey’s uncertainty, and tails began to fall again.

  Shep reasserted his stance, chest out and tail high, ears up. “He’s a pet who needs our help,” he barked, loud and clear. “Why should Fuzz be treated differently than any dog we find? Are we going to turn away a pet who asks for help, even if it’s not a pet we’d want under other circumstances? I don’t think that’s the kind of pack we are. This storm has left all kinds in need of help, and if we happen to be the ones who can help them, then I think we should help them.”

  Oscar leapt at Shep’s paws. “Yeah!” he bayed. “This is what it means to be the Great Wolf! Shep even stands up for stinking cats.”

  The other dogs remained still. Honey grinned, her mouth open in a friendly pant, and she waved her tail. Fuzz grimaced, ears back, ready to bolt. Shep wasn’t sure if he should remain strong or loosen up and wag his tail.

  Dover licked his jowls. “Honey, did you say something about a yard?”

  “Yes!” Shep bayed, a little too loudly. “Let’s all head to the yard!”

  “Okay,” Honey woofed, somewhat confused. “Follow me.” She trotted past Shep.

  “Let’s move!” snapped Shep.

  The dogs — out of bewilderment? Because Shep told them to? — followed Honey down the narrow alley along the side of her building. At the back of the building was a stone wall, as she’d woofed. A metal gate hung off the wall, ripped from its fastenings by the wave. Shep swiped it with a paw and the gate clattered to the ground. The pack filed into the yard, glancing warily at Shep as they passed.

  The yard was only a few stretches wide, and was littered with odd bits of trash from the storm, but one corner was sheltered by a fat, old banyan tree. Its massive trunk was surrounded by a cage of roots, which grew down from the tree’s low, spreading branches. Some had walls of bark between the roots and the trunk, forming miniature dens within the shadows.