The Storm Page 9

  Callie must have sensed it, because she glanced at Shep, her head lowered apologetically. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. I just figured that, with how nervous the pack was, I should start looking for another way Out on the sneak, in case the glass didn’t break.”

  They stopped in front of a door.

  Callie snorted, head down and ears floppy. “I didn’t mean to show you up in there. You had a good idea.”

  “I was following your old idea,” Shep woofed. He flicked his tail and panted, grinning. It was hard to stay mad at Callie.

  “We’re a good team,” she replied, tail wagging and eyes bright.

  Shep sniffed the door and drew in the scents of Outside. This door had a metal bar across its middle, like the door in the stairwell. Thank the Great Wolf!

  Shep slapped the bar with his paws and pushed the door open, then stood against it, holding it open for the rest of the dogs. They scrambled Outside into the alley — even Boji managed to hop over the doorway without too much “Oh, dear”-ing.

  Only Dover gave Shep a wag of thanks as he passed. “You’re doing good,” the old timer woofed.

  It surprised Shep how much that kibble of support meant to him. “Thanks,” he managed to yip back.

  The alley was not large, barely two stretches wide and filled with Car-sized square metal bins and piles of shiny black bags. A palm frond three stretches long was wedged against the brick wall not far from where Shep stood. Puddles of rainwater, some infected with shimmering chemicals, covered most of the ground, meaning every dog’s paws were soaked. The small dogs, especially Ginny with her long coat, were drenched to their bellies. Oscar avoided drowning by climbing on top of a black bag.

  From Outside, Shep could see that the dogs’ building was not the only one to have been crushed by the storm. The sunrise side of the building across the street was gone; nothing but a pile of rubble remained. The opposite wall of the alley ended three floors up, but a skeleton of pipes rose several stretches above the jagged edge of the brick.

  The weather, however, frightened Shep more than the broken buildings. Although he could hear rain falling all around and thunder rumbling in the clouds, the sky was clear above the alley. The air was thick with water and still as a stone, though winds roared nearby and shifting air currents twitched his whiskers. The storm had them surrounded.

  “What do we do now?” Rufus whined.

  The dogs, who were huddled in several groups, instantly looked at Shep. They seemed to be waiting for him to woof, like he was their leader. Paws soaked and fur trembling, they all seemed to have forgotten the very idea that pestered Shep like a flea: the fact that he had no clue what he was doing, that he was not supposed to be rescuing dogs, but rather home in his den waiting for his boy — assuming he still had a den to return to.

  A chorus of yapping commenced: “Yeah, it smells like more rain’s coming.” “We’ll be soaked!” “We should never have left our dens!” “Where’s my mistress?” “What should we do, Shep?” “Yeah, Shep?” “SHEP!” His name rang in his ears as the dogs began howling it in unison.

  Zeus appeared beside Shep. His ears pricked forward and his eyes widened. He panted hard. “What have you become, Shep?” Zeus said, his bark dripping with sarcasm. “King of the Yappers?” He nipped Shep’s mane, then trotted over to a pile of bags and began pawing at them.

  Shep wanted to join him. He was hungry and exhausted. He felt like he’d been awake for cycles. He needed a good meal and a soft bed and rest for the next several moons. He had no idea what to do. Why was he here, again? Why did he rescue all these whiny little yappers in the first place? All they did was complain!

  “We have to find a new den before the storm returns,” Callie said. She sat beside Shep, ears twitching. She trembled.

  Shep wanted to make her happy, to keep her safe. He liked being a part of her team. But he was so tired.

  “I know a place,” yipped Ginny. “My mistress takes me to this bright den filled with kibble and soft beds and treats and toys. I get my fur cleaned there by professionals,” she woofed, snout in the air.

  “There’s no place like that,” snapped Zeus. “Humans would never make such a place.”

  “I’ve been there, too,” growled Daisy. She thrust out her bulky chest and strutted up to Zeus. “Ginny’s — snort — telling the truth, so back off.”

  She had no fear, that Daisy. Shep hoped Zeus would stay calm — he didn’t have enough energy to break up a fight.

  Zeus snarled at Daisy, then shifted his stance. “You deal with the yappers,” he grunted to Shep. He shoved Daisy out of his way as he passed to resume his investigation of the black bags.

  Callie watched Zeus leave and sighed with relief. “Chew my rawhide! You dogs seem to sniff out reasons to growl at each other. Ginny, I think that’s a brilliant idea. How do we get there?”

  The whole mess of dogs pressed close to Callie and Ginny, sniffing and rolling and yipping and panting, and ignored Shep. He groaned with happiness at the loss of their attention.

  Ginny trotted out into the street with Callie at her side, and the other dogs raced to follow them. Shep, on the other paw, could barely maintain his loping stride, and he lagged behind the pack. His jaws hurt, and his paws hurt, and he thought maybe he’d injured a shoulder slamming into that indoor tree.

  Nearby, Boji carried little Oscar in her jaws. The pup hadn’t spoken to Shep since Daisy told him about Shep’s “lie.” Shep hadn’t known the pup was from a store. Shep wasn’t even sure what it meant to come from the store, as if a dog were a bag of kibble. He’d only been trying to help when he’d promised to find Oscar’s dam, to get the little dog to move out of the dark. It began to seem to Shep that the more he helped, the more trouble he fell into. Sure, he felt good having freed these dogs, having saved Callie from the grate and the attack bird, but he was also tired of their whining, of the responsibility of keeping them all safe. He wanted to go home. He wanted his own bed. He wanted to be taken care of. He wanted his boy.

  Zeus appeared at his side. “Now we’re following the yappers?” he growled. “What’s next? The big dogs wait while they get first choice of the kibble?”

  “Great Wolf, Zeus,” Shep groaned. “Lay off with the yapper stuff, okay?”

  “Whoa,” he snarled. “Look who’s got a burr in his fur.”

  Shep sighed and licked his jowls. “I don’t have a burr in my fur. I’ve been up all night, I’m hungry, and I’m sick of being yapped at.”

  “Who’s yapping?” Zeus growled. “You calling me a yapper?”

  Shep snorted loudly, then bounded away from his friend. He just wanted to be left alone.

  Ginny, followed by Callie and now Frizzle, led the dogs toward sunrise. The street was littered with glass from broken windows and shards of wood and plastic of all colors. Soggy paper clumped in the gutters. Once, a rat darted out from an opening, only to scurry just as quickly back into the dark.

  Wary of these empty streets, the dogs moved in a tight pack. Daisy lagged behind the rest, huffing and snorting in the humidity. Shep fell in near her at the rear, on the fringe.

  He scented the air. The winds were confusing; first they blew from sunset, then from sunrise. It seemed that the storm wasn’t sure if it wanted to head one way or the other. Rain dripped down in fat drops for a few heartbeats, then stopped. Clouds were bunched in the sky above them like kicked-up bedding. The scent of storm whirled around Shep, masking the smells of every thing else. Not that Shep could have fought off so much as a hungry tabby should anything attack: That was how exhausted he was feeling.

  Shep was grateful that the streets were empty. The dogs were far too small a pack for Shep to feel safe. And even if he’d rescued more, these dogs were all pets; they’d never had to protect themselves from anything more than an advancing floor-sucker. Though Shep himself had battled the floor-sucker many times, it did not compare to what it took to battle the likes of Kaz.

  He shivered at the thought of the
wild dog. When they’d fought in the Park, she’d been fierce, but worse than that, she’d been fearless. She attacked Shep with no thought as to whether she’d survive the battle. She seemed unaware of the danger he posed, or else — and this frightened him even more — she didn’t care. It was as if she were entirely possessed by the Black Dog, like she was the Black Dog himself. Shep had never met a dog who was so thoroughly wild. At least in the fight cage, his opponents had wanted to live as much as he did; a fighter knew what to expect from a dog whose only thought was survival. But to fight a dog who cared nothing for her own life, who fought simply for the joy of her own destruction …

  Shep pushed these thoughts from his mind. The streets were clear. He did not see a bird in the sky or an iguana in a tree. Everything had sought some shelter from the storm. And he was no longer the leader — Ginny was. Let her figure something out.

  “It’s not far now!” bellowed Ginny. She bustled ahead, moving as quickly as her dainty paws could carry her.

  Callie raced beside her, ears up and tail swinging. Frizzle was not far behind, his wing-ears sticking up like flags and waving with each jaunty stride. The others huddled close as they trotted along, glancing warily at the scene around them. Shep recalled how wretched he’d felt when he first left his den. Part of him wanted to bark a woof of encouragement, but then he saw Zeus loping along at the edge of the group and thought better of it. I am not the King of the Yappers.

  Ginny stopped at a building, the front of which was covered in sheets of wood.

  “Where’re the piles of kib, yapper?” Zeus growled. “Where’re the endless rows of beds?”

  Ginny whimpered, sniffing at the wood in one place, then trotting to another piece and sniffing there. “I can smell the kibble,” she yipped. “This wood isn’t normally here, I tell you. Would that dear old Lassie were here to save us!”

  The other dogs began to whimper and whine. Their fear smell wafted into the air, rivaling the stench of the storm.

  “Well, Lassie isn’t here,” barked Callie, “so we have to pull the wood off ourselves. Shep!”

  He winced at the sound of his name, then lumbered to her side. Shep shook himself to try to wake up. His eyelids drooped and his legs trembled from exhaustion.

  “Can you bite that corner of wood?” Callie asked. “If you can, you could pull the plank off the wall.”

  Shep sighed, then sniffed at the corner of the wood. He made a few attempts to dig his teeth into the pulp, but couldn’t get a bite.

  “It won’t work,” he said, finally. “It’s too close to the wall to get a good hold with my teeth.”

  Callie snorted, then began to sniff around for another solution. The winds began to pick up from sunrise, bringing with them the strong salt scent of the ocean. Fat raindrops began to fall.

  “We should head back,” grumbled Rufus, the squaredog. He winced at the tap of each drop of rain on his fur. “We should never have left our dens,” he moaned.

  Frizzle stalked over to the square, gray naysayer. “Hey, dog,” he woofed. “Don’t grumble. Callie will figure something out.”

  Rufus snorted. “Then what? We’ll all be torn apart when the storm comes. And don’t call me ‘dog’ — the name’s Rufus.”

  “Don’t be such a tail dragger, Rufus,” Frizzle snapped, cuffing the squaredog on the scruff with his fangs. “You’re bringing the whole pack down.”

  Rufus growled, but kept his jowls shut. Frizzle strutted through the crowd of dogs, yapping, “No grumbling! If it wasn’t for Callie, you’d all be stuck in the dark with the ceiling crushing your mangy muzzles!”

  Callie snuffled along the wall of wood, sniffing each plank, then pawing at its edges. She stopped in front of one plank and reared against it. She pushed on it a few times and it groaned. She jumped back, cringing. But nothing happened.

  “What are you doing?” yipped Frizzle. “Can I help?”

  “This plank is loose,” Callie woofed. “I think if we push on it, it might fall off.”

  Shep had no idea where she came up with this stuff. He trotted up to the plank and nosed his way between Frizzle and the wall.

  “This is a job for a big dog,” he barked. He began thrusting his front paws against the plank.

  “Wait!” howled Callie.

  The plank squealed, then slid down the wall with a crash, slamming straight onto Dover’s tail.

  The old-timer shrieked with pain and scrambled away from the wood, but was held back by his trapped tail. Shep was horrified. He began digging at the plank.

  “We have to push on the wood!” Callie barked.

  Virgil and Cheese shoved past Shep and jumped onto the plank. The force of their bodies lifted the wood just enough for Dover to free his tail.

  Dover waddled a few stretches into the street, then sat and licked his wound. Boji and Ginny joined him, sniffing and licking him all over. Every few heartbeats, one would look at Shep like he’d just torn the squeaker from their favorite toy.

  “Nice one, Big Nose,” Frizzle yapped, panting, his mouth open wide, splitting his head nearly in two.

  Shep skulked away from the wall, out to the edge of the pack. He crossed the Sidewalk and sat in a patch of muddy grass. He’d hurt a dog, an old-timer at that. He’d only been trying to help. Wasn’t that what they wanted, his help? Wasn’t he the rescuer? The big dog?

  Zeus sidled up to Shep and sat beside him, flank to flank. “See?” Zeus snarled. “You try to do something nice and you get bitten. Stay on the sidelines, brother.” He licked his jowls. “You stick your nose into the rat’s nest and you’re bound to get scratched.”

  Dark clouds scudded overhead; thick rain fell like spittle from the Black Dog’s jowls. Callie remained by the plank, sniffing and pawing at its edges. She peered behind the wood and stuck her snout between it and the wall. The topmost sliver of a wall of glass peeked out from behind the plank.

  Frizzle sat on his haunches near Callie, head cocked, staring at her. “We could hit the wood again,” he yapped. “See what happens.”

  “My thought exactly,” Callie yipped. “I think if we push on the wood some more, the plank might break the clear stuff. It’s already cracked near one of the corners.”

  She wasn’t barking to Shep this time; she was barking to Virgil and Cheese. She didn’t even look at Shep as she explained exactly how she wanted them to push on the plank. It was like she didn’t want his help anymore.

  Shep watched as Cheese and Virgil jumped against Callie’s plank. The wood wobbled and banged against the glass, which began to crunch. The winds helped, pulling on the wood as it bounced from each push of the dogs’ paws. Virgil and Cheese gave the plank a final slam, and the glass shattered. The wood shrieked and fell toward the wall. The dogs scrambled out of the way. The plank crashed through the window, showering the street with bits of glass, then came to rest.

  The plank was now like a wooden tongue protruding from a snarling maw lined with clear fangs. Its bottom lay on the Sidewalk, and the length of it extended through what remained of the window into the building. Rainwater trailed down its surface like slobber.

  Callie stepped out of the crowd of trembling dogs and padded up to the plank. “I think it’s stopped,” she woofed. Just then, the wind whirled and rattled the plank; the wood shivered against the Sidewalk, but stayed in place.

  “That’s my girldog!” howled Frizzle. “She doesn’t just bust down the wall, she smashes the window and makes a ramp for us all to get inside.” He licked Callie’s nose and she squealed with delight.

  Frizzle stood beside Callie like a proud sire — as if he had anything to do with her plan’s success. But maybe he did. Maybe Frizzle was Callie’s new partner. Maybe Shep was no longer needed on her team.

  A gust of wind that felt like it could tear fur from flesh blasted the pack, smacking their pelts with raindrops.

  “We have to get inside!” Callie bellowed. She hopped onto the bottom of the plank and trotted up toward the broken window; the
plank wobbled, but remained in place. She stopped just inside the hole and scented the air.

  “Is it safe?” asked Boji, sniffing gingerly at the bottom of the plank.

  “Is there kibble?” yapped Rufus.

  “Yes!” barked Callie, looking over her tail at them. “And yes!” Then she leapt off the wood into the darkness.

  “Callie!” Frizzle yowled. He raced up the ramp and dove into the dark after her.

  The rest of the pack hesitated at the bottom of the wooden tongue. The rain fell in a torrent; Shep was once again soaked to the skin. Some of the smaller dogs began to whine.

  “It’s amazing!”

  Frizzle’s shrill bark whistled out of the hole. They were alive! They’d survived! There was kibble! Suddenly, all the dogs were clamoring to get inside. Even Boji scrabbled up the creaking plank, belly to wood, all fears forgotten.

  “I’m going in,” Zeus barked. He pushed his way through the crowd of dogs. “I call dibs on first choice of kibble!” he howled.

  Shep waited, not wanting to get any more nasty looks from the other dogs. After every other dog was inside, Shep loped his soggy, sore body up the ramp.

  The plank led into a huge, dark space. By the smell of it, Shep figured it was a hundred stretches in every direction. Above the sunrise half of the main floor, there was an open balcony that smelled strongly of rodent. Bright lights glared from the walls like those that had come on in the hallways of the den-building. They dimly lit row after row of tall shelves, which, from the rustling sound echoing throughout the space, stored bags and bags of kibble. Howls of joy rose up from all around Shep.

  Zeus bounded over to his side, mouth full of jerky treats. “It’s incredible! Treats! Everywhere, there’s treats!” He barked and frisked about like a pup, then raced into one of the rows lined with squeaky toys.

  Shep scented out a row filled with bags of kibble and tore into the nearest one. Just as he swallowed his first delicious mouthful, he heard the scritch of claws on the stone floor behind him.