He stood a few minutes in silence, gazing at the wrecked house. Then he trod carefully over the lawn, kicking up puffs of dust. He set down the glove on the broken front step where the door used to be. He gave it a tentative lick, cleansing it of dust and dirt. Then he took a step back.
The glove shone clean and fragile like a small creature amid the rubble. Mickey seemed to speak directly to it as he whined:
“I am going now. I have to leave you behind and go into the wild to live with the Pack. Everything has changed, and in this world without longpaws, dogs must make their own way.”
Mickey glanced at Lucky, who lowered his muzzle respectfully. He didn’t understand the way the Farm Dog felt. He had never shared a bond with a longpaw. But if it made Mickey so loyal that he would defend their house even after they’d abandoned him . . . well, maybe they weren’t all bad.
Mickey continued. “If you ever come back, you will find this thing, your possession, which you gave to me. It was my favorite toy, and when I played with it, I thought of you. This will prove that I came back to look for you—that I never forgot you or stopped loving you.”
Mickey turned away from the place he’d once called his home. Lucky felt certain he’d never lay eyes on it again.
Lucky led the way along the broad, leafy streets lined with sleeping loudcages. Mickey padded behind him. They stayed in the center of the street, keeping away from the leaning houses, which creaked and groaned. Lucky feared that they might collapse at any moment, just as Mickey’s longpaws’ house had. We need to get out of here as quickly as possible, he thought.
Ears pricked, he listened to the growls and groans of the buildings. He was surprised when he caught a distant rumbling sound, not from the streets or the ground, but from above him. His eyes shot up, searching for rain clouds. The sky was clear and blue, and the air was warm following the showers of the previous night. Even the black cloud had disappeared, its poison ash spewed in dark pools or clinging to trees in the forest. Still, there was a whirr and grumble in the air, and Lucky shot Mickey a worried look.
“Thunder!” barked Mickey, a fearful look crossing his face. “The Sky-Dogs are angry again!”
Lucky needed Mickey to keep calm. He turned to sniff the air. It was dry. “I don’t think so. . . .” Lucky’s hackles rose and his ears twisted, trying to understand the whirring sounds.
Mickey’s tail froze. “What’s that?”
Lucky spun around. High over the jagged horizon of buildings, he could now see something huge, as big as a loudcage, bobbing in the sky. Was it a bird? As he and Mickey watched, another one came into view, darting down lower and hovering above some houses, proceeding with jerky, angry swoops. Their huge wings spun over their heads in circles, slicing the air with a noise like thunder.
“I don’t like it,” Mickey whined. His eyes flicked wildly across the road. “We should get out of here.”
“Hold on,” said Lucky. As the birds looped overhead, they whipped up a wind that tore the leaves from trees and set the dogs’ hairs on end. But Lucky yelped as he saw there was something even stranger about these huge birds. Their bodies were shiny and smooth and they both had deep holes in their flanks where their insides were exposed to the open air.
Lucky could see right inside their bellies!
He craned his neck. Something yellow was moving about in there. The color . . . he knew that color.
Longpaws!
Longpaws trapped inside the birds! It was such a strange sight that Lucky’s eyes had struggled to understand what they were seeing. Now he was certain: Those hostile longpaws with their bright, shiny pelts were barking at one another as they shifted about in the birds’ bellies.
Mickey must have spotted them at the same time. “Longpaws!” he yelped. “What’s that one doing?”
A longpaw in the first bird was edging toward the hole in its shiny flank. He half climbed through, hanging outside in the open air. The bird seemed to help him by dipping to one side so that the longpaw was dangling toward the broken houses, pointing and barking back to the others.
Lucky felt a tremble of uncertainty run through his body. “They’re searching . . . I think.”
“Searching for what?” Mickey asked.
There were three of them now—three huge birds, whirring, their wings whipping up the air around them. One swooped closer, a longpaw still dangling from the wound in its flank. The others dispersed over the city. Lucky could just make out other yellow-furred longpaws pressing their faces against the see-through bellies.
The dogs cowered, their fur blown flat, blinking against the wind that stirred beneath the birds’ wings. One bird stayed overhead, hovering and hunting. But what was it looking for?
Then all three birds veered sharply toward the city outskirts. They dropped lower as they disappeared from view.
“They’re going to land in the forest!” Lucky barked over the receding thunder of their wings. “I think we should follow them and find out what they’re up to!”
Mickey was reluctant. “What if they see us? The birds are carrying those horrible, yellow-furred longpaws. They’re dangerous, Lucky.”
“We’ll keep a safe distance.”
“Don’t you remember how they shouted at us? How they kicked Daisy?”
Lucky did remember. He watched the silhouette of the huge birds whirring lower until he could no longer see them behind the buildings.
“We won’t get close to the longpaws or those birds,” he barked. “But it’s no good ignoring them. We need to understand what they’re searching for. We need to know if they’re a threat. Maybe it will give us a clue to where the other longpaws have gone. It’s a risk we have to take.”
Mickey’s eyes were wide and his black ears were low.
“If you’re sure . . .”
Lucky watched the sky a moment longer, though he could no longer see the great birds in the distance. “We have to do this. We have to find out what they’re up to!” He bolted along the road with Mickey close behind. Their paws pounded against the hard stone of the city streets as they raced back to the forest.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Thorns and long grass tugged against Lucky’s belly as the dogs slunk low to the ground, weaving their way through the undergrowth. He could hear the thrumming of the huge birds but couldn’t see them beyond the thick foliage.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” whined Mickey.
Lucky was worn out from his long journey through no-sun and their escape from the collapsing longpaw house. He didn’t have the energy to argue anymore. He shot Mickey a sharp look and the black-and-white dog lowered his head and followed obediently.
It was easy to locate the massive birds, even when they’d sunk below the tree line. They made so much noise that all the wildlife of the forest scurried away from them as quickly as it could.
Lucky led Mickey through a clutch of low hedges, following the path of a flock of starlings fleeing in terror. Emerging into a clearing, the dogs saw three metal birds settled on the grass. Their wings whipped up a gale that warped the branches of surrounding trees and unleashed a blizzard of leaves. Lucky and Mickey ducked low, squinting against wind and debris. Then the wings began to slow.
“What do you think is going on?” Mickey barked.
As the dogs watched, hunkered low behind the hedge, the frightening yellow-furred longpaws spilled from the birds’ guts. They ran toward the forest, carrying strange, rigid sheets between them.
“They look a bit like longpaw beds,” Mickey whined. “Except without the comfortable thick fur. What are they for?”
Lucky just shook his head. He had no idea.
The birds were resting, their wings turning lazily now as the air grew calmer around them. The high barks of longpaws cut through the air and Mickey yelped. The yellow-furred longpaws who had gone into the forest reappeared, carrying a third longpaw on the bed between them.
Even from this distance, Lucky could see that there was something wrong wit
h him. He was twisted onto one side. Like the other longpaws, his pelt was vivid yellow, but unlike them his face was exposed. His mouth was frothing with yellow spit and his pale skin was waxy. Lucky could smell the metal tang of blood in the air.
“The longpaw is wounded,” he told Mickey.
They looked on, concealed behind the hedge, as the longpaws hurried their injured Pack member to the first bird and slid him inside.
Mickey whined with fear. “That’s horrible!” he yelped. “A beast big enough and fierce enough to eat longpaws whole! They caught a weak one and they’re feeding him to the loudbird!”
“I’m not sure . . . it doesn’t seem to hurt him.” Lucky’s tail twitched and the whiskers bristled at his muzzle. The yellow-furred longpaws were climbing into the bird’s belly. They are choosing to go back inside the beast, Lucky thought. “I don’t know what’s going on,” he admitted. “Maybe we should move on.”
“Yes, let’s.” Mickey whined in relief.
Lucky continued to stare at the loudbird for a little longer. He wished he could understand what it was doing. Why were longpaws always such a mystery?
His ears pricked up and he spun around when he heard a loud rustling not six long-strides behind them. He saw a flash of shiny yellow.
“It’s the longpaws!” he whimpered as quietly as he could, eager not to draw their attention. “The ones who came out of the other birds.”
The longpaws were stalking through the tall grass, dipping down as though searching for something. They were drawing nearer.
Beside Lucky, Mickey pawed the ground, his eyes wild. “Let’s get out of here,” he begged.
Lucky gave a brief nod of his head. Keeping low to the ground, they slunk between the hedge and deeper into the forest. Lucky remembered that there were another couple of yellow-furred longpaws out there that they hadn’t accounted for. They would need to be careful.
The two dogs trod warily through the dense foliage, stepping over stout bushes and pools of ivy. Once Lucky was satisfied that the yellow-furred longpaws were safely behind them, he started to pick up the pace. Keen to avoid the mounds of foul ash he had passed before, he cut a sharp path between the trees, taking a new direction while circling toward the calmer section of the river. He could already detect its damp, earthy scent. They would be able to cross there and put a good distance between themselves and these strange longpaws.
As they reached the bank of the river, the dreadful whirring of the loudbirds’ wings began again. They were much farther away now, but they still whipped up a wind strong enough to pummel the branches of the trees. A moment later the birds rose to the sky, hovering over the forest threateningly before swooping back toward the city.
Mickey whimpered. “I wish we knew where they were going. And if they’re coming back. . . .”
The dogs stood and watched until the loudbirds were dots on the horizon.
Mickey turned to Lucky as they continued their journey through the forest. “Since the Big Growl, everything I thought I knew has changed forever.”
Lucky could only bark in acknowledgment. He was trying to make sense of what they’d just seen.
What were those huge loudbirds, and why did they land in the forest? The longpaws seemed to be looking for something. Lucky blinked back over his shoulder. All those longpaws had that horrible yellow fur. It’s as though they’re from a single Pack. But it was so . . . big. Normally a longpaw Pack is small—four or five at most. Maybe even the longpaws have changed their Pack rules after the Big Growl.
Lucky didn’t know why, but the thought made his fur bristle nervously.
Mickey went on. “The good longpaws have gone and only the scary ones with yellow fur are left, or the ragged, mean ones that bark and spit.” His ears drooped sadly. “None of us Leashed Dogs could have imagined Pack life before. Now it’s the only thing that makes sense.”
Lucky knew where the Farm Dog was going with this.
“I left, Mickey,” he replied quietly. “I can’t go back.”
“Why not?” Mickey whined. “I left too. If we reason with Bella . . .”
“It isn’t Bella we need to worry about.” Lucky suppressed a growl, thinking of Alpha. As much as Lucky wanted to confront the arrogant dog-wolf, he knew that he didn’t stand a chance against him in open combat. Alpha might be a coward in the face of the unknown, but he knew how to fight and kill.
“Alpha will forgive us for leaving,” Mickey countered. “We’re both good hunters. Or we can patrol. You have the best nose of any dog . . . and . . .” Mickey paused. “Don’t you miss everyone?”
Lucky turned back to the path, where a fallen tree trunk blocked the way. He considered the two Packs who’d joined forces. There were plenty among them who he missed, and his tail sank at the thought.
“You can go back, Mickey. Alpha will let you. Not me. . . .”
The black-and-white dog barked in frustration. “You’re so stubborn, Lucky! When will you admit that you aren’t a Lone Dog anymore? You’re a Pack dog; we all are. You need us and we need you!”
Why don’t I just tell him that I was cast out by Alpha? That nobody spoke up for me, or tried to change his mind?
But Lucky couldn’t bring himself to say the words. His tail lowered and shame crept over him. He didn’t want the Farm Dog to know that the other dogs had turned on him.
Mickey’s my friend, Lucky told himself. He won’t judge me. He’ll understand if I explain what happened.
He lifted his head to tell Mickey his story when he caught a sharp new scent.
Fur . . . and skin.
Another dog!
Lucky stiffened, his hackles rising. Was it Twitch? Perhaps he could be persuaded to rejoin the Pack too. He could travel with Lucky and Mickey. . . . But the breeze carried the scent away. Maybe it was an old, stale scent, still lingering.
“Why did you stop? Did you smell something?” Mickey asked.
“No,” Lucky barked, leaping over the fallen trunk and bounding the rest of the way to the riverbank. “I guess I didn’t.”
They were panting when they reached the river. It sparkled, silvery beneath the light of the Sun-Dog. The water was still fresh and clean here, and Lucky and Mickey drank happily.
Mickey yipped. “That’s the tastiest water I’ve ever had! The best, the best!” He pounced on Lucky and they rolled on the leafy earth. It was a relief for Lucky to feel his spirits lighten. For a few moments, he didn’t want to think about anything—not the city, nor the strange loudbirds they’d encountered. Mickey nipped Lucky amiably on the neck. “Urgh! You’re covered in dirt!”
Lucky spun around and pinned Mickey down with his front paws.
“Is that so?” he yapped. “Are you surprised after all that dust from the longpaw house? You think you’re any cleaner?”
He leaned forward as though to nip Mickey, but instead he licked his friend’s muzzle. “What we really need is a proper wash! I hope you’re ready to do more than just drink this river-water.”
Mickey leaped to his paws. “More than ready!” he howled.
Please, River-Dog, thought Lucky. Carry us safely to the other side. He plunged in, feeling the mud and grime fall from his fur. He kicked his paws beneath him, neck craned as he cut across the current, thrilled by the cool water. Mickey swam alongside him, panting happily.
They climbed out onto the sun-soaked bank of the river, catching their breath. Lucky shook himself vigorously. He couldn’t remember when he’d last felt so clean. Mickey started shaking himself too, and as water sprayed in Lucky’s eyes he barked and pawed the ground. The cool water had removed not only the dirt that had clung to their fur, but any last traces of tiredness. Lucky butted his friend’s neck, ready to prance and run through the forest. He felt light and free for the first time since he’d been exiled from the Pack.
The two dogs bounded and jostled until they reached a patch of bushy ferns. Then Lucky paused, sniffing the air. He turned to Mickey. “The way we’re headed, we’ll ha
ve to pass quite close to the Fierce Dogs’ lair.”
Mickey’s eyes widened. “Do we really have to? I managed to take another route and avoid it before.”
“It’s the fastest way back,” Lucky whined. “I did this on the way to the city, and no dog challenged me. It’ll be fine. But we must be quick and quiet, and very careful—just for a while.”
Mickey shivered and his ears flattened. “So dogs are still living there?” He tilted his head in understanding. “It’s a good thing we had our swim. The water probably helped to wash off our scents.”
Lucky wasn’t sure if that was true. Mickey seemed to smell even more strongly now that he was wet.
They padded on in silence, watchful for every cracking twig or crinkling leaf. Lucky remembered the last time he had passed near the lair. He tried not to think about the howls of pain as a dog had cried for mercy. It had sounded gravely injured—it was surely dead by now. Mickey doesn’t need to know about that. . . .
As they curved around the Dog-Garden, Lucky was careful to keep their path upwind, hoping that this was enough to disguise their odors. But when they rounded the top edge of the Dog-Garden, Lucky heard a shrill yelp. He froze, his heart in his throat. Only a dog could have made that sound. He threw Mickey a warning look and they stood still as stones, ears pricked up.
There it was again! A high-pitched yap followed by plaintive whimpers. It was not the sound of a frightened dog but a vulnerable one.
“It’s a pup,” whispered Mickey. “More than one, maybe. . . .”
The Farm Dog was right. This wasn’t the dog he’d heard howling in pain before. Lucky thought he could detect at least two small voices whimpering and whining in terror. He couldn’t hear any grown dogs barking, or any sign that a Mother-Dog was close by.
Pity seized his chest. He longed to comfort the suffering pups. Where were their parents? Why would even the Fierce Dogs allow them to yowl like this without helping them? He shivered as he remembered the desperate yelps he had heard when he’d passed the Dog-Garden on the way to the city. The yelps that he had ignored. Tremors of guilt ran over his haunches. He had forgotten one of his Mother-Dog’s lessons. He had let another dog suffer.