Terror’s eyes bulged, foam flew from his jaws—then with a sucking gasp he went rigid. His whole body began to shake as if in the grip of its own Big Growl. From their place on the roof, Lucky and the other hunters watched, silent and horrified. The Alpha’s head lolled and spittle dribbled from the corners of his jaws.
Terror’s Pack didn’t seem shocked. A hush fell over their whining and chattering and they formed a circle around their leader, backs to him, standing guard protectively as the huge dog collapsed to the ground, his legs buckling beneath him. He lay on his side, rigid, twitching and trembling. Still none of his Pack glanced at him. They gazed out, alert, hackles high, ignoring their leader’s violent spasms and the slaver pooling under his jaw.
“What’s happening?” whispered Snap in Lucky’s ear.
Lucky shook his head, dumbfounded. He’d never seen anything like this. Was Terror dying? But why isn’t his Pack trying to help?
Gradually Terror’s spasms weakened, until finally, with one last jerk, he lay still. His sides heaved and his tongue lolled. Licking the foam from his mouth, he rolled over and stumbled to his feet. He looked pathetically weak, as if he had no idea where he was.
His Pack gathered around him, licking him reverently.
“Terror! You’ve come back to us.”
“You always do. Thank you, Terror.”
“What did the Fear-Dog say? What did he say?”
Terror’s eyes hadn’t changed; they were still wide and glazed and yellow. “Fear-Dog told me . . . we must return to our camp,” he growled, his voice throaty with drool.
“Now?” whimpered the little brown dog.
“Now. Immediately.” Terror swiped a trembling paw at her face, though this time he missed. “He says . . . we are to kill any strange dogs. Kill them all. Kill them on sight. Now go!”
They turned tail and fled, squirming frantically under the fence, Terror lumbering behind them. Lucky saw Twitch pause and glance back over his shoulder. Then he lurched after his new Pack on his three legs.
“Well,” muttered Bruno at last. “That was odd.”
Mickey shivered. “Good thing you had this idea, Bruno, or I think we’d be dead dogs.”
“Agreed,” rumbled Fiery, his tail thrashing. “Well done, Bruno.”
“Even if you did get the idea from a sharpclaw,” added Snap, nudging Bruno mischievously. “What do you think, Lucky?”
“It saved our hides,” growled Lucky thoughtfully. But to him it felt like an uncomfortably narrow escape. First Fierce Dogs, now crazy dogs. And what happened to Terror? Is there really a Fear-Dog who rules the other Spirits, and gives Terror his orders?
The idea sent prickling sensations through his fur. “Let’s get back to the camp,” he suggested, though he dreaded returning without food. What would Alpha say? And what would he say about their encounter with the other dogs?
“I agree,” nodded Fiery. “Alpha will have to hear about this insane Terror, and sooner rather than later.” Hesitantly he poised himself at the edge of the roof, and jumped down onto the wooden structure.
“Do you think he’s really insane?” asked Mickey, paws skittering as he followed Fiery.
“Crazy as a cage of angry sharpclaws,” growled Fiery.
“What happened to him just then?” said Snap. “That thrashing and jerking. It wasn’t natural! Do you think he really spoke to this ‘Fear-Dog’?”
“There’s no such thing,” growled Lucky, wishing he could feel as certain as he sounded.
He gazed out across the meadow toward the forest. It was good to know that more dogs had survived the Big Growl—but what kind of dogs were these? Had their madness come from the Growl, or was that whole Pack infected by the insanity of their leader?
Of one thing Lucky was certain: Terror definitely lived up to his name.
CHAPTER NINE
“What is the meaning of this?” Alpha rose to his paws and snarled menacingly. “Where is your prey?”
The patrol lowered their tails as they slunk back into the ruined Food House. Beetle and Thorn bounded forward to greet their father, Fiery, and Moon’s tail tapped the ground as she pricked her ears, but the rest of the Pack lay still, glancing warily at Alpha, subdued by his anger. The feeble sun cast long shadows across the room. Have we really been away so long? thought Lucky.
Fiery padded forward, giving Thorn’s ear a quick lick in passing. He stood respectfully before his leader. “I’m sorry, Alpha. Things happened that were beyond my control.”
“Explain!” snapped Alpha.
Fiery dipped his head, but Lucky noticed with growing respect that he didn’t lower himself to the floor as the other dogs might have. “We were confronted by a strange Pack. A hostile one.”
“Not the Fierce Dogs?” Alarm flitted across Alpha’s face.
“No. Another strange Pack.”
The gathered Pack growled and whined in astonishment.
“A whole Pack?” Snap’s eyes widened and her ears pricked.
“Yes,” said Fiery quietly. He raised his head to look at his Packmates one by one. “With a mad dog for a leader.”
Alpha’s muzzle curled in disbelief, but he went on watching Fiery intently. “Mad? In what way?”
“Insane,” Fiery told him. “Like a dog with the water-madness”—at this several Packmembers gasped and growled nervously—“but not that. His jaws foamed and he had fits, but he was in control. Very much in control. He rules his Pack with fear.”
Lucky glanced at Alpha. The big dog-wolf was nodding slowly. Again Lucky wondered if he should back Fiery up, reinforce his story and his warning to the Pack. No, Lucky decided. I’ll leave this to Fiery. He has a much better relationship with our leader than I do.
Alpha sneered. “Fear might rule this other Pack, but it did not have to control you! You let a mad dog drive you from the hunting grounds?”
Fiery inclined his huge head, licking his chops. He waited a long moment before answering his leader; to Lucky it seemed that the big dog was only just holding on to his temper. “For now, Alpha. I couldn’t risk our hunters. And this dog’s own Pack is petrified of him—they’d do anything for Terror. They could have killed us.”
“Terror?” asked Alpha, wrinkling his muzzle. “That’s his name?”
“Yes,” said Fiery.
Alpha gave a snort of derision. “I see. Terror the Mad Dog. I suppose you had no choice, but this was a poor day’s work, Fiery. To come back here with nothing.”
“I’m sorry, Alpha,” said Fiery calmly.
“And rightly so,” growled Alpha. “This situation cannot stand. We’ll challenge this brute, but in the meantime”—his voice rose to a howl—“the Pack goes hungry. That’s your fault.”
A note of shame crept into Fiery’s whine. “I know, Alpha.” The big dog glanced again at his pups and at Moon. Obviously, thought Lucky, he felt he’d let his family down. But that’s not fair. It wasn’t Fiery’s doing—it was Terror’s.
Lucky might have spoken up then in Fiery’s defense, but it was too late. Alpha stood up straighter, gazed around the Pack, and gave a sharp, angry bark.
“Not one of you dogs is pulling his weight. Not one!” The dog-wolf, Lucky realized with shock, was glaring at Sweet. “Beta failed too. No food to be found, she tells me. Well, it isn’t good enough! Remember your responsibilities. A Pack is not run for the convenience of one dog, the safety of the few. Pack involves commitment. Pack involves sacrifice. And don’t any of you forget it!”
Again Lucky felt his hackles rise, but he swallowed his annoyance and averted his eyes from Alpha’s glare. No good could come of a fight right now. But this is not leadership! he thought angrily. This is bullying.
“Perhaps,” said Moon softly, “we should move on from here. I don’t think there’s anything to be gained by staying.”
“I think Moon’s right,” said Dart, nibbling a paw with her teeth.
“But at least it’s warm,” whined Daisy timidly. “And we’re protec
ted from that terrible rain.”
“Shelter isn’t any use if we can’t find food,” said Moon, though her voice was kind.
“We can’t travel on empty stomachs,” protested Bruno. Lucky could almost hear his friend’s belly rumble.
“I don’t see any immediate way of filling them,” snapped Spring.
Alpha gave an impatient bark. “We’re certainly not going anywhere before the Sun-Dog rises tomorrow,” he growled. “So get some rest, all of you. You should conserve your energy since we have no food.”
He glared at his Pack, and no dog argued. Slowly, unhappily, each of them padded away to his own sleeping place. Yet Lucky could hear whispered exchanges, and soft, alarmed murmurs.
“More dogs are in the forest. More of us survived.”
“Not more of us . . . strange dogs, hostile dogs.”
“I don’t know what it means.” That was Moon’s quiet whine to Fiery. “But it can’t be anything good. . . .”
It was a long and restless night. In the darkest hours Lucky rose, stretched, and trod a circle, trying to shake the empty feeling inside him; the hollow ache would not let him rest. He licked his chops, longing for one more mouthful of those cold, moldy Food House grains.
He heard Sunshine give a low whimper nearby, and some other dog’s paw scrape the hard floor; clearly every dog was disturbed by the nip of hunger in their bellies. On the metal roof of the Food House, a gust of rain rattled. Daisy’s right. It will be hard to leave a place where we have a roof over our heads. But with Terror in the woods, keeping us away from the prey, we might have to.
Sighing, Lucky shut his eyes. The memory of Terror’s spasms haunted him, and he couldn’t suppress a shudder. What did the crazed dog see when he went into those convulsions?
Is there really a Fear-Dog who speaks to him?
Across the room Fiery’s eyes glowed. Perhaps he too was thinking about Terror, and the choice that lay before them.
Lucky feared he would never sleep, but when he next blinked his eyes open, the Food House was flooded with the pale light of the rising Sun-Dog. Clambering to his paws, he yipped at Snap next to him, and nuzzled Lick’s ear as she stirred.
“Are we moving on?” he asked Alpha. The dog-wolf was already awake and alert, standing at the Food House door and sniffing the air with twitching nostrils.
Alpha took long moments to answer. At last he turned to Lucky, his expression full of disdain.
“No,” he growled softly. “We aren’t. We’re going to start by finding some food around here.”
“But Sweet said—”
“Sweet isn’t a City Dog, is she?” Alpha’s muzzle curled. “You are, Lucky. Or so you keep telling us.”
“I can’t produce food if there isn’t any to be found,” objected Lucky.
“There was once a whole nest of longpaws here,” snarled Alpha. “You know all about longpaws, don’t you? You brag about it—how they used to just give you food. How you could survive on nothing but your wits. Well, Lucky, I want to see if you still have those famous wits.”
Lucky glowered at his leader, baring his teeth. “The longpaws are gone. I live in the wild now. I’m a hunter like you!”
“You’re no hunter if you can’t help feed this Pack,” growled Alpha. “Show me what you’re made of. Find prey in this longpaw-place, or you’ll find yourself demoted back to patrols.”
Alpha turned with a flick of his tail, and gave a summoning bark. “Spring! I’m sending out hunters, and I’m putting you in charge. Choose a patrol and find some food before we leave here.” Without another glance at Lucky, he paced away, claws clicking on the floor. The rest of the Pack was awake now, blinking in a sudden shaft of sunlight that poured through the broken clear-stone.
Spring trotted cheerfully over to Lucky, obviously unaware of his angry exchange with Alpha. “We’ll take Beetle and Thorn,” she announced. “The more hunting experience they get, the better.”
The two pups pricked up their ears and bounded happily to join Lucky and Spring. Behind them, Lucky caught sight of Lick’s disconsolate face. Her ears drooped and her eyes were huge and sad.
“What about Lick?” he murmured to Spring. “She’s good.”
“You’re right.” Spring barked. “Lick! You come too.”
As Lick trotted eagerly forward to join them, Lucky couldn’t help noticing Alpha’s angry backward glance, and he heard the dog-wolf give a rumbling growl. But Alpha said nothing. There’s nothing he can say, thought Lucky. Lick’s earned the right to go hunting, just as much as the other two. He’d be no kind of a leader if he denied a Pack member the chance to hone her skills.
“You lead on, Lucky,” Spring told him as the five dogs trotted out of the Food House into the warm and welcome sunlight. “You have experience with longpaw-places.”
There was no contempt in the black-and-tan hunt-dog’s voice as there had been in Alpha’s, and Lucky shot her a grateful look as he led the patrol down the edge of the hardstone track. “I’ll do that, Spring. Though I don’t know what we’ll find in this deserted place.”
“I know,” she agreed wryly, “but it’s worth a look. And it gives the young ones a chance to stretch their muscles.”
She was right, thought Lucky. It had been wise of Spring to choose the younger dogs for this patrol—and not just for the experience, but because it was so obviously taking their minds off their achingly empty bellies. Beetle, Thorn, and Lick’s ears were pricked and they raised their noses high to sniff the air, but they seemed happy and excited too. Thorn went down on her forepaws to tease Lick, and while she was distracted Beetle leaped playfully at her back. All three young dogs rolled over on the cracked hardstone, giving muffled yelps of delight. Lucky was pleased that Spring didn’t scold them, but only glanced at them indulgently.
“I’m glad they all get on so well,” he told her in a low voice. “Lick doesn’t resent Beetle and Thorn for having their names, and they don’t look down on Lick for not having hers.”
“That’s true,” sighed Spring. “Growing up is so complicated for pups, even ones of the same litter. It’s all about learning to cooperate like real Pack dogs. I remember when Twitch and I . . .” Her voice trailed off wistfully.
Lucky nudged her gently with his nose. “Twitch is all right,” he told her. “He’s found a new Pack to shelter him; that’s the main thing.”
Spring shook her floppy ears. “I can’t help worrying. We didn’t always get along, but he is my litter-brother, and I don’t want him to come to any harm. Or catch this madness from the others.”
“He seemed sane at first,” Lucky reassured her. “I think Terror’s the only truly mad dog in the Pack; it’s just that the others are so afraid of him. In fact, Twitch tried to warn us that Terror was approaching. And I’m sure he wouldn’t stay with him if he felt endangered. . . .”
His voice faded, and he turned awkwardly to watch the antics of the younger dogs. I’m not sure of that at all. Twitch has nowhere else to go. What is his life like, having to keep on the good side of that mad-dog leader?
The silence was broken only by the grunts and thuds and growls of the young dogs play fighting. At last Spring sighed. “How is his leg? Did it look bad?”
“Oh.” Startled, Lucky realized he hadn’t told her. With a shudder he remembered that ugly stump, and the hairless skin that had grown over it. “Twitch’s leg, it’s . . .”
“What?” She pricked her ears, alarmed. “Is it worse?”
“Not worse, he . . .” Lucky licked his chops awkwardly.
“What? Tell me!”
“His leg . . . he doesn’t have it anymore, Spring. It’s been chewed off.”
“What?” Spring came to a halt, shocked. “But why? Is he all right?”
“He’s fine. Really, he is.” Lucky licked her ear. “Actually, I think he’s better without it. That bad leg always did give him trouble.”
“But how does he manage? How does he hunt?”
“He can run; I prom
ise!” Lucky told her. “If anything, he gets around better than he did before. You should have seen him chase us with the others!”
“Really?” Spring tilted her head hopefully and lifted her ears. “Well, I’m glad if that’s true. Though I’m not glad that Pack chased you,” she added hurriedly. She raised her voice in a bark. “Beetle, Thorn, Lick! Stop fooling around now. We’re supposed to be hunting!”
Clearly she didn’t want to think about Twitch anymore, and Lucky was relieved. The priority for the Pack right now was to find food—they could go no farther without it. Shaking Twitch from his mind, Lucky narrowed his eyes and tried to think. How did I find food in the longpaw-place? I have to remember all my old tricks.
He had almost stopped noticing the longpaws strewn on the hardstone and in their own gardens; the scent of death was a constant background odor. There are no longpaws left alive to give me scraps—it’s true; but there must be food here—food that they stored away.
A slight breeze rose, whispering between the buildings and bringing a sound to his pricked ears. Rustling little paws, and maybe a hint of squeaking?
“Here. Behind this building.” He lifted his muzzle and let the scents of the house drift into his nostrils. “I think I heard something.”
“It’s worth a try,” agreed Spring, twitching an ear.
Lucky took a few cautious paces toward the house, sifting the scents of living things from the overwhelming stench of death. “Rats!” he muttered to Spring.
“Yes, you’re right.” Spring’s eyes brightened. “Well scented, Lucky!”
He glanced back over his shoulder. The three young dogs slunk quietly forward, their fun forgotten at the prospect of prey.
“There’s a hole at the bottom of the door; look,” said Beetle, snuffling at it. “With a little flap!”
“That’s too small even for you,” Spring told him. “That’s for the sharpclaws who used to live here. We need to find another way in.”
“Wait a minute.” Hesitantly Lick shunted her way forward between the others, then pressed one paw against the door as if testing its weight. “I think I might be able to break this.”