The Storm

  Shep didn’t have the heart to tell her about the empty streets, how every thing seemed abandoned, about the iguanas parading down the Sidewalk, how he hadn’t seen a human in suns. He didn’t want to think about these things himself. How could he tell a poor, trapped old timer that her mistress might never return?

  “She will,” Shep said. “Just curl up and I’m sure she’ll be back in the morning.”

  Shep waited until he could no longer hear the click and shuffle of the old timer’s stride. By the time he turned around, Frizzle was already halfway down the hall, headed back to Higgins’s den. They’d finished the entire hallway, and didn’t have a single rescue to show for it. Shep trotted to catch up with Frizzle.

  “Sad to have to leave her behind,” Frizzle yapped when Shep reached his side. “But that’s the nature of things, right? The Law of the Land — only the strong survive.” Frizzle added an extra swish to his waddle as he spoke.

  Nature didn’t trap that old timer, Shep brooded. But he kept quiet, not wanting to let Frizzle see how much leaving behind the girldog had rattled him.

  Frizzle glanced up at Shep and stopped. “Why’s your tail dragging?”

  Stupid tail! Shep growled at his rump like it had a traitorous mind of its own.

  “It’s not that old timer, is it?” Frizzle’s tail wagged, like he knew he was onto something.

  Shep braced himself for an attack. Frizzle sensed his weakness; Shep knew that any weakness was an opening.

  But Frizzle didn’t attack. He dropped his head, lowered his ears (as far as he could), and wagged his tail.

  “Don’t worry about her,” Frizzle said. “She was just a little scared. And she was an old dog. I give her one, two cycles, tops. Her best suns are long gone.” Frizzle panted happily, as if these points made every thing all right.

  These little dogs confused Shep. Here was a clear opening for a fight and Frizzle didn’t take it. Instead, he tried to be friendly. In an awful kind of way, he was trying to comfort Shep. Frizzle didn’t know about the old timer in the fight kennel; he was just a cocky pup who was trying to be nice. Well, Shep didn’t need his niceness. He was the big dog. He was a rescuer. He didn’t need to be comforted by a know-nothing, yappy braggart like Frizzle.

  “Just because she’s old doesn’t mean she’s worthless,” Shep grumbled. “And if the law is only the strong survive, how do you expect to make it?”

  Frizzle snorted. “Touchy, touchy, Mister Big Nose. Come on. We have to meet up with Callie.” He waddled toward the entry.

  Shep watched the little dog until he turned the corner, then followed. Things were less confusing for Shep when he was alone. Then there were only his needs, only his fears.

  He looked inside Zeus’s den. The crack in the wall was black with wet, and a new crack had scratched its way across the ceiling. A puddle stretched from below the broken window to the open doorway. Small tongues of water licked at the stones of the hall.

  Shep pressed his body to the opposite wall as he passed, as if dipping his paws in the puddle would infect him with the storm’s destruction. The den’s ceiling groaned like it was in pain. A dog howled somewhere above. There were others trapped in this building. Other dogs desperate for Shep to help them.

  I can barely help myself, Shep thought. He looked out the window at the end of the hall — still dark. Thick sheets of rain glittered in the darkness, warping the light from the buildings across the way. The storm’s smell was every where, and when the wind gusted, the pounding of the rain against the glass was deafeningly loud. He’d never smelled anything like this storm. Was there any chance it would be over by morning? How long until he could leave all these yappers behind and go back to his den and forget their problems and needs and fears?

  Callie and Zeus were waiting in the entry room. Callie sniffed the potted palms that stood on either side of the entry doors, while Zeus was collapsed in a pile against the opposite wall. Trembling in the hallway beyond stood a yellowish, medium-sized girldog with a long fat tail, floppy ears, and tapered snout ending in a brown nose. She stared miserably at the single step that led from the hall into the entry room.

  Frizzle scrambled over to Callie and gave her a couple of licks on the nose. “What’s up with the yellow dog?” he snuffled, tilting his head in the girldog’s general direction.

  “I think she’s afraid of steps,” Callie said. “She’s a little nervous about doors and steps. Her name’s Boji, short for Beaujolais.”

  “Nice to meet you, Bo-jellies!” Frizzle barked, tail wagging.

  The yellow dog glanced at him, gave a feeble wave of her tail, then looked back at the step like it might take a snap at her.

  Shep loped over to where Zeus lay, spread out between the blue wall and the counter. Zeus looked at Shep like he was ready to gnaw his own tail off.

  “I don’t know how you put up with it,” Zeus whined. “The incessant yapping: ‘Try it this way,’ ‘Let’s get that door.’ I’m about ready to lock myself back in my den and take my chances with the storm.”

  “I hear you, buddy,” Shep moaned, flopping down beside him.

  Zeus wagged his tail. “The yellow dog is a little off,” he said. “We found one other dog, but his door had some sort of chain holding it shut. We called the Furface over to help, but he had no idea what to do.” Zeus had apparently taken to calling Higgins “the Furface.”

  “We had one snob who wanted to be left in her den,” Shep woofed. “And one old timer girldog who couldn’t undo the lock on her door.” Shep licked his paws, hoping to hide from Zeus how upset he was about the old timer.

  “Good riddance,” Zeus said. “Last thing we need is a pain in the tail purebred and an old yapper.”

  “Yeah,” Shep replied, trying to sound casual. He tried to push from his mind the image of the old timer alone and scared in the dark. Why couldn’t he be like Zeus? He didn’t want to care about these other dogs! But still, the feelings pressed on him like heavy paws. Shep even felt bad about leaving the snobby purebred behind. What if a tree broke her window? She might wish she’d taken Shep up on his rescue offer, but it’d be too late.

  “I smell twelve other dogs,” Callie barked loudly from within a tangle of leaves. “Frizzle says you only found two, which means there are still ten dogs trapped in this building.”

  “I heard a howl from above Zeus’s den,” Shep woofed.

  Callie burst out of the plant and slid to the middle of the entry room. “Then we’ve got to get up there,” she yapped.

  Zeus stood and shook himself. “I don’t care if there are fifty dogs still trapped in this building, I’m going to bed.”

  “I wouldn’t go back to your den, dog,” Frizzle woofed. “Not unless you’re looking to take a Bath.”

  “I’ll go where I want, yapper,” Zeus growled.

  “Fine,” Frizzle snarled. “You smell like you could use a Bath, anyway.”

  Zeus whirled like a wind and snapped his teeth a whisker-length from Frizzle’s snout. The little dog was so startled, he peed.

  Zeus panted as he lifted his head. “Not so tough now, eh?” He loped into the dark of Higgins’s den.

  Callie crept toward Frizzle, tail low. “You okay?” she snuffled.

  Frizzle shook himself. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he grunted. “Big fuzz head. Had to sneak up on me, see that? He knew I’d get him in a fair fight.” He licked Callie on the nose.

  She raised her wagging tail. “Yeah,” she yipped. “I know you would.”

  Callie turned to Shep. “We’d best get moving on finding those other dogs. You’ll help me, right?”

  Shep lifted his head. Callie’s eyes were wide and hopeful, and her little tail wagged back and forth. She panted lightly, mouth open, jowls curled up, and her ears bobbed with each breath. How could Shep say no to that muzzle?

  “Yeah, Big Nose,” yapped Frizzle. “You’ll help us.”

  There it was — the reason to say no. But then he thought of the cracked wall and the ho
wl from above, of that scared old-timer, of how frightened he’d been without food and water. How could he sleep when he knew other dogs were in trouble, feeling desperate and alone? It wouldn’t take too long to check the other floors. And soon it would be light out and the storm would be over and he could go home. Why not help them out this one last time?

  “Fine,” Shep barked. “But how do we get up to these other floors? There’s a stairwell in my building, but I don’t see a stairwell here.”

  The yellow dog began panting and wagging her tail excitedly. “I know!” she barked. “Those metal doors over there.” She waved her nose at the two shiny doors in the wall behind Shep. “They open, and then the box behind the doors goes up.”

  “Brilliant!” yipped Callie. “Can you open them?”

  “I would,” whimpered Boji. “But there’s this step.” She looked down at the step, as if perhaps the other dogs had not noticed its nefarious presence in the room.

  “It’s just a step,” yapped Frizzle. “Just, you know, step on it.”

  Boji’s eyes opened wide, like Frizzle had just suggested she jump in front of a Car. “Oh, dear,” she whined.

  “Just take a big jump,” yipped Callie. “You’ll fly right over that step.”

  “Really?” asked Boji, her tail wagging.

  Callie stood tall and wagged her tail back. “You can do it!”

  Boji closed her eyes and leapt off the top of the step, landing in the middle of the entry room. “Did I make it?” she barked loudly, eyes still shut.

  “You made it,” Frizzle yapped. He leaned slightly away from the trembling Beaujolais.

  Boji opened her eyes. “I did it!” she howled. She did a circular happy dance, tail flopping from side to side. “Bless my treats, that was exhilarating!” She shook herself. “Normally, my mistress helps me with those terrible things. Why do they put those cliffs in the floor? Awful! Ridiculous! Humans can be so silly.”

  Shep was a bit wary of this girldog. He approached with ears forward and eyes and nose open. He sniffed her over, and let her sniff him back. She seemed like a different dog now that she was off the step — very friendly, full of excitement. Her eyes were a soft brown and she smelled good-natured, even toward the little dogs. She was eager to lick Frizzle’s snout, and quickly rolled over to show Callie she meant no threat.

  “About this metal doorway?” Shep asked, once all four had finished their introductions.

  “Oh, yes!” Boji barked. “We just need to push that button.” She leapt onto the wall and slapped at a small, lighted circle. Sure enough, the metal doors slid open, revealing a room barely bigger than Shep’s crate.

  Shep, Callie, and Frizzle trotted into the close room behind the doors, but Boji stayed in the entry hall. She looked down with that same miserable gaze at the metal-lined space in the floor between the entry hall and the small room.

  “Aren’t you coming?” Callie asked in her friendliest, most encouraging bark.

  “Oh, dear,” Boji whimpered. She pawed dubiously at the metal in the floor.

  And then the doors slipped shut.

  Frizzle looked first at Shep, then Callie. “Now what?”

  Shep’s heart began to race. He did not like this small room; he did not like the metal doors that closed of their own volition. Every few heartbeats, winds roared around the little box, like the storm was licking the very walls. Callie trembled violently and crouched low to the floor. Frizzle began to bark hysterically, which made every thing that much worse.

  “Hey! Dog! Bo-jellies! Let us out!” Frizzle yelped.

  They could hear Boji whimpering on the other side of the door. “Oh, dear. Oh, dear.”

  Shep scanned the walls of the room. Next to the metal doors were a bunch of small buttons like the one Boji had pushed to open the doors. Maybe one of them would open the doors back up? Shep figured it was better than standing there, heart racing, yapper yapping.

  Shep reared and slammed his paws against the buttons. A number of them lit up, and the small room jolted to life. Shep fell back on all fours; his stomach felt like it was sinking into the floor.

  “What’s happening?” he cried, cringing against the wall.

  “I don’t know!” squealed Callie. “Make it stop!”

  “I know what this is,” barked Frizzle. “We have one in my building. It’s El Vator.”

  “El what?!” Shep whimpered.

  “El Vator,” Frizzle yapped calmly. “It’s a room that moves from one place to another place.”

  “It feels like we’re going up,” Callie said. She stopped trembling and began sniffing at the metal doors. “The air is moving outside El Vator. And I smell different things with each one of those bings.”

  Shep was trying to keep his kibble in his stomach. These yappers seemed much more at home with this human stuff than he.

  And then the lights went out. El Vator shuddered to a halt.

  Shep dug his claws into the floor. He was too afraid to breathe.

  Two heartbeats. Howling wind.

  The lights returned. El Vator rumbled to life and shot upward again, leaving Shep’s stomach on the floor below.

  “What was that?” he yowled.

  “That’s never happened to me before in El Vator,” Frizzle moaned.

  El Vator slowed, and with a final bing, stopped completely. The metal doors slid open. Frizzle and Callie raced out, but it took Shep a heartbeat to catch his breath. Just as he was about to follow them, the doors began to slide closed. Shep leapt off his hind legs and bounded out of El Vator. The doors slipped shut, catching a few hairs off his tail.

  Shep stared at the closed metal doors, sucking air like a thing half-drowned. “We are finding another way back down,” he growled. “I am not stepping paw in El Vator again.”

  Frizzle and Callie flicked their tails in agreement.

  They stood in a hall similar to the ones on the entry floor, only this one didn’t have an entry room with clear sliding doors opening onto the street. This made sense, assuming Callie was right and El Vator had taken them up.

  “Which way first?” Frizzle asked, sniffing the air down one of the halls. “It smells musty.”

  “Let’s split up,” Shep barked. “Frizzle, you sniff that way. Callie, you and I can cover this hall.” He wasn’t about to get stuck hearing about Frizzle’s imaginary fights for another length of hallway.

  Frizzle set his little jaw, like he was about to protest, but then he turned and began snuffling along a door frame. Shep heard him grumble to himself under his snorty breaths.

  “I’ll take this door,” said Callie, trotting up to the nearest one. “You start on the next.” She sounded disappointed and kept glancing over her tail at where Frizzle had gone.

  Shep walked to where Callie was sniffing. He didn’t want to bully her into dropping that Frizzle like a spitting cat, but he hoped to point her to the right scent (not Frizzle’s), like the old timer had done for him back in the fight kennel.

  “That Frizzle seems to like you quite a bit.” He kept his bark as calm as possible.

  Callie’s ears pricked forward. “You think so?” She grinned. “He smells like a sun-warmed bed, doesn’t he?” Callie bent her nose back to the door and took several deep sniffs. “This one smells empty — wait, there’s a rodent of some kind. Or maybe a cat who just ate a rodent? Nope — rodent, I’m sure. We’ve really clicked, you know?”

  “Who? You and the rodent?” He hated when his conversations with Callie got all twisty.

  “No, silly fur, Frizzle.” Callie trotted to the next door and Shep followed.

  “But how can you stand that little yap — dog?” Shep grumbled. He sniffed the gap below the door: no dogs.

  “He’s very, I don’t know, up?” Callie replied, flicking her tail at the thought. “He’s so excited about every thing. It’s how I felt getting to run on the streets this morning. Like the whole world was full of good things for me.”

  Shep had to agree that Frizzle was definite
ly an “up” kind of dog. Only Shep found Frizzle’s incessant yammering and ridiculous fantasies of every thing as going his way annoying.

  “Are you sure he isn’t” — Shep dug for the right word — “crazy? All he barks about is fighting and I’m pretty sure he’s never so much as sniffed another dog’s rump.”

  Callie cocked her head. “Are you jealous?”

  Shep instantly started to backtrack. “Jealous? Of what? You and Frizzle? No. I mean, you’re a yapper. I’m a big dog. The rescuer.”

  “Then why are you growling about Frizzle and me getting along?” Callie sniffed a door. “Ferret.”

  “I just think there are other kibbles in the dish, you know?” Shep woofed. “Better kibbles. Ones that don’t yap constantly about fighting.”

  Callie snapped at Shep’s ruff. “Worry less about my kibbles and more about what’s in your own dish.” She trotted to the next door.

  Maybe Shep was a little jealous of Frizzle. Not about Callie, but about his being so “up.” Crazy as Frizzle was, he seemed happy. Shep had to admit, it would be nice to feel like the world was full of good things for him. Right now, the only thing he felt was like every thing in his world either hurt his teeth or yapped at him.

  “I think I found one!” Callie yipped.

  Shep joined her and scented the den: a big dog, older. The dog smelled nervous.

  “Dog!” Shep barked. He heard shuffling claws on the floor — long hair, a mid-weight dog, lighter than Shep.

  “Hi!” said the big dog. “My name’s Wensleydale.”

  “What kind of name is that?” yipped Callie.

  “It’s a cheese,” answered the dog. “I’m an English setter and it’s an English cheese.”

  “Well, Wednesday-dale, Wellesley —” Shep began. Couldn’t something be easy? he grumbled. Bad! Think positive!

  “You can just call me Cheese, if you’d like,” woofed the dog.

  “Well, Cheese,” Shep said, feeling like maybe this thinking positive had some fur on it, “I need you to look at the door. There’s a paw on it called a knob.”

  “Oh, yes,” Cheese said. “I know about these things. It’s just that this door is so heavy. I can’t get it open.”