Survivors: Alpha's Tale, Page 3

  “Fierce Dogs!” Brave gave a bark of horror, spinning on his haunches.

  Dog released his jawful of fleece and turned to face the newcomers. There were four of them. So much for Quick’s “one old dog”!

  “Brave’s right,” barked Wise. “Fierce Dogs! They’re Longpaw Fangs!”

  Strong and sleek, their black-and-brown hides burnished and their ears trimmed to sharp, erect points, the Fierce Dogs seemed to be all white savage teeth as they raced across the field.

  “Fangs?” barked Dog, aghast.

  “Longpaw Fangs! The longpaws use them as weapons.” Wise was backing off, the sheep abandoned, but it was already too late. The Fierce Dogs were on them, cutting the wolves off from the sheep flock as easily and skilfully as the wolves had separated the sheep.

  Dog backed away as one of the Fierce Dogs launched itself at him, and he rolled onto his flank in a desperate effort to dodge its ferocious teeth. Its comrades were a blur of polished black and brown fur, their claws and jaws raking and tearing through the wolves. For all the wolves’ discipline and teamwork, they were scattering and panicking before the onslaught.

  The Fierce Dogs seemed to know exactly how to divide the hunting party, shattering all the wolves’ attempts to form a defensive line. Quick rolled and lunged for a Fierce Dog’s belly, but the creature dodged with slick efficiency and lashed out a savage paw, sending him tumbling away from the other wolves. Dog couldn’t even go to his half brother’s aid; he was faced down by a snarling dog too big for him to pass, its paws planted determinedly on the grass. Its lips curled back right to the gums, displaying terrifyingly long teeth, and it was stalking forward with death in its glinting eyes. Somewhere to his left he could hear Brave’s high panicked barks as a Fierce Dog drove him back.

  “Retreat!” barked Quick. “Retreat!”

  Dog needed no second telling. This was a mistake! With a last snarl at the attacking Fierce Dog, he backed and spun, lowering his tail to flee.

  Brave and the others were running too, tails tucked between their legs, but Dog suddenly skidded to a stop, snapping his head back. “Where’s Quick?”

  The others didn’t even pause to listen. Brave was already scrabbling back under the fence and Wise had simply leaped the fence in his panic, crashing against the top rail but catching it with his forepaws as he fell back, then scrambling desperately over.

  Dog turned, his tail quivering. The Fierce Dogs weren’t giving chase. Ignoring the fleeing hunters, they were hunched over a gray figure on the meadow, snapping and tearing.

  Dog felt his shoulders stiffen. Quick!

  He could see blood spattering as the Fierce Dogs tore at his half brother, all their attention on him now that the other wolves had fled in disarray. They’ll rip out his throat!

  Dog bunched his muscles and sprang into a run, back toward Quick. His paws pounded across the level meadow and he didn’t even take a breath to bark, so when he slammed into the nearest Fierce Dog, it was taken completely by surprise. It tumbled and he rolled with it, snarling and biting. The others jerked back from Quick, stunned.

  Quick’s legs flailed as he fought his way back onto all fours, panting, bleeding from deep scratches. There was a light of terror in his eyes.

  “Run, Quick!” barked Dog, just as the first Fierce Dog recovered, sprang upright and flung itself at him.

  Quick needed no second telling. Bushy tail pinned tightly between his hindquarters, he fled toward the fence. As Dog made to follow, he heard the snarling breath of the Fierce Dogs behind him. They were all focusing on him now, and he felt claws rake his haunches.

  Dog staggered. He swerved, recovering, and veered back toward the fence, but the Fierce Dogs were even more organized than he’d expected. Two of them were coming at him on each flank now. Desperation gave him a burst of speed, and he caught Quick’s yellow eyes, staring from the other side of the fence. Quick made it, at least he made it out—

  “Dog, faster!” His brother’s howl rang in his ears and gave him extra strength, but an instant later it was drowned out by a distant bang.

  Dog’s paws slid sideways as fear clenched his heart. That was a loudstick!

  The other wolves knew it, too. They were all running away from the fence now, even Quick, dashing for the trees and for safety.

  Wait for me, wait!

  A massive blow struck him. One of the flanking Fierce Dogs had barreled into him, and he was flung sideways, his balance lost altogether. An instant later he crashed to the ground, landing awkwardly on his flank, and he felt a blinding pain in his skull. A Fierce Dog plunged onto him, fangs bared, holding him down with its big, heavy paws.

  He lay, stunned, waiting for the killing bite, but it didn’t come. The world had blurred, and the smells of the air and the meadow made no sense. Even the birdsong sounded distorted, and the panting breaths of the Fierce Dogs as they sniffed at him, and the scratch of their claws on the earth.

  “Is it wolf or dog?” The voice sounded distant and echoing, even though he felt the hot breath of the dog against his ear.

  “He smells like both.” The second growl was harsh and rasping. “We should kill him, then.”

  “No.” That was a third voice, one that sounded crisper than the others, and more commanding. “Wait for the Rancher.”

  The Rancher. A longpaw.

  Terror rippled down Dog’s spine, but not even that could make his muscles work. Blackness rushed up on him in a great tide, and he could only lie there limp on the grass as it swallowed him.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The light hurt his eyes. Dog thought bright hot sunshine was streaming onto him, and for a moment, his head full of fog and pain, he didn’t understand. Am I outside my den? Why?

  He blinked; even that small movement hurt. Slowly his eyes adjusted, and he realized the light wasn’t so bright after all. It was dim, in fact—sunlight filtered through cracks in wood.

  Wood. Not stone. I’m not in my den.

  He lay on his side, sprawled on something scratchy, but he wasn’t cold. His nose twitched, finding dry dust that made him sneeze. That hurt, too. Managing to lift his head just a little, he saw that there was straw beneath him; it prickled through his fur and caught between his paw pads.

  Dog’s nostrils flared again, reaching beyond the dusty straw, and his hackles lifted. The scents were strange. There weren’t the usual Pack smells of familiar wolves, milk-warm pups, and last night’s prey. He couldn’t smell sagebrush or juniper or pine resin, only the overwhelming stink of horse and sheep hide, metal, and sawn wood. And worst of all, longpaw. His nostrils were full of the stench: longpaw sweat and skin and fur, and other sickening odors that were altogether strange.

  As he twitched his muscles and stretched his limbs, he discovered that he wasn’t badly hurt. Time to go, Dog. Get out of here.

  He rolled onto his belly, crouched flat, and pricked his ears as he glanced around.

  He could focus again, his vision clear and sharp. He lay in some kind of longpaw den, full of straw and the odors of strange animals, but a square of light glowed at the far end of it. That was his way out, then. There was a low wooden fence in his way, but that could be leaped. Beyond the opening in the den, Dog could see a hazy blue line of hills in the distance, jagged with trees. Yearning swept through him, a ferocious need to be running free with his Pack.

  Dog hunched his shoulders, set his jaw, and sprang for freedom.

  Something around his throat jerked him back in midair, then slammed him to the hard floor with a clatter of chain. A jolt of fresh pain shot through his skull and Dog gasped, his eyes swiveling, tongue lolling. For long moments he lay, shocked, sucking for breath.

  No!

  Dog scrabbled to his paws and pulled once more toward the open landscape, straining all his muscles, but the thing that held him crushed tight around his throat.

  Collared! I’m collared!

  His Mother-Wolf had told him about these evil things. Longpaw-mischief! Extending his long claws
, Dog dug them under the hide strap that was locked around his neck. There was barely space to get two claws in, but he managed, tearing and tugging, trying to bite and snap at it. It was no use. Dog turned, desperate.

  The collar was fastened to a thick chain, and the chain was locked to a stout post that stood in the straw. That was the secret, then. Dog bit on the chain, gnawing, but he realized right away that was useless. He could not afford to break his fangs, not when he was held captive among enemies. Turning with a snarl, he attacked the post instead, tearing at it with his teeth. He could break wood; he often did, ripping apart a branch, relieving his feelings about some new insult from a Pack member.

  But this wood was different. As his jaws sank into it, they met hard metal that made his gums shudder. He recoiled at the taste inside his mouth, and tried again. No. There was metal inside the wood, making it as unyielding as the chain.

  A cold flood of panic went through his bones. This isn’t happening. It can’t be.

  Something moved in the square of light, the gap that taunted him with freedom and the open sky. Dog blinked and narrowed his eyes. The shadow moved again, and suddenly he could see it clearly: the slender, powerful shape of a Fierce Dog.

  Dog’s muscles tensed until they were quivering. He pulled back his lips and showed his teeth as the young female stalked forward to the pen, watching him coolly.

  If she’d come to taunt him, she’d get a jawful of abuse in reply. They were all so alike, the Fierce Dogs, with their shining coats and their slender muscles, but he was sure he remembered this one from the battle. However young she was, she was also savage and powerful, and he was sure those teeth had sunk into his flank.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked.

  Dog blinked, and gave a low distrustful growl.

  “Well? Do you have any bad wounds?”

  Dog gave a snort of contempt, but he glanced back at his right hindleg. “One bite. Otherwise, just scratches. If I hadn’t hit my head on that stone, you’d never have brought me down.”

  She tilted her head, as if she was amused at his ferocious pride. “Of course not. You’d have defeated us all, I’m sure, and flown home with your wolf wings.”

  Dog glowered. “Why didn’t you just kill me?” he snarled.

  “I have no idea.” She gave a casual flick of her pointed ears. “It was the Rancher who brought you in. He’s the one who put the collar on you. And he must have a reason, because the Rancher doesn’t keep anything he doesn’t have a use for.”

  Beneath his fur, a shiver ran down Dog’s skin. He didn’t want to be of use to the Rancher. Was the longpaw planning to eat him?

  “Well,” said the Fierce Dog, “there’s water in your pen.” She nodded toward two large metal bowls he hadn’t noticed, tucked in the corner of the pen. “And some food. You might as well eat and drink.”

  “Why would I trust you?” Dog sniffed suspiciously at the strange dry nuggets that smelled a little like meat. His snout moved to the other bowl. That was far less resistible, and there was no hint of a taint in the clear cold water.

  Suddenly Dog realized how thirsty he was; his throat ached with it and his gums were sticky. Hesitantly he dipped his jaws to the bowl, and took a few laps. It seemed pure, even if it didn’t taste quite like a mountain stream. He lapped at it again, then raised his head, his muzzle dripping. He licked his chops.

  The Fierce Dog was sitting back on her haunches now. “What’s your name? I assume you’ve got one. Mine’s Calamity.”

  Dog eyed her, his tongue lashing his jaws again. Already he felt stronger, after a drink. There was no way he was going to tell a strange and hostile Fierce Dog the Name his Pack had given him, the Name that was a snide joke to most of them. This one was a dog herself, and he didn’t want to claim any kinship with her, however distant.

  “What kind of a name is Calamity?” His voice was edged with scorn, but he knew he was stalling.

  Again Calamity’s ears flicked dismissively. “It’s not any kind of a name, it’s just a name. My first longpaws gave it to me, when I was at the training farm.”

  Just a name? What kind of attitude was that? “That doesn’t make sense,” Dog told her stiffly. “A Name is everything. A Name is what you are.”

  “All right. Tell me what you are, then.” Her expression grew sly. “What’s your name?”

  “My Name’s none of your business.”

  “That’s a really funny name.”

  Dog bristled. “You know what I mean. And I don’t have to tell you my Name.”

  “Suit yourself.” Calamity pricked an ear forward, looking thoughtful. “Well, I’m not barking Noneofyourbusiness every time I want to call you, so I’ll have to give you a name. I’ll call you Wolf.”

  Dog stiffened. For a horrible moment he thought she was mocking him, just as his Pack would. Then he realized: No. That’s what she truly thinks I am.

  He wasn’t a true wolf, but Calamity didn’t know that—or she didn’t care. If he thought about it, it was almost funny.

  With a conscious effort, Dog flattened his hackles. “Go ahead,” he growled. “Call me what you like. It’s not as if I’ll be here for long.”

  Calamity eyed him, her expression a little supercilious. “All right, Wolf.”

  She got to her four paws and turned toward the open doorway, but she didn’t stalk out. She tilted back her head and gave a volley of deep, resonant barks.

  For a little while there was no response, and Dog began to be amused at her pointless summons. But she didn’t bark again. She just stood there patiently. He’d have expected her tail to flick at the tip, but he saw with astonishment that she didn’t have one—only a small stump.

  Another shape appeared at the door, this one tall and upright on two legs. Dog froze. The longpaw. The Rancher. Despite himself, he felt his tail fall between his hind legs, and his ears lowered with fear.

  The Rancher walked forward to the pen and put a long paw on Calamity’s head; she glanced up at him trustingly, but he didn’t look at her, only at Dog. Trembling, Dog stared back into his eyes. They were crinkled in the longpaw’s sun-beaten skin, and there was a sharp intelligent light in them. Dog’s hide tightened and his leg muscles shivered. Something about the Rancher told him that escape from this place was not going to be easy.

  There was fur on this longpaw’s face that was the same color as his own Alpha’s, and that made Dog wonder if this was an Alpha longpaw. He certainly seemed to be the Alpha of these Fierce Dogs. He wasn’t quick on his feet and he didn’t look sleek and muscled, but Calamity was still gazing up at him, submissive, her eyes warm and soft, and when he uttered a strange longpaw word, she tucked her haunches swiftly under her and sat.

  The Rancher leaned over the pen fence as Dog shrank back. Craning his furred head, he studied Dog’s face and his legs and his flanks. Dog could feel his keen eyes roaming all over him, and it made his hide itch.

  Once again the Rancher patted Calamity’s head, and growled some unintelligible longpaw words. Calamity gave a soft whine that sounded like agreement. She turned her head to gaze at Dog with, he thought, exactly the same expression as the longpaw.

  Dog’s haunches were pressed against the wooden wall at the rear of the pen; there was nowhere he could go, no room to back farther away. If he comes into the pen, what do I do? Attack him? Try to get past, and run for the hills?

  But the Rancher didn’t come in. He made one more coughing sound, gave Calamity a final pat on the head, then turned on his heel and walked out.

  Dog didn’t understand. Was the longpaw going to leave him here, a prisoner? Why? Misery and helplessness rose in his rib cage, threatening to choke him. All he could do was tip back his head, and give a great despairing howl.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The food in the bowl was not like deer or rabbit, and it tasted strange, but by the time the unseen sun went down and the sky dimmed to blue gray, Dog was ravenous. If he was going to give his captors the slip and run far away from here, he k
new he had to keep up his strength. So he mouthed a few of the dry nuggets, wrinkling his muzzle with distaste at first; then he found himself crunching them down faster and faster. He’d gulped the whole bowlful before he realized he’d done it.

  He was lapping at the water bowl again, the dry meat having given him a raging thirst, when he heard the click of claws on a timber floor. Four dogs, he realized, pricking his ears forward as he drank. Slowly he raised his dripping muzzle.

  “That’s about all you can hunt, isn’t it, Wolf?” The dog in the lead’s lips wrinkled back in a sneer. “Food from a sack.”

  Another of the Fierce Dogs gave a bark of laughter. “No wonder his Pack abandoned him. He’s not much of a wolf at all, is he?”

  Dog stared at them, cold with loathing. Calamity was with them, though she said nothing.

  “Let me out of this pen,” he growled, “and I’ll show you what kind of a wolf I am.”

  “Oh, you’ll be out of there soon enough.” The leader took a pace forward, sniffing disdainfully at the fence. “You’re one of us now. Get used to it.”

  “I’m not one of you.”

  “You will be,” grunted the second dog. “The Rancher wants it, so that’s what will happen.”

  “That’s if you don’t want to be put down,” added the leader.

  Dog narrowed his eyes. “Put where?”

  All four of them laughed this time. “Put nowhere, just put down forever! Put down so you’ll never get up again!” barked the leader, showing his fangs. “With the loudstick.”

  A ripple of fear shuddered through Dog’s hide.

  “So,” went on the leader, when Dog did not reply, “we’d better introduce ourselves. I am Sundance, and I’m the Alpha of your new Pack. Don’t ever forget it. This is Zorro”—he nodded at his second in command—“and these two are Belle and Calamity.”

  Dog’s eyes caught Calamity’s. Hadn’t she told them, then, that she’d already been in here talking to him? “Those aren’t proper Names, and I don’t need to know them. I’m not going to be part of your Pack. My own Pack’s coming back for me, with a lot more wolves.”