The Pack (11 page)

“But they'll never agree,” whined Shep. Just the thought of all those dogs barking
“Yay, plants!”
or
“Not until the slobber has dried on my dead jowls!”
set his belly groaning.

“Agree or no,” woofed Callie, “isn't that the kind of pack you started?”

Shep thought about how much he regretted forcing the pack to let the cat join them; he should have let every dog vote on that decision. But the pack had been so small then. He could have guessed every dog's vote before they made it; he would have known what to say to make the idea appeal to each of them. Now, after so many suns and so many new rescues, he didn't even know how many dogs lived in the boat, let alone their opinions. Leaving any decision open to a vote was like chasing a rabbit through water in the dark — he had no idea what he'd end up with.

The rest of the leaders were waiting for him to woof. “Fine,” he groaned. However fur-raising the prospect of letting the entire pack vote was, Shep knew it was the right thing to do.

Shep barked for order that night. It was steamy inside the den and several dogs had to be howled in from where they lounged in the cool evening breeze on the plaza. Once every dog was inside, Shep put the plant issue out for a vote. In a heartbeat, all the dogs were barking and yowling, some simply yelping out of nerves. Shep and the defense team used every dominance trick they knew to get the pack quiet again.

Shep turned to Callie, who sat beside him. “I think that's a ‘no' to plants.”

Callie nodded her snout. “Let them get hungry enough,” she woofed. “They'll be begging for plants in a few suns.”

Blaze found Shep after the meeting. “What was that vote nonsense about?” she yipped as they walked to the lower level.

“That was a pack making a decision,” he growled, tired and not in the mood for a fight.

“I smell you're not happy with the results?” Blaze said, stepping back.

“It doesn't matter if I'm happy,” Shep barked. “It's the pack's decision.” He pulled himself into their den room and curled up in the corner. “Callie thinks they'll agree to eating plants once they're hungry enough.”

“You're the alpha. Why not just tell the pack they're going to eat plants?” Blaze woofed, following him. “Why all this playing around with voting?”

“Because that's how it's done.” Shep wished he had a better retort.

“That's not how it's done where I come from,” Blaze grumbled. “On the beast farm, the master whistles, and the dog obeys.”

“Enough with the beast farm,” Shep snapped. “We're not on the farm, there are no men, and no beasts.”

Blaze's eyes were wide and her ears were flat on her head. “You don't need to remind me of
that
, hero.”

Shep sighed — he hadn't meant to snap at her. Of course things would have been easier if he'd just howled that they were eating plants and that was the end of it. But he was also glad that the pack made the decision. Now, they had only themselves to blame for the lack of plant kibble — if such a thing existed — and when it was offered to them later, they might give it a try. If he'd just forced it on them, they might have revolted. Shep recalled when his boy tried to shove bitter pills down his throat and how angry he'd been and how much of a betrayal it'd felt like. The last thing Shep wanted was to have a boat full of dogs feeling that way toward him.

“I'm no dog's master,” he woofed to Blaze. “We're all equals in this pack.”

Blaze snorted, and curled up in the opposite corner to sleep.

Though Shep was eager to hunt again, over the next few suns he had to devote most heartbeats to helping the defense team ward off an onslaught of Outsiders. Whether it was the concentration of food in the kibble room, or the fact that most of the pack loitered in the shade Outside every sun because it was too hot inside the boat — whatever the reason, other animals had decided that it was a good time to sneak in and cause problems.

Rat attacks were followed by an infestation of bugs the size of Shep's paw. Shep's first plan was to have the big dogs sniff out the insects, then get Daisy and Waffle to chase the bugs into the open where the others could help squash them. This turned out to be a more disgusting plan than he'd anticipated, as the bugs exploded into piles of goo when bitten. Plus, Mooch, Panzer, and Paulie were afraid of the shiny, scuttling invaders.

A few old timers who weren't assigned to a team saw the big dogs retching and cringing, and asked if they could help with the bug hunt.

“We all would love to eat some insects,” yipped an old timer Chihuahua named ChaCha.

“Please!” groaned Shep as he scraped bug guts off his tongue with his teeth. “Eat them all!”

The old timers hobbled and hacked their way through the den in pursuit of their antennae-ed prey. A weepy-eyed poodle named Mr. Pickles nearly choked on one victim. He came sputtering out from under a broken chair with a huge smile on his jowls wheezing, “The old pickle's all right!”

All the old timers seemed grateful to have a job to do.

“It's nice to dig your paws into something,” ChaCha yipped. “Most suns, I feel about as useful as a broken collar.”

When Fuzz heard about the bug hunt, he also offered a paw. The last thing Shep wanted was the meower hissing at him, but Virgil agreed that Fuzz could help before Shep could so much as woof. Much to Shep's surprise, Fuzz seemed as happy as the old timers to scamper after the insects.

“Bugs taste crunchy-good,” Fuzz growled, a thin stick of leg protruding from his short jowls. “Big dogs not understand what food they miss.”

Shep loved being around all the old timers. He couldn't help but wag his tail as he watched them frisk about like pups, yelping “Here's another one!” and “This scrapper's trying to fly!” It reminded him of how nice it'd been when the pack was smaller and less of a weight around his neck. Back when he could just
play
. Back when he was just another dog, and not some all-knowing alpha or mystical Champion. Shep was almost sorry when the last of the disgusting creatures was gulped down.

The next morning, a water lizard was sighted sunning itself on the ramp to the canal. The defense team managed to scare it off with a group barking attack; however, for the rest of the sun, no dog wanted to leave the den for fear of being eaten. By midsun, the mob was moaning about how thirsty they were. Shep thought it might help if the defense team dragged one of the water boats closer to the den, but the team jerked the hull too hard and the boat broke. Water spilled out in a torrent onto the sizzling street. Every dog in the den howled with anger at the loss.

“Now they'll ration water in addition to kibble,” one dog growled.

Sure enough, that evening, Higgins told every dog they were limited to five snoutfuls of water a sun until the next rain. Shep spent that night Outside with Dover, hiding from the pack's hateful looks.
Like I
wanted
to spill the water
, he grumbled to himself.

Then there were the snakes. Huge diamond-backed ropes like the one Shep had uncovered, narrow things like shoe-strings, snakes of every size and color lurked under stones or dropped out of trees. Most were harmless. But one bit a pup on the paw; the poor girldog was dead in a heartbeat. The attack got every dog barking.

“What's the defense team doing to get rid of the snakes?” one dog bayed.

“Forget the defense team,” another grumbled. “Where's our great alpha? Why hasn't he killed the snakes?”

It was as if to distract themselves from their hunger and thirst, they complained about the snakes, or the bats, or the felines caterwauling in the street at night.

“How can my pups get any sleep with all that racket?” one dam whined.

As the griping of some pack members swelled to a dull roar, others' woofs were devoted entirely to the repetition of the Storm Shaker legend. Shep heard it mumbled while he was lapping up his water ration, while he was moving through the stairwell, and during his shift guarding the entries on the crushed floor. Though he still cringed every time he heard it, a small part of him appreciated the silly story. It reminded him that at least at one point, he'd done something heroic. And it was better than a complaint.

The nightly meetings were taken over with whining from one end of the den to the other. Shep's announcements consisted of merely acknowledging every dog's fears and telling them it would all be fine. Shep worried, however, that his barks provided less comfort to the pack than they once had.

“When's the alpha going to start showing these scavengers who's boss?” one dog barked at the end of Shep's speech.

The next night, it was more than one dog barking about an alpha. “If you can't keep the pack safe, maybe we should start scenting for a new leader!”

The third night, there were several dogs bellowing about sniffing out a new alpha. Shep scanned the pack and scented for any strange odors. He identified several dogs who smelled anxious, at least more anxious than the general crowd. Shep marked those scents in his memory, then stood tall.

“I'll have no more barking about a new alpha!” he snapped. “Callie and I and the other pack leaders are keeping every dog as safe and as well fed as possible. If you have ideas we haven't tried, please come tell us. Now back to your dens!”

As the dogs dispersed, he followed the scent of the alpha-barkers. He traced their track into the old food room, which was dark as death and smelled of old kibble gone to rot.

“They're never going to submit,” one dog —
Bernie?
— woofed. “They know we're not seriously going to challenge them.”

“Why do you think that?” growled a girldog who sounded a lot like Blaze.

Shep couldn't believe his ears. He took a careful, quiet scent. He'd been right — it
was
Blaze.

“If a few more of the big dogs join us,” Blaze continued, “we won't have to challenge them. Shep and Virgil can't protect the yappers.”

Shep smelled that there were two others in the room besides Blaze and Bernie. He dropped down from the hall into the food room.

“How could you?” he growled. “And why would you?”

Three of the dogs leapt away from Shep, hitting the cabinets lining the front wall. Shep could smell their fear and shock. Blaze smelled only of herself.

“I can't believe it took you this long to find us,” she snarled.

“
Why
, Blaze?” Shep whimpered.

Blaze moved closer to him, her scent overwhelming his nose. “I'm doing this for you, you big fuzz head.” She licked his nose. “Once the pack overthrows the yappers, it'll be clear for you to take control.”

Shep snapped at Blaze's snout and she shied back, confused.

“We've been barking about you being alpha for suns,” she snarled. “I figured you just needed some help getting going.”

“I don't
want
to be alpha,” Shep growled, “not in that way, not alone. That's not the kind of pack I run. I thought you understood that.”

“The pack you run?” Blaze yipped. “If you run the pack, why is this even a discussion? Stop pretending that the dogs are voting or doing anything other than following your — not the yappers' — rules. Dogs need an alpha. Be the leader you know you are.”

Shep turned his muzzle to the three cringers near the front wall. “Get back to your dens.”

“No!” barked Blaze. “This is our chance!” She leapt out of the rear door-hole, scrambled up to the hall, and bounded into the main den.

Shep chased after her and tackled her mid-stride. Blaze shot him a look full of hurt, like this was his betrayal and not her own.

“Why are you fighting this?” she growled. “Stop hiding behind those cringers!” She rose and began to circle Shep.

“I'm not hiding!” Shep snapped. “We are a
team
. But I guess you can't understand that.”

“Team.”
Blaze spat the bark from her jowls as if it were poison. “There's the alpha, and there are the followers. Your idea of a team is a joke. Who's really making the decisions? Is it you, or is it Callie?”

Shep glanced at the crowd of dogs forming around them. This was suddenly about more than just whether Blaze was right or wrong. Blaze could break the fragile peace that held this pack together.

Shep stepped back. “I won't fight you, Blaze,” he woofed. “But you're wrong. This pack isn't run by an alpha; it's run by all the dogs. We all play our parts. If you don't like it, you're free to go.”

Blaze growled, raising her hackles. She glared at Shep. “That's not how dogs are meant to live. We need one leader to guide us. This dream of all dogs having a say, it's just that: a dream.” She swung her snout at the crowd of dogs. Their numbers were hidden by darkness, but Shep could smell that the whole of the pack was there, ears open.

Blaze turned to them and continued, “You dogs, you can smell I'm right. We need leadership. What do we know of life without our humans? We need a dog to help guide us. And if Shep won't be that dog, then I say we smell out another!”

Several dogs barked their approval. Then some others howled that Shep
was
such a leader. Shep smelled anger in the air. A dog snarled, then Shep heard fighting near the rear of the boat. It was all coming apart. How could he pull things back together?

The lights flared on.

Standing between Shep and Blaze were Oscar, Ginny, and several pups. Oscar howled a strange high-pitched yowl, which was answered by dogs from all corners of the den.

“Followers of Shep!” Oscar bayed. “We know the true lineage of our leader. He is the Champion of the Great Wolf, come to save us in this time of need! He is the Storm Shaker, the true leader! As the Great Wolf shines above us, as the Silver Moon crosses the sky, we know that Shep will shine true and lead us through these times of darkness. As Lassie guided dogs to humans, so Shep will guide us when our humans abandon us.”

“All praise Shep!” howled Odie.

“Shep!” innumerable voices barked. His name rang throughout the den.

Blaze looked at Shep as much in confusion as in anger. Shep looked back at her blankly, not sure what to do. But he didn't have to do anything. Oscar's followers stepped forward, each crawling before Shep and licking his paws. The rest of the pack — confused, scared — followed their lead, and came cringing before Shep.

Frozen there in the unnaturally bright light, with strange dogs bearing their bellies to him, Shep felt just as he had on that first night after his family abandoned him: powerless, scared, and faced with a world he did not understand. Who were these dogs, so willingly submitting to him? Who was this bold pup standing beside him, leading a pack of his own, yet looking up at Shep with adoring eyes? Who was Shep to accept that adoration? This parade of submission?
I am not the Great Wolf's Champion
, he thought, almost as a reminder to himself. His teeth chattered under his jowls.

When the last dog had finished licking Shep's claws, Shep tried to sniff Blaze out, but she was lost amidst the scents of the other dogs. He escaped up the table-ramp to the meeting room, where Callie sat alone in the darkness.

“Did you hear what happened?” Shep woofed.

“I heard it,” Callie said.

“What was Oscar thinking?” Shep asked, as much to himself as Callie. “What gave that little pup the fur to jump into a fight?”

“I did,” Callie barked flatly.

Shep stepped back. “You?” he yipped.

“I've known about Oscar's club since it started,” Callie barked, her voice tired. “It's grown, as I guess you now know. The dogs liked hearing the stories, and they spread like fleas throughout the pack.”

“But you know I hate those stories,” Shep woofed. “I'm not the Great Wolf's Champion. From the beginning, I didn't want dogs telling stories that I was in any way related to the Great Wolf. I want the pack to follow
me
, not some myth. I want to be my own dog.”

“At what cost?” Callie asked. “The pack was set to tear itself apart. You heard them. Blaze was scratching at an itch many dogs have been feeling. You either had to fight her, or find some other way.” Callie licked her front paw. “I knew you wouldn't fight her, so I found another way.”

“But now what?” Shep woofed. “What will the pack think when they find out I'm just another dog?”

“I guess we'll choke on that bone when we come to it.”

Shep lay down. He wasn't sure what to say. Callie was right; something had to be done in that heartbeat, and Shep had frozen. But now what? How was he supposed to act every sun, now that he'd been officially unveiled as the Champion of the Great Wolf? Even thinking the idea made his fur itch.
What will the Great Wolf think of me now, pretending to be what I so clearly am not?

“I wish you'd woofed with me about this,” Shep said, finally.

“What would you have said?” Callie lay facing him, but her eyes stared up at the window. The sky was cloudy.

“I don't want to be their Champion,” Shep whimpered.

“It's not just about what you want anymore.”

Shep lay there in the dark. Callie was right — again. As always. He knew that the pack mattered more than he did. He remembered how he'd felt facing down Kaz. He'd been ready then to sacrifice himself for the group. But the pack itself had been small; he'd known each dog's scent. Now, the pack was so large, he had no idea who was new from one sun to the next. Was he really ready to sacrifice himself for all these dogs, these strangers? Was this really who he wanted to be?