The Pack (2 page)

As the pack wound its way through the jumble on the street, Shep began to scent just how much the wave had changed things. Every surface it had touched smelled of salt, and every puddle tasted salty and did nothing to quench a dog's thirst. The higher the sun rose and the hotter it got, the worse the problem became. By midsun, the pack was woozy from thirst and hunger.

Higgins licked his bushy furface to try to moisten his nose. “My snout,” he whined, “I can't smell anything over the stench of salt and rot.”

Rufus pawed at an overturned bucket. “We'll never find any food in this place,” he grumbled. A shell with skinny legs and jagged pincer arms scrambled out from under the bucket and into the muck clogging a sewer grate.

“What was that?” Rufus cried.

Cheese loped to Rufus's side, then sniffed the grate. “That was a crab,” he woofed as he lifted his long ears out of the tangle of leaves and trash. “They live at the beach. Why would a crab be here, away from the beach?”

“The wave smelled like the beach,” barked Shep. “Maybe the crab came with the wave?”

Daisy shoved her stunted nose into the heap on the sewer grate. “Is a crab food?” she yapped.

“I'm not sure,” woofed Cheese.

Daisy lifted her snout. “Then let's not —
snort
— waste time barking about it,” she snapped. “If I don't get a bite of kibble soon, I'm going to get growly.”

Like she's not already growling
, Shep thought.

More strange creatures — alive and dead — littered the streets. A long, green-brown thing like the neck of Shep's family's floor-sucker slithered under a slab of stone. Something else that resembled a scaly human kibble-plate with eyes and a flat tail flopped in a shrinking puddle. Blue sacks of air, like blown-up poop bags, sat on tangled strings of jelly. Shep didn't want to try eating any of them — if they
looked
that odd, how good could they possibly
taste
?

The weirdness factor, however, only made Callie all the more curious. She trotted right up to one of the bags and gave it a lick.

“Ooh, Shep, it's salty!” she yipped, tail waving and ears up. She hopped aside, offering a lick to any dog who wanted, and stepped on one of the jelly strings.

“And it bites!” cried Callie, leaping off the string. She desperately licked her paws to get them to stop stinging.

“Every dog!” Shep barked. “Back away from the poop bag!”

The pack startled. The dogs looked around their paws anxiously, searching for an attacking bag of poop, then began to scatter in different directions.

“What poop bag?” yipped Ginny, shuffling directly toward the thing.

“That blue balloon!” snapped Shep. But Ginny trundled directly onto the bag and caught her paws in the jelly strings.

“In Lassie's name, get it off me!” she yelped. Ginny stumbled back and tripped over Callie. The two girldogs rolled snout over tail into a mound of sand.

Shep couldn't help but pant as Ginny — all fluff and flailing paws — tried to right herself, and repeatedly smacked Callie in the snout.

“Would some dog offer a paw?” grumbled Callie as she winced away from Ginny's writhing rump.

Shep nudged Ginny with his muzzle and she got her paws under her.

“Let's agree that we'll stick to eating only the kibble we know,” Shep woofed. “No more sampling of the poop bags, the scaly tubes, or anything that smells like the wave.”

Oscar sank into a sagging sit. “But every thing smells like the wave,” he groaned.

“We'll find some fresh kibble, pup,” Shep yipped, licking Oscar's head.
Great Wolf knows what we'll do if we don't….

Cheese swung his long snout up at the stone building across the street. “The wave didn't reach the rodent floor,” he said. “Maybe the dens on the upper floors of that building stayed dry.”

Higgins strutted to Cheese's side. “Could be worth checking,” he barked. “Better that than stumbling around on poop bags that bite.”

The dogs picked their way to the front of the squat building. Three rows of windows glinted on its face. The first level of the building had been drenched by the wave, but the upper levels seemed untouched.

Virgil snapped his teeth around the knob and, with one tug, pulled the entire door from the wall. He fell back, barely avoiding being crushed by the falling plank.

“What's wrong with the door?” he cried as he scrambled to his paws.

Callie sniffed the sodden door frame, which had buckled and broken from the single tug. “We have to be careful,” she barked. “The whole world has changed. Things won't work the same as they did before the storm.”

Shep nosed his way into the dark beyond the door. He stood in a dank hallway. The hall extended back into the building, and a staircase directly in front of him led up to the second level. Paper peeled back from the walls, curling down like giant leaves above him. Shep scented several distinct dens on the first floor, and more above.

“We need to find what kibble we can before the whole building collapses,” Callie snuffled behind him. “Tell the pack to split up, small dogs with big.”

Shep turned. “Higgins and Cheese, and Dover and Rufus, you cover this first level. There might be some food the wave missed. The rest, follow me and Callie up the stairs.”

Boji pawed at the doorway. “Perhaps Oscar and I should wait here?” she woofed, tail waving hopefully.

“Smells good to me,” Callie yipped. “You stay here and keep watch.”

Boji's ears pricked up. “Watch? For what?”

“Anything,” Shep woofed to her. “Everything.” He licked Boji's snout and pawed Oscar's ear. “Bark and we'll all come running.”

The second level was darker than the first, as the only light shone through one thin window in the building's front. Shep felt the building shiver when the wind gusted, and the floorboards groaned with the dogs' every step.

Shep split the teams up — Virgil with Ginny and Snoop with Daisy. Shep and Callie took the doors toward the back of the building; Shep figured that, as leaders, he and Callie should be brave and check out the dens farthest from the light.

As Shep and Callie moved into the shadows, they discovered that the back half of the hall had collapsed. Only one door was accessible, and it was already open, thanks to a large chair that was jammed into the door frame. Callie shoved her way under it to check the inside while Shep waited in the hall. The misplaced chair meant the wave had reached the upper levels, too. Shep's hopes sank — could any of the food have survived?

“The food room's been trashed,” Callie said as she trotted out from under the chair.

Shep sniffed the pile of rubble that used to be the hall. “This stuff smells unstable. I don't think we can get to any other doors.”

“Maybe we don't have to,” Callie barked. She pawed at the wall, digging her claws into its surface. The paint crumbled and a small hole appeared. She scratched again, and a bigger chunk of wall fell out.

“Things don't work the same as before,” woofed Callie, “but that's not always a bad thing.”

Shep joined her in digging, and soon they had scratched a large hole through the wall to the den on the other side.

Callie squeezed her way into the den, and Shep stuck his head through the hole after her, flattening his ears to avoid a snarl of wires inside the wall. The den was dimly lit by windows along the opposite side of the room. The salt smell of the wave covered most surfaces, though Shep also scented fresh kibble, untouched by the salt.

Callie barked from farther inside the den, “The Bath room has fresh water in the big white bowl!” Shep heard a splash.

Desperate for a drink, Shep jerked his shoulders and wriggled his chest to fit through the hole. He tumbled into the den just as Callie emerged from the Bath room, muzzle moist with fresh water.

“There's kibble over that way,” Shep woofed as he struggled to his paws. He raced to the Bath room and lapped up as much water as his stomach would bear.

When he was finished, he found Callie dragging a kibble bag across the floor. She spotted Shep and dropped the bag, panting with exhaustion.

“Good news —
pant
— the bag smells fresh,” she managed. “But where's the dog who was supposed to eat it?”

Shep's tail drooped. He scented the air. “Not here,” he woofed.

Callie slumped to her haunches. “How are we going to do this?” she sighed.

“Do what?” Shep woofed, padding over to his friend.

“Survive,” she snuffled. “We haven't even been Out side for a full sun, and already we have stung paws, only one bowl of fresh water, and a single bag of kibble.”

“I thought you found all this roof-falling-in-on-our-backs stuff exhilarating,” Shep woofed, teasingly.

“That was before every thing became so hard,” Callie groaned.

Shep licked her nose and wagged his tail. “We'll think of something,” he said, grinning. “Or, better yet, you'll think of something and I'll nose every one into doing it.”

Callie smiled. “Go team,” she woofed in a goofy bark.

 

Shep dragged the kibble bag behind him as he and Callie climbed down the stairs. The others were waiting in front of the doorway, their tails wagging. A small pile of different kinds of human kibble rested on the collapsed entry door.

“Can you believe our luck?” yipped Rufus. “I smell cheese in one of the bags!” Drool dripped from his silver snout.

Callie nipped Shep's shoulder as he was about to step Outside.

“Drag the bag past Higgins,” Callie snuffled, “and tell him to start dividing up the food.”

“Why can't we all just dig in?” woofed Shep.

“Because if we do that, the dogs are going to stuff their snouts. There's not enough, even with this bag, to fill every dog's belly.” Callie cocked her head as if waiting for Shep's thoughts to catch up with her own.

Shep looked at the kibble, then at the dogs. What Shep had considered a small pack suddenly seemed enormous.

“Okay,” Shep groaned. “But why Higgins? I think I should divide the food. I am, after all, the big dog here.”

Callie flapped her ears around her head, frustrated. “What do you know about how much kibble an Airedale needs versus a pug? A young pup versus an old timer?” Callie stood tall, but her ears drooped, like this was more barking than she thought necessary on the issue. “Higgins has done research on this stuff. He'll be fair.”

Shep considered arguing with her, that Higgins was a bit of a tail dragger himself, but he didn't have any better ideas. And Higgins did know about breeds, a concept that Shep had a weak bite on at best.

Callie snorted impatiently. “I make the decisions on this team, right? So just follow my scent on this.”

Shep was startled by her sharp tone. “Fine,” he grumbled. “But Higgins better give me that old bone I see peeking out.”

“You're the big dog, Shep,” Callie woofed, flopping from the landing down onto the street, “not the Great Wolf accepting offerings.”

Shep barked Callie's orders accordingly, first privately to Higgins, then to the whole pack. Higgins puffed up like a Ball at being given such an important job, and began at once calculating the rations each dog should get. Some dogs grumbled — Rufus (of course) and Ginny, who claimed to be on a special “high-fiber” diet — but Shep reminded them of what Callie had woofed, that this was a new world with new rules.

“One of those rules is that we share all our kibble, and it's divided fairly,” Shep barked. “Don't worry,” he said, somewhat more gently, “no dog's going to starve. We're all packmates.”

They ate quietly in a tight ring of paws, each dog facing into the circle so that they looked at each other, and not at the wreckage of the world around them. Strange sounds reverberated off the buildings and streets. Bird cries carried from far away — or were they the shrieks of more buildings collapsing? As the clouds turned deep orange in the setting sun, every dog huddled closer into the circle.

After eating, the dogs took turns running up the stairs to get a drink from the bowl Callie had sniffed out. Every dog was so parched, even Boji swallowed her fear and scrambled up the steps, eyes firmly shut until she reached the top.

Shep stood near the hole in the wall to direct every dog to the right place. Callie's snappish tone bothered him like a sore tooth — he just kept tonguing it, over and over. Yes, she was the thinker, but did that mean that he
couldn't
think? Was he allowed to make
any
decisions?

Virgil paused near a second staircase, which led up to the third level. “Did any dog check up there?” he woofed to Shep.

Shep loped to the stairs and gave them a sniff. “Doesn't smell like it.”

Virgil gave off an odor of nervousness.

That door almost crashing on his snout must've made him skittish.
“I'll give it a quick scent,” Shep yipped. “We can do a more thorough search in the morning if I catch a whiff of any kib.”

Virgil smelled relieved. “I'll take up your post here until you return,” he barked.

Decision made
, Shep noted to himself.

He padded up the creaking steps. The third-floor hall was identical to the one below, dimly lit by the same front window, but now that it was evening and Shep was alone, the place seemed much spookier.

Shep sniffed the door frame at the top of the stairs, nearest the window. There was a strong scent of dog; one was either trapped inside the den, or had been until recently. The only problem was the splintered beam that lay between Shep and the knob.

Shep pressed the beam with his forepaw. The wood groaned, and sodden scraps of ceiling material dropped onto Shep's back. Then the whole section of wall — door and all — crumbled into the den with a crash.

Virgil barked up the stairs, “You all right?”

“I'm fine,” woofed Shep, shaking flakes of wall from his snout. He coughed to clear the dust from his lungs, then sprang over the wreckage and into the den.

Everything inside smelled of salt from the wave. Mud lay thick on the floor. The dim light of the late sun filtered through the gauzy window cloths, which billowed out from broken windows. A moldering couch and cracked light-window stood at opposite ends of the room.

“Hello?” Shep woofed. “Is there a dog in here?”

A cat sprang from behind the couch, screeching like an old Car, and bolted down the den's dark hallway.

Shep sniffed the couch and confirmed that, at least before the storm, a dog had also lived in the den.

He loped into the den's food room to check if it was worth coming back up here for breakfast. It was not: the food room was a wreck. A mist of tiny flies hung over a bowl of rotting fruit on the counter. The cabinets had already been opened and scavenged, perhaps by the mangy cat. The room's outer wall had been torn away by the wave and the cold box had fallen through the floor. Shep stood on the lip of floor that remained and looked down at his packmates, who'd gathered in the street.

It struck Shep that this was the first time since he'd left his den that he found himself alone. Only the creaking of the building and the whisper of his own breath tickled his ears. The quiet felt strange, though only a few suns before, Shep had lived a solitary life with his boy. How quickly his mind had adjusted to the constant bark and banter of the pack. Then again, Shep was used to radical changes — he'd gone from fighter to wild dog to pet, from the safety of his boy's room to the violent chaos of the storm.

Shep sighed. He'd better check the remaining rooms to smell if the dog had survived, then join the others before it was completely dark.

“Fuzz said we had a visitor.”

A golden girldog stood in the doorway to the den's main room. Her wispy fur was matted in places, but Shep could tell that in better times, she'd been well cared for. The scrawny cat he'd seen before sat on her back.

The girldog padded closer, her fluffy tail flapping. “You smell like a nice dog,” she woofed. “I'm Honey!”

“Who's Fuzz?” Shep asked, wagging his tail.

“Fuzz is Fuzz,” the cat spat in a sort of half meow, half bark.

The fur nearly sprang from Shep's back.
The cat speaks dog!
“You taught him to bark?” Shep snapped at the girldog.

“Fuzz is my friend,” Honey woofed. “I know it's not supposed to be done, but I wanted to bark with him, so I taught him a few woofs. He taught himself the rest.” She grinned and waved her tail.

Shep sniffed the girldog, scenting for crazy. She'd violated the most basic code: A dog never spoke to another species, not ever. Dogs barked with dogs. Anything else was like woofing to your kibble: a sign you were four paws in the hole and going under.

Why did Honey even want to bark with the bony thing? Shep could smell maybe woofing to a fine hunting cat, but this meower looked heartbeats away from splintering like a cracked window. The cat had been hit by the storm harder than the girldog. His black fur was so matted it stuck to his skin. His spine stood like a line of hackles along his back, and his hip and shoulder bones jutted up like small ears.

“Well, I'm Shep,” he said finally, “and I'm here to help you.” He explained about the others, about how they'd survived the storm.

Honey listened, becoming excited as Shep barked, her tail wagging harder and harder. “Oh, Fuzzle!” she woofed. “We're saved, just like I told you!”

“How go with Shep-dog and he friends mean we saved?” the cat hissed. “You have food, Shep-dog? You have safe den to sleep?” The cat's strange eyes — glowing green orbs split with black, as if torn by a claw — glared at Shep.

Shep did not address the cat; he spoke only to Honey. “I won't force you to come,” he said, “but you might be safer with other dogs, safe from wild dogs and the like. I can't promise anything, though.”

Honey panted gently. “Don't mind Fuzzle,” she woofed, glancing back at the cat and licking him on the nose. “He's a worrier. We'd love to join your pack.”

We?
“Sorry,” Shep woofed, “no cats.”

“Why not?” Honey asked, her head tilting.

This girldog was looking at him like he was the crazy one, but clearly she was the one who'd grown fur on her brain. “He's a
cat
,” Shep barked. “A cat can't be a part of a pack of dogs.”

Honey's tail drooped. “Then I can't go with you. Fuzz is declawed, defenseless. I'm his only hope until our family returns.”

“Well, declawed or not, he can't be in my pack.” Shep glanced down through the floor-hole at his friends. “We're tight on food as it is. No one's going to want to share his kibble with a cat.”

“If that's how you feel, then I don't even
want
to be a part of your pack.” Honey's tail stood high and her proud eyes glared into Shep's own, unafraid and unwavering.

The cat licked his paw, flashing Shep a scathing look. “Some dog have honor, like Honey-friend. You, Shep-dog, no honor.”

Shep growled as he considered things. Here was a big decision, and Callie wasn't around to make it.
That's good
, thought Shep.
This will show her that I can be a decider, too.

He couldn't leave a dog alone in a wrecked den with no kibble, he just couldn't, not after every thing he'd been through. But the pack would never accept a cat.
Right?
Cats were … well, not dogs. They were Others; they were strange and solitary and smelled funny. Shep had sometimes watched strays in the alley below his den, hissing and spitting and scratching and screeching — cats were weird, simple as that.

But this was one cat. A defenseless cat in need of help. And he was a scrawny thing; maybe no one would notice him.

“Fine,” Shep sighed. “The cat can come, too.”

 

Shep hesitated in the doorway. The street shimmered with heat, though the sun was low in the sky and the moon already shone like a ghost near sunrise. He smelled the pack in the alley toward sunset.

“What are you waiting for?” Honey woofed, sticking her head Out beside Shep's.

“Shep-dog waiting to see if maybe Fuzz get eaten by snake before meet dog-pack.” The cat hissed at Shep from his perch on Honey's back.

Why couldn't Fuzz have been a nice cat, a friendly cat, a cat that didn't make you want to bite his bony neck in half? There might have been some chance of convincing the others with a nice cat. With Fuzz, Shep just hoped Callie didn't eat him before he and Honey could scramble back to their den.

In the alley, the pack was moaning about sleeping arrangements.

“Are we sleeping Outside?” whined Oscar. “I don't think I can sleep Outside. Those poop bags could use their jelly strings to strangle me in my sleep!” His tail was set firmly between his legs.

“Don't be silly, pup,” barked Ginny. “No dog of my breeding sleeps Outside like a common mutt.” She stood and shook her fur. “Where
are
we sleeping?” she woofed to Shep as he approached. “And don't say this tottering pile of stones.” She flicked her muzzle at Honey's building.

Virgil shifted on his paws. “I agree,” he grunted. “And I don't advise we start sniffing around in another building in the dark.” He then lowered his head. “If you'd like my opinion, Shep.”

“What about the yard?” woofed Honey, stepping out of the shadows. “There's a little Park behind my building with a stone fence around it. We'd be Outside, but the fence might protect us from a poop bag with jelly strings. What
is
a poop bag with jelly strings, anyway? Sounds exciting!”

She trotted into the group, panting happily, her tail wagging, but no one looked at her — every one stared at the cat.

Higgins coughed slightly. “Uh, miss, uh, golden mix? Yes?”

“Goldendoodle! Isn't that fun? I'm Honey the Goldendoodle! I just love my name.” She flashed her bright eyes at each dog.

“Yes, dear,” Higgins yapped, “but have you noticed that there's a cat sitting on your withers?”

Honey panted. “Oh, yes,” she woofed. “That's Fuzz. He's a Maine coon cat. Say hello, Fuzz!”

“Hello, dog-pack,” Fuzz hiss-barked.

Every single jaw and tail dropped.

“Did that cat just bark?” Daisy yipped out the side of her jowl.

Shep stepped forward.
Time to assert some big dog authority
.

“Yes,” he woofed, “the cat barks. And he's joining our pack.”

Jaws remained open, but now all eyes were on Shep. Callie flicked her tail to the side, indicating she wanted a private woof with him, but he ignored her.
I'm a decider
, Shep reminded himself.

“Fuzz is Honey's friend, and a special cat, as you can smell.” Shep licked his jowls. “He's — well, first, he can bark. Which is unusual.”

“Unusual?” yapped Ginny. “By Lassie's golden coat, it's undogly!”

Shep stood taller. “Unusual or not, he can bark, and we can understand him, which is kind of interesting, in addition to being undogly, right?” He panted lightly, looking each dog in the snout. Cheese waved his tail, and then Boji did. Dover licked his nose. Callie remained still as a rawhide chewie, eyes wide and tail low.

Shep continued, “And he can catch mice, which will help with the food problem.” He glanced at Honey, who had a dubious expression on her muzzle. The pack caught whiff of Honey's uncertainty, and tails began to fall again.

Shep reasserted his stance, chest out and tail high, ears up. “He's a pet who needs our help,” he barked, loud and clear. “Why should Fuzz be treated differently than any dog we find? Are we going to turn away a pet who asks for help, even if it's not a pet we'd want under other circumstances? I don't think that's the kind of pack we are. This storm has left all kinds in need of help, and if we happen to be the ones who can help them, then I think we
should
help them.”

Oscar leapt at Shep's paws. “Yeah!” he bayed. “This is what it means to be the Great Wolf! Shep even stands up for stinking cats.”

The other dogs remained still. Honey grinned, her mouth open in a friendly pant, and she waved her tail. Fuzz grimaced, ears back, ready to bolt. Shep wasn't sure if he should remain strong or loosen up and wag his tail.

Dover licked his jowls. “Honey, did you say something about a yard?”

“Yes!” Shep bayed, a little too loudly. “Let's all head to the yard!”

“Okay,” Honey woofed, somewhat confused. “Follow me.” She trotted past Shep.

“Let's move!” snapped Shep.

The dogs — out of bewilderment? Because Shep told them to? — followed Honey down the narrow alley along the side of her building. At the back of the building was a stone wall, as she'd woofed. A metal gate hung off the wall, ripped from its fastenings by the wave. Shep swiped it with a paw and the gate clattered to the ground. The pack filed into the yard, glancing warily at Shep as they passed.

The yard was only a few stretches wide, and was littered with odd bits of trash from the storm, but one corner was sheltered by a fat, old banyan tree. Its massive trunk was surrounded by a cage of roots, which grew down from the tree's low, spreading branches. Some had walls of bark between the rope of root and the trunk, forming miniature dens within the shadows.

“It's perfect,” Oscar woofed, marveling.

Shep watched as the pack wound its way into the sheltered dark and snuggled close to the trunk. Callie appeared at his side.

“Bold move,” she woofed, her bark cold.

“I'm sorry I didn't bark with you about the cat,” Shep replied, “but I thought I'd lose the pack if I stepped aside.”

“I just wish you'd woofed about this rescue idea with me beforehand. I'm all for saving dogs, but now we're supposed to rescue
all
the animals we find?”