The Empty City (6 page)

He woke with a start.
Sweet!

No. Sweet wasn't here now.

And it was a dream. The Storm of Dogs had been nothing but a dream … except that it had felt so real. Sounded and smelled so real. Was it hunger-madness, or was it worse than that—a vision of something that was yet to come …?

Nonsense
. He couldn't afford to think of such things. Tired and stiff and sore, Lucky recognized the hiding place he'd crawled into last night. It smelled of hot metal, of tanned hide and the strange juice the longpaws fed their loudcages. The Sun-Dog was shining, but he still missed the warmth of Sweet at his back. The loneliness felt like a great stone in his belly. For a moment he wanted to bay his misery out loud to the empty blue sky.

He didn't know where he was or where he was going. Perhaps even a Lone Dog sometimes needed a traveling companion: someone to hunt with, sleep beside, someone to watch his back. Someone he too could protect.

No
. He walked
alone
, and he liked it.

The heat in the loudcage was growing stifling, his hunger unbearable. Slinking out, he glanced once in each direction, then set off hesitantly down the side street. And just at that moment, something black took off above his head with a clatter of wings.

Pausing to pant and lick his dry chops, Lucky stared up at the crow; it didn't fly far. It flapped and perched on a broken metal pipe that led down from the roof of the longpaw home. There must have been water caught there, because it dipped its black beak to the pipe and drank. Then it cocked its head and eyed him directly.

It was just like the crow that had flown out of the tree yesterday, warning Lucky to be careful. It might even be the same one.

Don't be silly. All crows look alike!
Lucky scolded himself. Still … that crow yesterday had appeared at just the right moment, or he'd have run headlong into the jaws of the Fierce Dog. Maybe it had been sent by the Sky-Dogs to warn him; it certainly seemed to be watching him very closely. He raised his gaze to the bird's, and yipped with respect.

It tilted its head to the other side, gave a caw, and flapped lazily away.

Half-sorry to see the bird go, half-glad it wasn't staring at him any longer, Lucky set off again, taking a shortcut through the narrowest of alleys and emerging onto a broad avenue. On either side were large longpaw homes that had crumbled into piles of dust and rock. The power of the Big Growl was displayed here for any dog to fear.

One longpaw house had had its roof sliced off. It now lay in front of it like a scrap of unwanted food. Two trees tilted crazily against each other, as if they were trying to wrestle. Around the next corner, another longpaw house had collapsed in on itself, and Lucky stiffened, backing away, his hackles rising and skin quivering. The smell of death was strong here.

Distracted and unsettled by the scent, Lucky stumbled over a hole in the ground, jarring his sore paw. As he tried to lick it better, a sound burst from the city silence that made him yelp with shock and dash for cover, forgetting the throb of pain. The noise was like a loudcage, but different—deeper, a resounding growl. Peering out from his hiding place between two tipped spoil-boxes, Lucky shivered and watched the street as the rumbling roar grew louder and louder—and stopped.

If this was a loudcage it was an Alpha. He had never seen one so huge and threatening, its flanks a dull green metal that looked strong and indestructible.

A door creaked open, and a longpaw stepped out.

Lucky felt his heart quicken. Had the Big Growl changed even the longpaws? Because this was like no longpaw he'd seen before. It moved like a longpaw, and smelled—vaguely—like a longpaw, but it was covered from top to toe in the strangest fur that Lucky had ever seen—a bright yellow that made Lucky's eyes water. Its face was blank, black, and flat.

There were tremors in Lucky's skin, but he was almost certain this was a longpaw. And who was to say it was a hostile one? He'd long ago discovered you couldn't tell with longpaws. A dog just had to approach with caution, and not be too proud to run away if necessary.

He crept from his hiding place, slinking low to the ground with his tail tucked between his legs, and looked beseechingly up at the blank, eyeless face. The longpaw didn't immediately kick him, so Lucky let his tongue hang out hopefully, and pricked his ears.

It glanced down at him. There was no food in its thickly covered hands, only a strange stick that beeped, so things did not look promising—and sure enough, the longpaw muttered some words in its language and swiped its arm, a gesture that Lucky knew meant,
Go away
.

It didn't sound very welcoming, but it didn't sound very hostile, either. It certainly didn't try to collar him with a long stick, so it couldn't be from the Trap House. Lucky gave it a hopeful whine.

It waved him away again, its tone harsher.

Certainly it was a longpaw, because it spoke like one, but there was no way of smelling its intentions beneath that strange fur. And Lucky couldn't read that eyeless face.
I guess I should give up
. He turned around, and loped back into the alley. It was strange. He'd sensed neither friendliness nor hostility from the longpaw—just a deep nervous tension. This wasn't the way that longpaws normally were.

The sound of the loudcage rumbling back into life sent fear down his spine again, and he ran, heading for the center of the city, where he knew most longpaws prowled. He tended to avoid these particular streets if he could. Usually there was nothing but noise: the constant growl of loudcages, longpaws barking at one another. But as he approached, the only thing Lucky heard was the moan of wind between buildings, the drip of water, the creak and groan of roofs, and metal bent to the breaking point.

In front of him the road was covered with tiny glittering pieces of clear-stone, and Lucky stopped. He knew he couldn't afford another cut paw. Instead he looked up at the building that had shattered in the Growl.

It had once been made of huge sheets of clear-stone; now its face was open to the still air. He started when he saw longpaws staring from the base, but then he remembered that these were fake longpaws, with no smell, no warmth, no movement. Cautiously he paced between them, sniffing at their brand-new furs; even those didn't smell of longpaw. Some of them had been stripped of their fur and knocked sideways, but they weren't hurt. They stared at him, empty-eyed.

Lucky slunk warily between the stiff and lifeless longpaws, but their eyes didn't blink and their skin smelled of nothing. This place was what they called their
mall
. Longpaws—real ones—had gone in and out of this building all the time, he remembered. Sometimes they'd carried food, but they'd never stopped to give him any. And when he'd tried to saunter in and find the Food Houses for himself, he'd been chased out by other longpaws, who all wore the same blue fur. He remembered all too well having to dodge their kicks.

But there were no angry longpaws to stop him now!

Lucky sniffed. Once this place had been a confusion of scents: cold air that blew like a constant wind through the rooms; strong unpleasant odors that the longpaws sprayed on themselves; strange sharp smells smeared on the floors by longpaws with long wooden poles that ended in a ball of rags. And there had been the new-made scent of untouched things set out for longpaws to gaze at. Those smells had mostly faded, and the clingy warm air of Outside had forced its way in. That, and the death-smell that haunted the whole city. Lucky shuddered. He had never smelled so much death in one place before; even the Earth-Dog would be offended by so strong a sense of ended lives.

He shook himself free of the horror. There was more than all that. There was
food
!

It smelled stale and maybe a little spoiled, but Lucky didn't care. Keeping a nervous eye open for the longpaws in blue, he made his way farther into the building. There were more broken clear-stones here, littering the smooth, shiny floor, and he was careful to avoid them, but he couldn't help staring at the deserted longpaw houses within the huge mall. Some seemed untouched; others had been stripped bare. In some places, piles of longpaw stuff lay abandoned. Lucky could smell both longpaw and dog, but the strong stench of fear and desperation overlaid both. His neck prickled.

Ah!
he thought, pausing to sniff at a ransacked heap of bags made out of some kind of old preserved skin. They were polished, and not fresh, but the smell was strong and familiar. Longpaws carried their things in bags and pouches like these. Perhaps this was a place where they kept their precious things—like burying bones! They left them here, piled together, and came back for them later. Was that it? Longpaws had been here since the Big Growl, he was almost certain, taking the things away; he could see scuff marks on the floor from their covered feet. Apart from the skin-pouches, and some of the furs, nothing else looked familiar. The smell of food was growing stronger, so Lucky headed toward it, taking little notice of the racks of sparkling longpaw collars and studs, the scraps of longpaw fur hanging on plastic hooks, the stacks of paper and boxes. He even caught sight of a row of small imitation dogs, as unmoving and lifeless as the strange-smelling longpaws at the front of the building.

The rich scent of food was coming from above. Hesitantly he put his good paw on a ragged metal hill that led upward. It seemed to bear his weight, so he took a step or two farther; then he was suddenly too hungry and eager to be cautious. Taking a deep breath, he bounded up as fast as he could. There were grooves on the metal hill that felt odd beneath his paw pads, especially the wounded one, but he made it without mishap to the top.

And drew to a stop.

That wasn't only food … there was a dog-scent that seemed familiar, too: a musk of well-known sweat and skin and breath.

Old Hunter!

Lucky's heart leaped. He could hardly believe there might be friendly company ahead; there was no one he'd be happier to see right now. Lucky dodged and slunk through the longpaw sitting-boxes and small tables spilled across the floor as he followed his nose. The food-scent was strong now, reminding him of those things the longpaws ate—meat chopped up and made into round shapes like flattened balls; the discs that were smothered in tomatoes and cheese and spicy chopped meat. The smells were stale and old, but his chops watered just thinking about the prospects.

Clambering clear of the last tangle of longpaw sitting-boxes, Lucky stood and sniffed. There were openings in the wall, but they were covered by metal shutters. In one of the gaps, though, the metal was torn sideways, sagging, and it smelled strongly of meat. Lucky would have bolted straight for it—if it hadn't been for the low growling coming from below the counter.

But there was nothing to fear. If he'd been unsure about the smell, the tone of that growl had definitely convinced him.

Happily Lucky sprang up onto the counter, wobbling a little on his sore paw.

“Old Hunter!”

Lucky leaned down on his forepaws and lowered his shoulders and his head, opening his mouth and panting. Even if Old Hunter was a friend, it was best to look unthreatening.

Old Hunter's blunt muzzle was slightly curled as he stared up. He rose, standing tall on his powerful legs, and growled.

Then he sprang for Lucky's throat.

Lucky yelped in shock as he
tumbled backward under the big dog's attack. Old Hunter stood over him, snarling. Lucky made himself lie still and submissive as drool from Old Hunter's jaws dripped onto his muzzle. Lucky whined softly, and a light of recognition dawned suddenly in Old Hunter's eyes.

“Lucky?”

Feeling a dizzy wave of relief, Lucky thumped his tail eagerly. The big stocky dog above him stepped away, relaxing and pricking his ears. He sniffed once more at Lucky's face, then grinned, panting.

“Lucky!” Old Hunter snuffled and licked affectionately at Lucky's ears as the smaller dog scrambled to his feet, trying not to slide off the countertop. “I didn't recognize you. You
stink
, my friend!”

Lucky yipped with delight. “I've been hunting.”

Old Hunter wrinkled his muzzle. “Mostly in spoil-boxes, by the smell of you.”

“There wasn't much else.” Lucky's ears drooped, then he pricked them up again. “It's so good to see you!” It really was, he thought. Not that he'd been desperate for company, of course. If he hadn't run into Old Hunter it would have made no difference to him—but now that he
had
, well … it felt better than he'd have expected.