The Empty City (8 page)

Their Alpha's yellow eyes glinted, and they stalked forward with arrogant snarls.

“Meat, dog. Give us
now
!”

Still gripping the hunk, snarling deep in his throat, Lucky sized up his enemy. Each fox was maybe half his size, but there were four of them and their eyes were sharp. A desperate fox was a dangerous creature—especially one in a Pack. As he watched them, all four crept forward, showing their fangs.

They were confident, he realized, and clever—dividing themselves into pairs on either flank. A cold knot of fear formed in his stomach. They were going to attack from two directions, and Lucky knew he stood little chance of fighting them off. He could drop the meat. Drop the meat, and run—

No!

He couldn't lose this food. He had no idea when he'd find more—and besides, they were
foxes
! He was a dog, and a tough Lone Dog at that—no scrawny fox was going to take what was his.

His eyes darted from side to side as he watched the foxes maneuver, slinking under small tables and edging around obstacles. They were forming a circle now, closing in, and Lucky felt a prickle of terror at his raised hackles.

“Silly dog, stupid dog,” hissed the Alpha, its voice thick and distorted.

Another joined in. “No friends! No help! Ha!”

“Wish you stayed with
big
dog,
scary
dog,” smirked a third. “Silly dog!”

He'd eaten, he reminded himself, and would have more stamina than these desperate creatures. What was more, hadn't he escaped the Big Growl? Hadn't he already dodged raccoons and sharpclaws and an angry Fierce Dog?

I can get out of this!

Lucky focused on the Alpha before him. Curling back his lips around the meat, he glared and growled. The other animal gave him a cocky grin.

Without warning, Lucky charged forward, straight into the Alpha. The fox gave an astonished yelp as he knocked it flying into a broken longpaw sitting-box. Lucky kicked his back paws into its belly, and it gave a yelp of pain, winded. Lucky didn't waste a moment. He fled, bolting through the mall as fast as he could.

Lucky heard the leader scramble back to its feet, recovering fast. The rest were already screeching at his heels, snarling and squealing with rage and frustration. Lucky was fast, but desperate hunger was giving them an edge, and he was hampered by the meat in his jaws, hardly able to draw breath. He nipped between pillars and raced through the open area where longpaws used to sit and eat, crashing over tables and sitting-boxes. He skidded through water that leaked from a place he couldn't see, but the foxes wouldn't be shaken.

A rack of longpaw furs went flying; then Lucky was back on the metal hill and fleeing down, his claws scrabbling wildly as he tried not to fall head over hindpaws. At the bottom of the metal hill another big sitting-box loomed, and he leaped.

No!
Midleap, the chunk of meat slipped from his panting jaws. He caught sight of it slithering beneath a broad wooden table with a loose blue fur hanging over it.

Lucky doubled back and skidded after it, the soft blue fur falling back to conceal him.

His flanks heaving, Lucky pricked his ears and panted as silently as he could. He could smell the foxes, sharp and earthy and coming closer. If they heard him, or smelled him—and he knew his panic and fear must be strong-scented—he was as good as dead.

He heard a low snarling and snuffling as they searched the air with sharp noses. They muttered to themselves and one another. Some of it was incomprehensible; some of it all too clear.

“Dog close,” growled one. It spat the word
dog
with disgust in its rasping high fox-voice.

“
Meat
close,” said another, and there was huffing, hungry fox-laughter.

Lucky wrinkled his muzzle. To think these scrawny scavengers were his cousin-kind!

He knew he didn't have long before they found him. Fear rippled down his spine, raising his fur. He had to force himself not to whine in terror. There was a fox at each side of the table.

“Noise! There!” yipped one suddenly. “Go see! Is dog?”

Heart thundering, Lucky strained to hear the clicking paws as they moved slowly, so slowly, away from his table. Any second now, they'd realize the noise was a false alarm—a rat, or a bird—and then they'd be back....

Seizing the meat, he bolted, heading straight for the center of the mall. They were squealing behind him once more, giving chase, but at least he'd escaped the trap of that table. Lucky pounded on, pain jabbing sharply at his wounded paw, his lungs aching, his whole body feeling heavy and awkward now. He felt the first wrench of despair in his gut. The foxes were going to get him.

Close to the entrance the displays of longpaw treasure seemed more cluttered. No longpaw thief or scavenging dog had bothered to take the brightly colored beads and bottles. A whole rack of them crashed to the ground as Lucky slammed sideways into it, then veered around another high counter and leaped over a broken shelf. At least all the clutter was holding up the foxes, too; he could hear them stumbling and skidding behind him.

A rack of small bottles went tumbling and shattering, sending sickeningly powerful scents to assault his nose.
High ground
, he thought.
I should find high ground
. Somewhere to make a stand, somewhere to stay safe …

There
. Lucky bounded toward a tall counter, scattering paper and strange metal machines, the biggest of which fell to the floor. It exploded open, paper and small metal discs scattering everywhere, and Lucky nearly followed it, sliding helplessly on the smooth surface. Scrabbling, he managed to halt on the countertop at last and spring to his feet.

Panting hard, he stared down at the circling, grinning foxes.

“Can't stay up,” came a menacing growl. “No, can't, silly dog. Not forever.”

“Must come down!” said another.

“Soon, boys. Soon.” The hissing snarl was confident enough to send a thrill of fear through Lucky's shivering flanks.

They were right, he realized. He
couldn't
stay up here forever. He could take another flying leap, of course, over their heads and away, but the terrible pain in his paw had finally overcome the thrill of the chase. The stabbing of the wound was a pure white agony that almost made him dizzy.

Lucky's flanks rose and fell swiftly with his desperate breath. Had this really been worth it, for one chunk of meat?

The answer came straight from his wild instinct: a fury that raced through him, humming in his limbs and flanks, his muscles preparing for a last fight.
Of course it was worth it
.

He was bigger and better than these foxes. Submit to these creatures, and he was unworthy of being a dog.

Besides, in the new world after the Big Growl, it wasn't cowards who would survive. It was the brave, and the strong, and the determined. And he
would not
give up his rightful prey!

He laid the meat between his forepaws, prepared to guard it to the death—just as Old Hunter would. Lowering his head, raising his hackles high, and baring his teeth in a lethal snarl, he summoned all his energy for one last wild bark of rage and defiance.

And then he hesitated.

The strange noise seemed to come from nowhere. It certainly didn't come from him or the foxes. And yet it was there, swelling to fill the echoing hall.

A low, menacing growl.

Suddenly nervous, the foxes twitched their heads from side to side, ears pricked. In an instant, all four had sprung around to face the shattered entrance.

Scarcely able to believe what he was seeing, Lucky stared over the foxes at the group that was approaching. Dogs—more dogs!

A little crossbreed, short-legged and hairy-faced, her pink tongue poking out in excitement. A sleek black-and-white Farm-Work Dog, clutching a huge leather item in his mouth. A Fight Dog, with a long snout and a bushy coat, whose eyes were full of hectic fear. A small thing, with long white hair. And a giant, furry black dog with a broad head and determined eyes.

They barely gave Lucky a glance, all their nervous attention focused on the foxes. They were such a strange Pack. Then the last dog entered. She was handsome and long-legged, with golden-and-white fur. In fact, she reminded Lucky of his own reflection, before the city's clear-stone shattered. And her scent …

But there was no time to wonder anymore. The newcomers were facing up to the foxes, which formed a ragged line and snarled back in insolent defiance.

“A gang—very scary!” The smallest fox sneered at the lineup.

The Alpha laughed, a cackling yelp of derision. “Scary? You
think
?”

Lucky felt his shoulders start to droop. He'd been glad to see more dogs approaching, but now that he'd had a closer look … maybe the foxes were right to laugh. At least they had some sort of battle formation. The new arrivals looked more like puppies let loose without a Mother-Dog. The little crossbreed seemed brave for her size, but she appeared incapable of doing anything other than run in excited circles. The long-haired pretty one was yapping hysterically. The bushy Fight Dog was working hard to attack the foxes, but the big black giant was getting hopelessly in the way.

It was the dog who looked like Lucky, the handsome-faced golden dog, who kept her nerve, charging straight for the foxes. Behind her raced the Fight Dog, dodging the black giant at last, and the Farm-Work Dog, who at least had dropped his piece of padded leather.

The skirmish was brief and vicious. Teeth snapped and claws raked; from his position Lucky saw the Fight Dog grab for a fox's leg and almost instantly lose it—but not before he'd drawn blood, and the fox had yipped in shock and pain. The leader-fox sprang at the black-and-white Farm-Work Dog, jaws slavering, but the golden dog spun with surprising agility and raked its scabby gray flank with her teeth, knocking it off balance. Even the pretty little longhair was standing her ground, barking furiously, though she flinched at an attack; the big black dog pounced to protect her flank, sending a fox tumbling across the slick floor. A paw lashed out, drawing blood from a fox's muzzle, and its head snapped sideways, trailing a sliver of drool.

The foxes had a wiry ferocity, and they were willing to fight, but they were too smart to stand up for long to a Pack of dogs, however chaotic. When it became clear they were outnumbered and outsized, the leader-fox gave a high and vicious bark.

“Go, boys! No point!”

With a final vicious snap and snarl, the last fox turned tail and bolted after its escaping companions.

“Brave in a Pack!” it sniggered, making a mocking face at Lucky as it scampered away. “Coward dogs!”

As they vanished into the chaos of the mall, Lucky breathed easily for the first time since he'd left Old Hunter. Thrashing his tail in wild gratitude, he gave the newcomers a brief, friendly bark.

“Thanks. You saved my hide!”

Panting, they all turned to look up at him in renewed anxiety, as if they'd only just remembered he was there. The Fight Dog took a couple of paces toward him and sniffed. Although his body was big and burly, his stance was nervous.

“You're welcome,” he rumbled gruffly. “Foxes indeed. Ha!”

“I thought I was done for.” The flood of relief made Lucky almost weak with gratitude to this motley Pack.

“Happy to help!” yipped the crossbreed, almost falling over her own feet as she spun.

The dog that looked like Lucky said nothing at first. She leaped up onto the counter, and though Lucky moved instinctively to protect his food, she ignored the meat altogether. Instead, she sniffed hesitantly at him. Their eyes met, and Lucky's heart leaped inside his chest.

Something in his gut tugged at him, stirring sense-memories, sparking images in his head. He knew this dog....

She blinked her dark, friendly eyes, and nuzzled his face.

“It's really you!” she barked softly. “Dear Yap, it's
you
! Hello, my brother!”

Yap …!

A pang of memory twisted inside Lucky, and the heavy stone-feeling of loneliness in his belly lifted just a little.
Yap!
How long had it been since he'd heard his Pup name? And hers came back to him in a tumble of sounds and images. A snuffling nose, an insistent squeaking, a body nestled close to his, tiny paws shoving him, golden skin and fur pressed cozily against his own … and yes, again and always, that constant talkative squealing....