Red Moon Rising Read online

  Still, Storm tried to let herself relax and enjoy the attention of the other dogs while she could. She had not felt this lighthearted in a very long time. It feels good, she thought. It feels almost better than “sandwiches” taste!

  By the time they’d gotten closer to the camp, the heavy stuffed feeling had subsided, and they were all ready to go back on the hunt. And with the prey plentiful and their energy fully restored, the five hunters were able to catch several gophers and rabbits for the Pack.

  Alpha gave Lucky a rather stern look when the hunters finally padded back into the camp, but between the prey they’d brought back with them, and the fun of the spoil-box story, she didn’t stay annoyed for long. The whole Pack hung attentively on their tale of adventure at the prey pile that evening, and the pups especially demanded that the details be told over and over again. Sunshine was thrilled to hear a story that involved nothing more dangerous than some stolen food.

  “I wish I’d been there,” she confided in Storm as the dogs began to rise and pad to their dens. “It sounded fun!”

  “I wish you had, too,” Storm told the little Omega fondly, licking her bedraggled ears.

  “I want to come next time!” barked Tumble, romping around Storm’s paws with his sisters.

  Storm laughed. “You’re not big enough to climb into the spoil-box!”

  “I will be, one day,” he said indignantly. “I’m going to be enormous!”

  “Me too!” yapped Tiny, not to be left out.

  “Pups, pups! Leave poor Storm alone!” Breeze trotted up and nuzzled them affectionately. Alpha and Lucky were deep in a serious conversation, Storm noticed; Breeze must have been asked to look after the pups once the Pack had eaten.

  “Breeze,” Storm greeted her. “I’d like to talk to you, but I guess it’s not a good moment?”

  “No, it’s fine,” said Breeze, her eyes bright. “The pups can play a little farther away. Go on, pups, but stay where I can see you!”

  “I’ll look after them,” offered Sunshine. “I’d love to play for a while.”

  “Oh, Sunshine, thank you,” said Breeze warmly.

  “Yay!” yelped Nibble. “Yes, Sunshine, come and play!”

  With happy yips they tumbled over her, and the little dog led them away to another part of the clearing, chuckling as Fluff and Nibble pounced on her fluffy tail.

  The two bigger dogs watched them for a moment, tails thumping the ground in amusement. Then Breeze turned to gaze at Storm.

  “What is it, Storm? What did you want to talk about?”

  Storm sat back on her haunches and took a deep breath. “I wanted to ask about Terror’s Pack. What it was like. You know, life under his leadership . . . was it very hard?”

  Breeze lay down, looking thoughtful. “It was certainly difficult. You know how . . . well, the rages he flew into. We had to pad carefully around him.”

  Storm nodded. “Yes. I can imagine. But do you think any dog misses him? Mourns him, even?”

  “Oh, Storm. I don’t know. I suppose it’s . . . hard to mourn a dog like that. We all lived in fear.” Breeze tapped her tail against the ground. “Why are you asking about Terror’s Pack now?”

  Storm hesitated for a moment. Can I trust her?

  I have to trust some dog! And Breeze is sweet, and intelligent, and she loves the pups. And she knows Chase, maybe better than any dog. . . .

  Tightening her jaw, she made her decision. “It’s Chase in particular. She worries me, Breeze.”

  Breeze tilted her head, studying Storm’s face. “Go on.”

  “I’ve noticed something.” Storm took a heavy breath. “All the dogs who have been targeted, all the victims of the traitor—they were all there the night Terror was killed.”

  “Are you sure?” Breeze frowned. “Moon, yes. And Twitch . . . but Whisper was a member of Terror’s Pack. And Bruno wasn’t there.”

  “That’s true,” admitted Storm. “But Whisper was there, even though he was on the wrong—I mean, the other side,” she corrected herself tactfully. “And Bruno was killed in exactly the way I killed”—she choked slightly on the words—“the way I killed Terror.”

  “I’m not sure that proves anything,” said Breeze doubtfully. “It could be a coincidence.”

  “Breeze,” blurted Storm. “Do you think Chase could be the culprit? The traitor?”

  Breeze stared at her for a moment, silent, but her expression was deeply thoughtful. “Storm,” she said at last, “Bruno must have been killed by a much bigger dog. Alpha said as much.”

  “Well, that bothered me,” Storm admitted, staring at the ground. “But—oh, I don’t know. Bruno was lying there so peacefully—apart from his injury, I mean. Maybe the bad dog caught him when he was asleep? Or maybe his jaw wasn’t torn off till he was dead.”

  “It’s possible, I suppose, but . . .”

  “You see, I think Chase might have been trying to tell the Pack something,” exclaimed Storm. “Sending us a message—showing us why Bruno had to die, why the Pack should be destroyed.”

  Breeze shook her head slowly. At last she sat up and scratched her ear. Then she reached forward and touched her nose to Storm’s.

  “No. No, I just can’t believe that, Storm. Chase would never do such things. I’ve known her for a long time and she’s a good, loyal dog. A Pack Dog.”

  Storm gazed into Breeze’s eyes, worried and suddenly embarrassed. Have I said the wrong thing? Have I been a fool to accuse Chase?

  “That . . . that does make me feel a bit better, Breeze. If you really think so . . .”

  “I do.” Breeze nuzzled her gently. “But you’ve given me a lot to think about, Storm. I won’t tell anyone about our conversation, and I’ll think hard about this. We have to solve the mystery before anything else happens to the Pack.”

  “Thank you, Breeze.” Storm dipped her head in gratitude and watched the gentle brown dog as she trotted back to the pups.

  I’m just glad Breeze didn’t bite my nose off for accusing her former Packmate. I’m still not as sure about Chase as she is, but she does have good judgment. And she won’t betray my confidence, I’m certain of it.

  What made her most grateful of all, though, was that Breeze had taken her seriously. She was willing to listen. She didn’t immediately assume that I must be the one who’s responsible. That means a lot.

  Storm padded back to her own den and settled on her bedding. A sense of calm filled her. I’ve done what I can for now. And it felt good to talk about it.

  For the first time in a long time, she felt as if she might get a good, peaceful sleep.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  When Storm was woken again the next morning, it wasn’t by Lucky’s gentle prodding her or an excited gathering of hunters. Outside her den there was a flurry of frenzied barks and howling cries. She jerked up, instantly wide awake.

  I didn’t have nightmares, or walk in my sleep. But these days any noise in camp was something to worry about.

  She could make out only a few words clearly, but they were enough. Bad dog. Savage. Breeze. She shook herself violently and bounded out of her den.

  Almost the whole Pack seemed to be assembled, crowding around a figure on the camp boundary. Not another killing! Storm’s blood froze. She didn’t stop running, though. She shouldered through her gabbling, frantic Packmates to the front of the crowd.

  Please, not another killing . . .

  Breeze was standing there, but she was barely identifiable. Her head and tail hung low, and she was shaking uncontrollably. Her brown hide was covered in bleeding scratches, but the blood was streaky, because she was sodden and dripping and smeared with mud, and there were strands of waterweed caught in her fur. Storm barely recognized her gentle eyes: They were wide and terrified, the whites starkly visible all around them.

  “Breeze!” she barked in shock, and sprang forward to press her head to the smaller dog’s neck. Breeze flinched as if she was in pain, but she held her ground. Then she sagged against St
orm’s body for support. Behind her somewhere, Sunshine was whimpering in terror.

  “What happened here?” Alpha pushed between Mickey and Chase, looking horrified. “Breeze, what happened to you?”

  “I . . . don’t know . . . I’m not sure.” Breeze couldn’t stop trembling. “I woke up being dragged through the woods.” She coughed painfully, and a trickle of water ran from her jaws. Her chest heaved.

  “By a dog?” demanded Alpha urgently.

  “I don’t know—yes, yes, I think it was a dog. A big one. I fought, Alpha, I did . . . I tried to howl, but—”

  “Hush, Breeze,” said Storm urgently. “Save your strength.”

  “She has to tell us what happened, Storm,” said Alpha, a little more gently. “Do you have any idea who it was, Breeze? Did you know this dog?”

  “I don’t know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I couldn’t pick out a clear scent over the stink of mud and river-water. And there was also so much of that wild garlic and—so many smells. . . .” She panted, gasping for breath—as much from terror as from exhaustion, Storm guessed. “It pulled me a long way. It was so strong, I couldn’t fight it—and then it . . . it flung me in the river. Oh, Storm, the water was so fast and deep. I thought I was going to drown.”

  “It’s all right, Breeze. You’re safe.” Storm licked at her neck and back, trying to warm her up.

  “The River-Dog must have let you go,” said Mickey, his eyes wide. “Maybe Martha was looking after you.”

  “Yes,” said Sunshine. “Martha must have helped.” She began to whine, mournfully, and Daisy nuzzled her.

  “Maybe it was Martha,” panted Breeze weakly. “Something must have helped me. I managed to swim to shore and drag myself out, but I could feel the River-Dog trying to pull me down.” Her shaking grew more violent again, and there was a sob in her voice. “That bad dog was big, Alpha, and it tried to kill me. I know it wanted me dead!”

  No dog could say anything. The whole Pack stared at Breeze in pity and horror. Storm could feel the thrill of fear skittering from dog to dog, tingling on every hide.

  Twigs cracked as Moon and Snap trotted into camp. The two Patrol Dogs halted and blinked at the gathering of Packmates.

  “What happened?” asked Snap as she and Moon exchanged bewildered glances.

  “There’s been another attack,” Alpha told them grimly as they padded over. “You two were on patrol: Did you see anything? Hear or smell something unusual?”

  “Nothing,” said Moon, gazing at Breeze in dismay. “We didn’t smell any intruder. I’m sorry, Alpha.”

  Alpha curled back her lip, showing her teeth. “Don’t feel bad. This traitor is cunning; they masked their scent again. Even Breeze herself couldn’t identify her attacker.”

  “I’m sorry too,” said Breeze miserably. Her flanks were still heaving, but she seemed slightly calmer. “If only I hadn’t been in such a panic, if I’d focused harder. . . .”

  Storm stared at her. What must that have been like? To be dragged across the ground in darkness by a huge dog—to be so terrified and in pain that you couldn’t even recognize your attacker? Breeze must have been traumatized, Storm realized, and her heart clenched with pity.

  “No dog would have been able to think clearly during such a vicious attack,” Alpha reassured the gentle brown dog.

  “If only I had a clue,” whined Breeze in frustration, her voice shaking. “I’m furious with myself. I’m so sorry, Alpha. All I know is that it was big. Not Storm, though—it couldn’t have been—it was another big dog.”

  Storm, still propping up Breeze with her flank, tried not to sigh. It was heartening that Breeze still believed in her so strongly that she wanted to get in front of any accusations—Storm was the biggest dog in the pack, now that poor Bruno was gone. But all Breeze had done by insisting how much she trusted Storm was draw every dog’s attention. Storm saw a mixture of curiosity and mistrust in her Packmates’ gazes.

  Sunshine gave a choked howl and backed closer to Lucky. Storm twisted one ear toward her in surprise. Surely she’s not scared of me?

  “No dog’s accusing any other dog, least of all Storm.” Lucky spoke firmly, giving Sunshine a reassuring nuzzle. “The most important thing right now is for us to go out there and try to find some clues while the trail is fresh—if the bad dog has been careless enough to leave any traces. We have to find this traitor before they strike again.”

  “We’ve said that before,” growled Snap softly, lashing her tail in frustration. “We’ve searched and searched, and still the bad dog attacks us.”

  “So now it’s more urgent than ever,” snapped Alpha. “Lucky’s right. We’ll go out in teams of three; that seems safest. I will assign each group a patch of territory, and I want you all to search thoroughly. Check every tree stump, every hollow. Look under rocks if you have to; we can’t afford to miss anything that might tell us this dog’s name.”

  It didn’t take Alpha long to organize the dogs into groups of three; clearly, thought Storm, she wanted to get out there and hunt for clues before the trail could be swept away by rain or wind, or the simple passing of time. Storm herself was teamed with Daisy and Mickey. As soon as Alpha called the names, she felt a rush of relief. There could not be two dogs she trusted more. And at least she hadn’t been paired up with Chase again.

  This means I won’t be able to keep an eye on her. Though . . . I don’t think Chase could have dragged Breeze like that. She’s too small—this may prove that the bad dog is a large one, or at least a very powerful one. Storm licked her jaws. But I don’t think I could have stood another day working with Chase, anyway. Not when I can smell her suspicion of me.

  The three Packmates set out as quickly as they could, making their way through the forest and across the meadow toward the river. Alpha had told them to check every paw-space of ground between the river and the cave they suspected was a giantfur den, which they always gave a sensibly wide berth—not even a bad traitor dog would risk venturing too close to that.

  They moved as quietly as possible, placing their paws with caution on the rustling leaves and grass. Storm’s fur prickled with nerves. Fear that she might miss a speck or a hair kept her senses jangling with alertness. This could be our big chance, after all. There’s been no rain since Breeze was attacked. If we can find just a single claw mark . . .

  Even Daisy was quiet and intent, her usual lively chatter silenced. It wasn’t until they had paused at the edge of the meadow that she spoke.

  “I know it wasn’t you, Storm. You would never hurt Breeze.”

  Storm halted, surprised by the tone of Daisy’s voice. There was a hint of desperation in the way she spoke. And the little dog hadn’t said, It’s ridiculous! Or, Impossible! Or, It’s out of the question!

  Just: You would never hurt Breeze.

  And it had sounded almost like she wanted to also ask, Would you?

  Storm paused, her jaw clenched tight as she waited for the terrible question, but to her relief, Mickey interrupted. “Remember to keep your ears open as well as your nostrils. I don’t think we should talk, or distract each other in any way. This is too important.”

  Storm nodded. He’s right. She and Daisy once more fell silent, lowering their snouts to breathe in every possible scent as they made their slow and careful way toward the river.

  The stench, when it hit her, was sudden and overpowering. And all too familiar—

  “Fox!” she snarled.

  The others had scented it too: Their heads snapped up at the same moment Storm’s did. A reddish-gray tail was just disappearing into the riverside underbrush. Storm bolted after it, plunging into the bushes, her whole head filled with the fox’s musky odor.

  The fox was quick and nimble, darting between rocks and squirming under thornbushes that Storm couldn’t hope to penetrate; but she could hear Daisy scrambling through the brush, coming after their quarry at a wide angle. She was aware, too, of Mickey’s running paws on the edge of the meadow, skirting the bushes but
keeping pace with the sly creature. All I have to do is keep harrying it, she thought grimly. However fast it can wriggle through brush, Mickey’s going to overtake it once we’re on the flat land.

  Sure enough, as she raced up a low slope through a tangle of branches, she saw Mickey’s shape up ahead; he was facing her and the fox, his shoulders low and hackles high. His bared teeth glinted in the light. From the side, she saw Daisy tearing through the scrubby undergrowth, dodging obstacles with agile grace despite her stubby legs.

  The fox scrabbled to a halt when it saw Mickey, and Daisy was blocking its escape toward the meadow. With a squeal of fear, it spun and hurtled back the way it had come.

  Storm was ready for it. She braced herself on her forepaws, lunging forward and snarling. The fox, out of options, tried to skid to a stop and tumbled head over heels. Sprawling in front of her, it rolled swiftly onto its belly and cowered.

  “Dogs not hurt fox,” it rasped, its tongue hanging out of its jaws. Its eyes were angry and scared.

  “That depends on you,” growled Storm.

  Abruptly the fox’s eyes popped wide, and recognition sparked in them. “Ah! Ah! Good dogs, yes, you dogs not hurt poor fox.”

  “What?” A sickening claw of dread tugged at Storm’s gut. Wait a moment—this fox looks familiar—

  “You good dog. Well. You not-so-bad dog. You let poor fox go now. Yes, yes. Let fox go.”

  Daisy and Mickey were behind the creature now, blocking its escape, and they were both staring at it—Mickey with guilt in his eyes. The fox glanced over her shoulder.

  “You not-so-bad dog too.” She sat up on her haunches, looking more confident. Ignoring Daisy, she stared straight at Mickey. “You smart dog like this one. Yes, two of youse. You let Fox Mist go now.”

  Storm shot Daisy a nervous glance. The little dog was watching the fox, appalled. Hesitantly Daisy stepped closer, sniffing; then she flinched back in revulsion at the strength of the odor. She walked a full circle around the creature, studying her from ears to paw-tips.