Red Moon Rising Page 16

  Storm lunged for the hatch, scrabbling at the lever. But the trick that had worked instantly for Lucky proved impossible for her. The silver thing slipped from beneath her paws, or stuck fast, however hard she tried to grab and turn it. Her teeth slid off its surface, making her stumble and bang her skull against the metal side of the den. Once again she scratched wildly at the lever with her claws, but it would not turn. She bit down on it, pulling with her jaws—but succeeded only in tearing out her own teeth.

  It’s no good. I can’t open it. I can’t help the pups!

  There was a roaring sound behind her. Wild-eyed, Storm turned to see the glaring eyes of the longpaws’ loudcages, bumping across the ground toward her. It’s too late!

  Then she realized the loudcages weren’t bumping at all. They were flying across the ground, faster and faster. She’d never seen loudcages move so swiftly. They raced toward her as if they had wings. . . .

  And then she saw. They were not loudcages at all; there was only one pair of glowing eyes, and those belonged to a dog. A great, black, terrifying creature that thundered toward her and the imprisoned pups. It was almost upon her, a hulking beast made of shadow and terror.

  The Fear-Dog.

  Storm could not move, could not bark. She was as powerless as the pups that she could not save. Frozen, helpless, she watched the Fear-Dog loom over her, its jaws falling open to reveal deadly fangs and an endless, gaping throat. . . .

  She woke, shuddering, her racing heart pumping blood through her veins that felt like ice water.

  The Fear-Dog.

  The longpaw site.

  And one of them, at least, was real.

  Staggering to her paws, Storm stared around her. Against a gray sky, pale at the horizon with the promise of the waking Sun-Dog, she saw the walls and trenches and loudcages of the longpaws’ building-place. Storm swallowed hard, suppressing a whine.

  I walked in my sleep again. And this place is wide awake!

  The longpaw site was a chaos of activity. The giant yellow loudcages growled and rumbled and screeched, digging deep grooves in the earth, or shoving piles of mud and stones. Longpaws barked and yelled to one another, and hammered metal spikes with great clubs of iron. Even more of those huge square pits had been dug in the earth; vast piles of excavated soil dotted the ground like small, newborn mountains. Turning, Storm saw more loudcages approaching from her own side of the wire fence; they looked purposeful and determined, grumbling and growling toward the site.

  Alpha was right. More longpaws are coming! They want this place for themselves, and they’ll keep it no matter what we do. How could Beetle and Thorn ever have believed they could stop them?

  A loudcage roared to life, barely a rabbit-chase from her flank, and Storm leaped into the air in fright. She had been too disoriented to notice it lying there in wait, and now it was attacking her!

  Camp! I have to get back to the camp! Spinning, she fled, but the ground was uneven and her head was still dizzy, and she stumbled. She had barely gotten back to her paws when the loudcage was upon her.

  With a bark of pure terror, she tried to leap to freedom and safety, but there was no escape. Storm felt herself engulfed by a great metal maw. She slithered back, whining with terror.

  Metal bars were in front of her, and at both her flanks. Something thudded onto her back and she struggled wildly. No! This can’t be happening! The growling of the hungry loudcage filled her ears, throbbed inside her head. It’s eating me!

  From somewhere in her addled, terror-stricken brain, a memory came to her. Moon’s urgent voice, barking an instruction to help free Beetle and Thorn: You have to wriggle backward!

  Would it work for a ravenous loudcage the way it did for a rope? I have to try!

  Desperately she struggled and writhed backward, claws raking the base of the cage, haunches straining. She flattened herself as the cage constricted around her. She kicked back, fighting it, shoving herself with her forepaws now. Her hindclaws found purchase on a hard edge, and she gave a final massive wrench of her muscles, scraping her spine against metal.

  She was flung backward into free space and crashed to the earth with an ungainly thump, showering herself in loose soil. I’m out!

  There was no time to glory in her escape. Rolling over, scrambling upright, she sprang past a barking longpaw, dodged another that lunged for her, then bolted for the forest and for freedom.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The Sun-Dog was a low, golden dazzle between the trees as Storm dragged her aching paws into the camp. She let herself feel a shiver of relief at being home and safe and unseen; the feeling lasted until a stern voice growled her name.

  Storm’s heart plummeted. Lucky.

  He stood on the grass of the clearing, watching her, and he did not look happy. His ears were low, his tail still, and his eyes were dark and displeased.

  “Beta.” She decided the respect of formality was her best option.

  “Where have you been?” When she didn’t answer, he stalked forward, studying her from nose to tailtip. “What do you think you’re up to, wandering about during no-sun when you’re not on patrol? Do you have any idea how bad this looks for you?”

  Despite her exhaustion, Storm felt her hackles bristle. “I don’t care how it looks. I went to the longpaw site. And there are lots more longpaws around than before.”

  “What?” Lucky’s eyes widened. “You deliberately went to the longpaw place again?”

  “No,” Storm murmured. “Well, not exactly. I—”

  She had no time to think of a way to explain it; Lucky’s yelp of disbelief had woken some of the other Pack members, and they were crawling from their dens, shaking themselves, yapping and growling to one another in confusion.

  “What’s going on?” Snap blinked. “Did I hear right?”

  Daisy shook herself as if she was trying to rid herself of sleepiness. “Storm went back to the longpaw place?”

  “Wait, no! I—I didn’t disobey orders or anything.” Storm glanced guiltily around at her Packmates. “It wasn’t delib— I mean, I didn’t plan to—” She swallowed hard. “Look, it doesn’t matter why I went there! What matters is that there are lots more longpaws now! Everything we worried about, everything we feared—it’s happening!”

  They all stared at her, but not as if they were interested in heeding her warning. There was disbelief in their eyes, and shock, and more than a little disapproval. In the middle of the awkward silence, Alpha stalked from her den and came to a halt in front of Storm.

  “What do I have to do, Storm?” she growled. “What do I have to say to you to get you to stay in line? You are a Pack Dog! And Pack Dogs respect Pack orders!”

  “But, Alpha—”

  “Quiet!” Alpha’s lip curled back from her teeth. “You are walking on very thin ice. And you have not heard the end of this, Storm—Beta, Third Dog, and I will be discussing your attitude. In the meantime, make yourself useful. Get up to High Watch and relieve Mickey and Beetle, as you’ve been ordered.”

  Storm’s tail and ears drooped, and she stared at the ground, torn between shame, embarrassment, and pure, hot rage. I should explain. Maybe now is the time to tell them all about my sleepwalking. How else can I convince them that I didn’t mean to do this?

  But what would I say? That I wander around during no-sun, while I’m fast asleep, with no idea of where I’m going and what I’m up to? That will only make things much worse.

  Defeated, miserable, and resentful, she turned without another word and plodded out of the glade and onto the path that led to High Watch. She heard another dog run to her side and knew from her scent that it was her fellow sentry, Thorn, but she didn’t turn to look at her.

  She heard the bark that followed Thorn, though. It was Moon, calling a warning to her daughter:

  “Be careful, Thorn. Keep your eyes and your nose open!”

  Storm’s breath caught in her throat, and her heart turned over. Even after all that had happened since she’d
gotten back to camp, she still felt hurt. Moon didn’t warn them both to be careful—she was telling Thorn to be wary of one threat only: Storm herself.

  I saved Thorn, thought Storm, as grief and loneliness settled in her belly like a stone. Not only that, I saved Alpha’s pups—I saved the whole future of this Pack.

  And they still don’t trust me.

  “I don’t understand why you would go back to the longpaws’ place,” Thorn was saying as she walked at Storm’s side. “After Beetle and I got into such trouble? It was our idea to go and threaten the longpaws, and we got the tongue-whipping from Alpha, and then you think it’s a good idea to go and do the same?”

  Storm said nothing; she was too busy trying to control her temper.

  “And you did it right afterward! It’s not like you have a bigger right to go there than me and Beetle. It was our Father-Dog the longpaws killed. What were you thinking?”

  I am going to turn around and bite her in a moment, thought Storm grimly. Yet that’s the one thing I absolutely can’t do. She clamped her jaws together tightly and stalked on up the cliff path, every sinew taut and trembling with the strain of keeping control.

  “We’re the ones who should be attacking them, not you!” Thorn’s petulant voice was like a buzzing mosquito in her ears; Storm would have loved to swat her off the cliff with a paw. “The longpaws aren’t your problem, and now you’ve made Alpha even angrier, and it will be even harder for us to get revenge for our Father-Dog.”

  Even through the heat of her anger, Storm realized one thing very clearly: All of Alpha’s scolding, all the punishment she’d inflicted on Beetle and Thorn, was for nothing. Thorn was plainly still determined to do something about the longpaws, and that must mean Beetle was too. They hadn’t been warned off at all. Those two aren’t even a little bit grateful that I helped rescue them, thought Storm angrily and with a horrible undercurrent of dread. They just see me as some dog who thwarted their plans. They’re idiots, both of them!

  Thorn still hadn’t shut up by the time they reached High Watch and settled down to keep guard. I’d have thought ignoring her would put her off, but she’s too fanatical about the whole longpaw problem, Storm realized with a roll of her eyes.

  “You watch the Endless Lake,” she snapped at last, when Thorn paused for breath. “I’ll keep watch on the land side.”

  With Thorn’s complaints still battering her ears, Storm tried to turn away and stare determinedly inland. It was hard to ignore the nagging, but she could try.

  The trouble was, if she’d wanted to take her mind off things, Storm had chosen the wrong direction. Far below, the longpaws’ building-place was bustling with activity. The fence had been opened at one side, and a stream of small loudcages poured in, while the much bigger, noisier yellow loudcages plowed and grooved the earth inside. The longpaws on foot looked like a swarm of insects; they wore yellow fur, and even brighter yellow coverings on their heads. It all reminded Storm of the relentless busyness of bees around a hive. Even at this distance she could hear their purposeful barks.

  They know exactly what they want and what they’re doing, thought Storm. I wish I did. It’s so vital to the Pack and our future that we find out what these longpaws are up to.

  Why couldn’t Lucky have listened? Storm lay down, her head on her paws, and sighed deeply as she watched the site. He used to listen to me. He used to trust my instincts. He used to trust me. And all that wasn’t so long ago. What happened?

  She was ignoring Thorn’s muttering, to the point where it was as incomprehensible as the distant barking of the longpaws. It was an apparently endless whine about Beetle and me and Father-Dog and longpaws and vengeance and it’s not fair.

  “How was that supposed to help any dog? ‘Ooh, we’re all in terrible danger.’” Thorn’s voice was high and indignant, scraping on the inside of Storm’s skull. “Were you trying to sound like you were making threats?”

  Storm didn’t even know what happened then, only that the last thin rope that was holding her fury in place snapped. She was suddenly up on all four paws, her sluggish misery shattered, snarling viciously into Thorn’s face.

  “What’s that? How was I helping? You mean, how dare I care about the Pack? How dare I try to keep every dog safe? You tell me, Thorn. You tell me. Tell me about the last time I hurt any dog in our Pack! When was it? When did I hurt any of the Pack Dogs?”

  Thorn wasn’t answering. Through the red mist of her rage, Storm became aware that Thorn was cowering, quivering, her wide eyes locked on Storm’s and filled with terror. She lay flat, crouched tight against the ground; Storm herself was standing over her, forepaws splayed on either side of her head. Something dripped onto Thorn’s petrified face; Storm realized it was slaver from her own snarling jaws.

  What am I doing?!

  Blinking, Storm drew back—though for all the will of the Forest-Dog, she could not uncurl her muzzle. Her eyes stayed locked on Thorn as the smaller dog shivered, crept a little closer, then rolled to show her belly. Thorn’s tongue hung sideways from her dry mouth, and the whites were visible all around her dark eyes as she whimpered, “I’m sorry. Sorry, Storm.”

  “No.” Storm licked her jaws, forcing herself to cover her fangs. “No, I’m sorry. I wasn’t attacking you, Thorn.”

  “I—I know, Storm.” Thorn’s voice trembled as she rolled back onto her belly and crawled clear. “It’s fine. No offense taken. Sorry.” Her eyes did not once leave Storm.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you—”

  “No! No, I know! It’s all right. I went too far. I’m sorry.” Thorn was gabbling now as she sat up, her tail tucked tightly around her haunches. “Sorry.”

  And even as she wriggled around to face the Endless Lake once more, Thorn was still eyeing Storm sidelong, her expression full of nervous fear.

  Storm shook herself. I must not lose control like that! I must not. . . .

  She sat on her haunches, staring down at the building-place, but she could hardly focus enough to take in the longpaws’ movements anymore. Her heart felt heavy in her rib cage.

  How did that happen? How could I let myself do that?

  She could not shake the image of Thorn’s terrified eyes; they were burned into her vision. And she was haunted by the memory of such a tough, stubborn, stupidly courageous dog, lying trembling and submissive at her paws. And all I had to do was growl at her.

  I would never have bitten her. Surely she knew that? Yes, I was angry and I lost my temper and I barked, but I wasn’t going to bite!

  But would the Pack ever believe that?

  The thought hit her like that cage had done, slamming down onto her back. It was a horrible weight of misery and frustration and despair. It doesn’t matter what I do, and it doesn’t matter how often I help the Pack or save any dogs. They are always watching me from the corner of their eyes, just the way Thorn did just now.

  They think there’s a vicious monster inside me, just waiting to break out. They think it’s only a matter of time.

  And they will never, ever trust me. . . .

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  It was even more of a relief than usual when Storm’s time at High Watch came to an end for the day. She trudged ahead of her companion down the cliff path, and Thorn made no attempt to catch up. The black-and-white dog had an air of utter dejection, and not a word had passed between her and Storm since their argument.

  Something prey-sized rustled in the dry grass to Storm’s flank, but she had neither the energy nor the enthusiasm to lunge for it. Instead, she plodded on down the cliff, thinking hard. At least I have some peace to gnaw over things in my head. And at least I finally put an end to Thorn’s stupid ranting. I guess there are some advantages to being a scary Fierce Dog.

  One by one, and only to herself, Storm counted off her list of suspects. She’d been thinking some more about the dogs who had already left the Pack. Chase had managed to visit her old friends quite easily in a single no-sun; she hadn’t had to travel all that
far. And that meant that, in turn, Rake, Ruff, Woody, and Dart were close enough to sabotage the camp and attack their former Packmates, if they wanted to.

  Woody is quite a big dog, she remembered, and he was always wild. He’s a survivor, and pretty ferocious. Could he have sneaked back here and killed Bruno?

  I can’t think of any reason Woody would have to attack the Pack, but then I never knew him very well. And I have to bear in mind—the fox said that it was a small dog who killed Bruno.

  But that’s so hard to believe! And even if that fox had a reasonable idea of the different sizes of dogs, can I trust what she says? Every dog knows foxes can’t be trusted, and they’ve certainly harmed our Pack before.

  One thing was for sure: Storm had reached the limit of what she could work out by herself. She would never solve the mystery if she didn’t actively look for more information, more clues. I need to talk to the dogs who knew the other dogs, the ones who left. That’s the only way I’ll ever get anywhere.

  By the time she reached the camp, a morose Thorn still trailing a rabbit-chase behind her, Storm knew what she had to do. I could talk to Chase—she shivered at the thought of trying—but I doubt very much Chase would want to talk to me. It’s not as if she’d give me any useful information about the defectors. She’s their friend. No; I can’t find out more about the dogs who left the Pack without asking Breeze.

  Luckily Breeze was easy to find; she was sprawled in the middle of the glade, soaking up the late-afternoon rays of the Sun-Dog. Storm padded over to her, grateful to be able to slump down on the grass and relax. Breeze raised her head and gave a small woof of greeting. For a moment Storm basked happily in the warmth, rolling onto her back and forgetting her troubles; but it couldn’t be more than a moment. Sighing, she rolled back onto her belly and touched her nose to Breeze’s neck.

  “Breeze, can I ask you a question?”

  Breeze looked amused as she opened one eye and gazed fondly at Storm. “You have a lot of questions, Storm. But of course I don’t mind. Go ahead!”