by Erin Hunter
And if she truly believes I’m the traitor, Storm realized with thumping certainty, it’s not possible that she is.
Chase couldn’t be faking her abject terror; no dog could do that.
Oh, Sky-Dogs, thought Storm, with a sickening sensation in her gut. I’ve been on the wrong trail. All this time I’ve wasted. It can’t be Chase: I can see that she truly thinks it’s me.
But if not Chase, then who had killed Bruno and Whisper? The answer seemed to be further away from Storm than ever. Right now it would be easier to catch the Golden Deer than to discover the traitor.
“Chase! Chase, please.” Storm stepped forward very carefully, feeling her own paws tremble. Chase had pressed herself hard against the trees that were blocking her escape; her lips were curled back from her teeth, but her eyes were still frenzied with fear. “I’m not going to hurt you, Chase, I promise. I’m not the traitor!”
“So you say. Stay back! Stay back, I warn you!”
“Chase, I’m not the bad dog.” Storm dipped her head and pricked her ears, trying to look unthreatening. “I thought it was you! That’s why I followed you in the first place!”
At last Chase’s shaking began to subside. She narrowed her eyes, pinned back her ears, and gave a low, quivering growl. “You thought what? Storm, how could you?”
“I’m sorry. I can see now you’re not guilty, or you wouldn’t be so afraid of me.” Storm risked another paw-pace toward the small dog, and this time Chase didn’t wince; she looked more offended than scared.
“I’m not afraid! I—don’t come any closer!” Chase’s flanks heaved.
“I promise I won’t hurt you. I swear on—on the Forest-Dog!” Storm pleaded.
Chase’s eyes narrowed even farther. “All right,” she said slowly. “All right, I’ll believe that oath.”
You’re just not sure you believe me about anything else . . . realized Storm sadly. “We’ll walk back to camp together. I won’t even touch you. Come on.”
Chase hesitated briefly, then gave a sharp nod. Keeping a dog-length between her flank and Storm’s, she set off in the direction of the camp, one wary eye still flicking frequently toward Storm.
I’d best keep my word and my distance, thought Storm with a heavy heart. Carefully she made her way without letting even her tail swat Chase’s rump by mistake. The silence as they walked together was the most awkward she’d ever experienced.
As they paused to scramble up a rocky slope, Chase flicked an ear at her and gave a low, warning snarl. “You’d better not tell any dog where Rake’s camp is. I don’t want them getting attacked by the bad dog too.”
“All right,” agreed Storm, as reassuringly as she could. “I won’t tell. I’ve visited friends I miss, too.”
Even confiding that secret didn’t seem to affect Chase’s attitude one bit; she still looked wary as she sprang up the slope, then turned very quickly to keep her eyes on Storm. She slunk on through the forest, halting to sniff the air as they drew nearer to the glade.
“I don’t smell any Patrol Dogs,” she growled.
“Maybe they’re on the other side of the clearing,” suggested Storm quickly. Beetle and Thorn are supposed to be on patrol, but I’m not telling Chase that. They must have gone off by themselves again!
The sky was already lightening, as the Sun-Dog yawned and stretched, when the two wanderers crept back into camp. They didn’t exchange a word as they parted to go to their respective dens; Storm felt guilty and resentful all at once. Chase was sneaking off in the middle of the night! What was I supposed to think? Of course I suspected her!
There wasn’t much time left to snatch some sleep, and uneasy dreams made Storm restless. Jumbled, horrible images kept startling her awake.
Chase, cornered and at bay, her rump against the tree; that fearful snarl widening and widening until suddenly the vicious, resentful face wasn’t Chase’s at all, but Terror’s. The mad dog’s eyes filling with blood; his jaws opening in a violent, shrieking howl. The savage brute lunging at Storm’s throat. . . .
Storm woke so abruptly she was already springing to her paws. Dizzy, she trembled, blinking. That howl is real! It’s real!
But it wasn’t Terror’s voice, or even Chase’s, she realized as her senses returned. It’s Moon!
The white-and-black Farm Dog was running into the glade as Storm wriggled out of her den. Lucky appeared from his own sleeping-place, and Sunshine, and Daisy too. Moon skidded to a halt on the grass, her eyes wide.
“I can’t find Thorn and Beetle!” she yelped.
“What do you mean?” barked Lucky as the rest of the Pack began to scramble from their dens.
Moon’s tail was as still as a tree trunk. “They never returned from patrol last night. . . . What if . . .” Now, her flanks began quivering. Storm could imagine the awful thoughts that were charging through her mind. “What if something’s happened to them? What if they’ve met the traitor?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The silence was so heavy, it was as though the Moon-Dog had placed her whole jaw on the head of every dog.
Storm’s belly prickled with unease. Was I wrong to keep my muzzle shut? Should I have told Moon, and Alpha, as soon as I saw what Beetle and Thorn were doing?
Then she shook herself. Either way, there was nothing for it but to speak up now.
Storm took an abrupt pace forward. “Alpha . . . I might know where they are.”
“What?” Alpha’s expression was rigid with anger and disbelief as she stared at Storm.
Moon’s face was even harder to look at as she echoed Alpha: “What, Storm?” There was a tremor of rage in her voice. “What do you know?”
Every dog’s head had turned to watch. Storm swallowed hard. “We—Mickey and I—we saw Beetle and Thorn before—while we were on High Watch. They were prowling around the place where the longpaws are digging and building. I’m sure they’re all right; they must have—”
“You saw them? What was the point of being on High Watch if you didn’t report this?” Alpha’s bark was dangerously high-pitched.
Moon bounded in front of Alpha to face Storm, her shoulders stiff with fear, her muzzle curled with aggression. “Why didn’t you say something? Either of you?”
“I—Moon, it’s my fault,” stammered Storm. “Mickey wanted to tell you, but I said no. I thought they’d be fine, they’re such capable dogs, and they know the dangers—”
“That was not your decision to make!” howled Moon. “I could have stopped them!”
Storm felt the heat of shame rising in her chest. “I just didn’t want to get them in trouble, not if they weren’t doing anything bad. . . .” She saw Alpha give her an angry look and went on quickly. “I didn’t want you all to go dashing after them if they had a good reason for—”
“Of course I would have gone after them! They’re my pups!” Moon’s face was right in Storm’s now, her eyes showing the whites, her fangs bared. “You’ve learned nothing! You made a decision that wasn’t yours to make! And Thorn and Beetle clearly aren’t fine!”
Storm swallowed again, dipping her head. What could she say? Moon’s right. She forced herself to glance at Alpha, but the swift-dog’s expression remained coldly furious. She had obviously decided to let Moon’s fury do the barking, and she clearly agreed with every word her lead Patrol Dog was saying.
Storm opened her jaws to apologize, but the words wouldn’t come. What can I say? I was so wrong. I’ve committed the same crime twice, proved Alpha was right not to trust me. . . .
“Packmates.” It was Lucky who stepped forward, his face stern. “We can discuss the rights and wrongs of this later.” From the look he shot Storm, though, it was clear where he thought the wrongs lay. “Right now we need to go after Beetle and Thorn. No more delays!”
“You’re right, Beta,” said Alpha. Her voice was too level and cold, as if she was repressing a need to bite some dog.
“I’ll take out a party to search for them, and rescue them if necessary.”
Lucky raised his head to look around at the closest dogs.
“I’m coming, of course.” Moon shot a venomous glare at Storm. “They are my pups.”
“And I’ll come,” said Storm, averting her eyes from Moon’s.
“Me too.” Mickey sounded subdued, but his shoulders quivered with determination.
“And me.” Breeze padded into the circle.
Lucky nodded. “That will have to do. There’s no time to waste.”
“The rest of us will search the other side of our territory, closer to the Endless Lake,” said Alpha. “Just in case they went that way instead. Good luck, my Beta.”
Lucky sprang into a run, and the other dogs of the party followed at his heels as he raced into the forest. Storm could barely feel the snap of twigs and the crackle of leaves beneath her paws; her head swam with horror at the thought of what she might have done. She could only focus on Lucky’s golden haunches, and keep running, and try not to think. She was aware of Mickey close behind her, and she couldn’t help wondering how he was feeling now. Terrible, I guess. And that’s my fault too. Breeze and Moon were farther back, the gentle brown dog staying close to the anxious, wounded Mother-Dog. Guilt made Storm gather speed, keeping her well ahead of them; maybe it was as much fear of Moon as desperation to get to Beetle and Thorn.
“I can’t imagine how worried Moon is,” muttered Lucky as Storm bounded abreast of him. “I never really understood the bond parent-dogs have with their pups until I had a litter of my own. There’s nothing more important than your pups, nothing. If anything happened to mine—” He fell silent and ran even faster.
Despite the heat of her shame, Storm felt a deeper stab of sadness that made her catch her breath. His own pups are far more important to Lucky than I ever was, she realized. Is that what he’s telling me? Of course they are. It’s natural.
But it still hurts.
As the search party broke out of the final line of trees, Lucky slowed the pace, lowering his body so that the long meadow grass would give him cover. Beside him, Storm followed his lead; she heard the others’ pawsteps slow, and the rustle of the undergrowth as they slunk across the meadow.
Something tickled the sensitive flesh inside Storm’s nostrils: something familiar. That’s Thorn’s scent! Close behind it, she detected Beetle’s, too.
“Lucky,” she murmured, pausing to sniff at the air. “Lucky, I smell them both. They did come this way.”
Lucky retraced his steps and lowered his muzzle to the ground at Storm’s paws. “Yes,” he agreed, “and the trail’s heading for the longpaw site, just as you said.” He shot Storm a disapproving look but said no more. That didn’t reassure Storm. He’s only holding back until Thorn and Beetle are found.
As Moon and Breeze caught up to them, Moon’s eyes widened at her pups’ scent, and her ears pricked and trembled.
“Thorn . . .” she whispered. “Beetle.”
Lucky gave her a reassuring nuzzle. “We’re close to them. Come on,” he said softly. “Every dog behind me. We’ll approach the site in single file, so we disturb the grass as little as possible. We’ll have your pups back in no time, Moon. I promise.”
Hunching himself low, Lucky turned and slunk with cautious pawsteps toward the first gash of raw earth and a line of new-looking tall metal stakes. Storm fell in behind, feeling her heart begin to race with what seemed like unreasonable, tearing anxiety.
I know what it is, she realized abruptly. I know why this feels even more terrible than it should. It reminds me of the day we set out to rescue Fiery. We were just this full of hope, just as confident we could rescue him and get him to safety. Cold fear shuddered down her spine. I hope we’re luckier this time. . . .
As they drew closer to the shiny metal poles, Storm could see a net of crisscrossed wire between them; it was a complete barrier that blocked their way. But the trail of Beetle and Thorn didn’t stop at the fence, so the searching dogs couldn’t either.
“I saw a hole . . .” Storm told Lucky as she snuffled at the base of the wire. “Here.”
Lucky came to her shoulder, and both dogs studied the turned earth. It was rawer and darker even than the paths of the great loudcages: The soil had been clawed out very recently. At the base of the fence, the wire was slightly twisted and warped, as if a sizable dog had squirmed beneath it.
“This is where they went through,” murmured Lucky.
“Then so will we.” At his shoulder, Moon looked tense and determined. Before Lucky could so much as growl a warning, the white-and-black Farm Dog had pushed past him and plunged into the hole. Her haunches wriggled briefly, and she emerged on the other side of the wire, shaking earth from her coat.
“All right,” said Lucky softly. “Let’s follow Moon.”
One by one the rest of the party squeezed through the tight gap, shook off the loose mud, then paused to look around for dangers. Storm came last, following Breeze; she couldn’t help flinching as she spotted a giant loudcage not a rabbit-chase away.
Every dog held their breath, but the massive yellow creature was as still as death; no growl or breath came from it. Behind and beside it were others of its kind; every single one was motionless, lifeless.
“Don’t let that fool you,” growled Lucky. “They’re not dead. And they wake up fast. Let’s be very careful—just because we can’t hear longpaws doesn’t mean they’re not close.”
Storm’s hide prickled beneath her fur as the dogs picked their way between the slumbering yellow beasts and the great piles of gravel and sand the longpaws had left. The stink of the longpaws was very strong and their traces were everywhere: paw prints, loudcage-tracks, great gouged holes that made astonishingly straight and level lines in the earth. Breeze stretched her neck to sniff at a pile of metal rods; she leaped back almost at once with a suppressed yelp of alarm.
“The stink of all this stuff,” she growled in frustration. “What in the Earth-Dog’s name is it all for? It’s so hard to pick up Beetle and Thorn’s trail.”
“No, it isn’t,” whispered Storm, treading nervously closer to a loudcage. Her paws shook, but she had to get closer. There was something . . .
“Storm,” Breeze murmured, “what are you doing? You shouldn’t get too close to it.”
“I think it’s okay,” Lucky told her. “Loudcages don’t move if their longpaws don’t make them.”
“Weird . . .” Breeze sounded no more confident, but Storm ignored her. She got right up next to the loudcage.
“Yes!” she exclaimed, a rasp of fear in her throat. “Smell this loudcage’s paws!”
The paws were huge, round, and black, softer than the loudcages’ metal bodies, and they alone were taller than any of the dogs. Storm risked a glance up at the beast; it didn’t stir, even when she touched her trembling nose to its paw. The stench of it was strong, mixed up with scents of earth and mud, but there was something else, unmistakable.
Beside Storm, Moon gave a low snarl, her hackles rising. “Beetle. He hasn’t just touched this. He marked it.”
Storm’s eyes widened. Moon was right. Sniffing again, she found Thorn’s scent beneath her brother’s.
Moon scampered to the next loudcage and put her nostrils to its giant feet. “And this one!” she growled. “They’ve marked all these loudcages, deliberately. Reckless young fools!”
Moon’s voice was full of fear as well as fury. “When I find you two, you’re in for the scolding of your lives!”
“Then let’s find them, Moon, and get them out of here.” Lucky was calm and resolute, but there was an undercurrent of anger in his voice, too.
I may have been an idiot to keep it to myself, thought Storm. But really—those two should have known much better than to come here at all, let alone mark it as their territory.
Now that the search dogs had found the markings, the trail was easy to follow, in spite of the powerful longpaw scents that pervaded everything. They crept on through the site, sniffing at fences and piles of wood and upturned buckets,
finding evidence of Beetle’s and Thorn’s markings everywhere they went. Although Moon was limping quite badly now, she was moving ahead of the others, her nose more certain of her pups’ trail than any dog’s.
Moon came to a standstill beneath yet another sleeping loudcage. She stared up at it, seeming unafraid, yet the whites showed around her blue eyes. Her shoulders trembled as the others joined her.
“The trail: It stops here,” she growled. Her voice rose on a tide of panic till it was a frenzied yelp. “I can’t smell anything but longpaws. Where are my pups?”
Every dog froze. “Moon, no!” growled Lucky. “We have to be quiet!”
But Moon could contain herself no longer. “Where are they?!”
For a horrible moment every dog stood rigid with fear, waiting for the trampling, rushing tread of longpaws. But there was nothing. Into the silence came a sound that made Storm’s hackles rise; then she recognized it.
Barking. Desperate, muffled barking. Beetle! Thorn!
“This way!” exclaimed Storm, and bounded toward the sound with the others at her heels.
She skidded to a halt on a patch of drier, dusty earth. Before her was a squat, square longpaw den on wheels. As Storm hesitated, Moon lurched past her, then halted, eyeing the small den with fear.
“Beetle!” she barked. “Thorn!”
Another volley of familiar barks came from inside the den’s metal walls. “We’re here! In here!”
Moon gasped, terrified, as did Breeze beside her, but Lucky and Mickey bounded confidently up to the den. Lucky even rose onto his hind legs and placed his forepaws on the metal wall.
Of course, thought Storm, he was a Lone Dog, and Mickey was a Leashed Dog. They might know just how to get inside this den. Storm tilted her head, staring in perplexity at the weird hybrid thing. No shining clear-stone eyes, like a loudcage has, but it definitely has loudcage-paws. Maybe its head has been chopped off by the longpaws. Why would they do that?
But there was no time to think about why longpaws would need a headless loudcage. Moon seemed to know that, too; she crept up to the beast’s belly, terror in her eyes. She’s thinking of Fiery, realized Storm.
