Survivors: Alpha's Tale

by Erin Hunter

  “No.” Giving a great sigh, she gazed into his eyes. “Wolf, you have to go. You need to go.”

  “But—” Pain sawed inside him.

  “If you stay, now? With me? You’ll grow to hate me.”

  “No! I—”

  “Yes, you will. You’ll hate me for keeping you here and you’ll hate yourself for letting me.” She licked his face gently. “You’re right, Wolf. You can’t be happy here. So go, right now. I’ll give you as much of a start as I can. I promise. But I’ll have to raise the alarm in a little while. If I don’t, it’s not just a scarred paw they’ll give me. Do you see?”

  Cold and heavy with sadness, Wolf licked his chops. He nodded slowly. “Yes,” he said. “I do see. But I’ll miss you, Calamity. So much.”

  “I’ll miss you too, more than I can say.” Rising, she pressed her elegant head to his neck. “But go, and go quickly. Please.”

  Wolf stayed for another moment, breathing in Calamity’s warm scent one more time. Then he turned and bounded for the barn door and out into the yard. He couldn’t bear to look back, so he kept running despite the pain in his injured paw, racing for the fence, seeking out the hole where he’d wriggled into the meadow what felt like a lifetime ago.

  With my brother and my Pack. But they’re not that anymore. I’ll be on my own. But at least I’ll be free. He dived for the hole.

  No!

  It had been stuffed full of fresh earth and stones; the soil was slightly loose but the grass was already growing over it. He knew he could never dig through it in time.

  Another worry prickled at his fur.

  Calamity needs to raise the alarm, and soon. I can’t let more harm come to her—

  Wolf twisted his head from side to side, searching desperately for an exit. The sheep field!

  There was a rickety wooden shelter in one corner of it, next to a gnarled tree: a rough structure to protect the sheep from bad weather if they needed it. Wolf bounded for the meadow, skidded through the gate and dashed for the shelter.

  It was perhaps the height of two sheep. Wolf did not hesitate, but raced faster as he approached its star-silvered outline. With one massive thrust of his haunches, he leaped, scrabbling onto its slanted roof.

  Now he could hear furious barks, echoing through the yard, and the pounding of strong paws on flattened earth. They were coming for him, racing across the yard: four sets of paws. Calamity raised the alarm. She’ll be fine!

  But will I?

  Wolf faced the fence. It wasn’t high from the top of the sheep shelter, but there was wire with spines running along the top, and the tree branches were obstructing him.

  Sundance’s raging barks rang in his ears, much closer now, filled with hate. He can’t get me!

  Wolf leaped. His claws found an overhanging branch, and he hauled himself with raking claws onto it. His bushy tail snagged in a spine on the wire, but he tugged himself forward. The scents of the forest filled his nostrils now, and that something was calling to him again. The hills, and the rivers, and the forests, and freedom—

  Jump, Wolf!

  He plunged down just as Sundance’s jaws snapped on his tail. Twisting, Wolf dragged himself free, and tumbled hard to the earth below, the forest litter breaking the worst of his fall. His coat was full of grit and soil and pine needles, but suddenly he didn’t want to shake it off. The scent of sagebrush filled his head, and he could barely even hear Sundance’s enraged squealing snarls.

  Getting to his paws, Wolf glanced back through the fence at the furious, howling Fierce Dogs. Their eyes were savage and murderous—all but one. Calamity was barking with the others but her eyes were soft and sad and happy all at once. He thought he could almost hear her voice inside his skull.

  Good-bye, Wolf. Be happy.

  He turned tail, and raced for the woods and for freedom.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The valley where he stood sloped down to a winding blue river fringed with trees and scrub. Farther away the forest grew denser, with pines and firs, until it blurred into hazy lilac mountains. Maybe his Pack was out there somewhere.

  Maybe they are, but I won’t be looking for them.

  They’d abandoned him to the Fierce Dogs, thought Wolf. They’d betrayed him, and there was no going back.

  I’m on my own.

  Better that, he thought as he trotted down through the brush toward the valley floor, than to be back with the Rancher. He was lonely, but he knew it would pass. A shudder of sadness went through his gut when he thought of Calamity, but he would try not to think of her too often.

  He missed Graceful, too. As he journeyed on through river and forest, he found he even missed the Fierce Dogs; but he could shake that off quite easily. It’s just that they were a Pack, he thought. Not for long, but they were my Pack.

  He hoped he’d find another. He was no undisciplined Lone Wolf, snatching prey where he could find it.

  The hunger in his stomach was more insistent than the vague sadness in his heart. In a patch of thorn scrub he sniffed out a rabbit, but when he sprang for it, it dodged and fled, zigzagging cunningly till he was forced to abandon the chase.

  If I’d had a Pack, there would have been another wolf to flank it, block it, drive it back to me.

  I’ll manage.

  The sun was lowering in the sky and his paw pads were beginning to ache when he heard something, somewhere off to his left: a high, squeaking bark of fear. Wolf came to a halt, hackles rising, ears pricking toward it.

  It had been a long time since he’d heard the sound, but he knew a pup bark when he heard it. This one was afraid, very afraid. His brow furrowed. Another wolf Pack? Where are they?

  For a moment he hesitated. He couldn’t dash into the midst of a strange Pack; they’d simply kill him. But if there were other wolves near him, he had to try, at least, to join with them. Nerves fluttered in his belly, his need warring with wariness.

  His ears flickered again, and he gave a low, uncertain growl. The pup was still yelping frantically. Where’s its Mother-Wolf? What is she waiting for?

  The pitch of the barking rose, almost to a squeal, and Wolf couldn’t repress his instinct any longer. Blood raced to his heart and his belly and he shot forward, sprinting toward the sound of a pup in distress.

  Branches slapped his muzzle and thorns snagged in his fur, but he ran on, the sound growing closer and louder. He could barely see where he was going, but now he could scent the pup ahead, its terror sharp in his nostrils. Still there were no sounds or smells of grown wolves, though there was something else. . . .

  Plunging through a last belt of thorn-scrub, Wolf skidded to a halt.

  And found himself nose-to-nose with an enormous, glossy giantfur.

  Its rumbling roar made the ground shake. Wolf backed off swiftly, flattening his ears, as he took in what was happening.

  The huge black giantfur shifted on its massive paws, giving him another roar of warning before turning back to its prey. Beneath it, trapped between the roots of an ancient pine, cowered a terrified dog pup.

  Rage drove out Wolf’s fear. He lunged forward between the giantfur and the pup, backing against the tree. His legs jammed protectively over the pup, and he wrinkled his muzzle in a furious snarl.

  The giantfur blinked and gave its hoarse roar again, making the tree shudder. Between Wolf’s paws, the pup cringed, whimpering.

  The giantfur went back on its hindpaws, baring sharp teeth in its small, pointed muzzle. Wolf’s hackles bristled as he snarled back. Lunging forward, he snapped his fangs into its glossy black shoulder, deep enough to find flesh as well as fur.

  The giantfur squealed in rage, then swiped enormous pale claws at Wolf. He fell back, but attacked again straightaway, nipping hard at the creature’s neck. Once more he dodged back, slipping out of reach of those lashing claws.

  Seeming uncertain now, the giantfur growled, its beady black eyes fixed on Wolf’s. A low rumble came from its throat; then it snapped its teeth again. Wolf held his ground,
fangs bared to the gums.

  The giantfur’s retreat was sudden and complete. It dropped back to all fours, then turned and shambled into the bushes. Soon its growls faded and all Wolf could hear were the crash and snap of branches.

  Wolf heaved a shuddering sigh of relief. Now that it was over, he could admit to himself how rash he’d been. A giantfur was no creature for a wolf to fight, let alone a dog.

  He dipped his head quizzically to the pup shivering between his forelegs. “What did you do to annoy it?”

  The pup was still shivering, but his huge eyes were bright with amazement and adoration. “That was the best thing I have ever seen.”

  Wolf growled. “That was the stupidest thing you have ever seen. The giantfur could have killed us both. Where’s your Pack?”

  At once the pup’s face fell. Or maybe it didn’t, thought Wolf; maybe the pup’s features were constantly sliding down its face. He was an odd-looking little thing, Wolf decided. His paws seemed clumsy and far too big for him, and his face was crumpled, his jaws floppy. Though his sturdy body was golden-brown, his face was black, and there were folds of wrinkled skin above his little black eyes. Maybe that was all that gave him his heavy-eyed, mournful expression.

  The pup whimpered miserably. “I haven’t got a Pack,” he told him.

  “What do you mean, you haven’t got a Pack?” Wolf lifted his ears in surprise. “Every dog or wolf has a Pack.” Except me, he reminded himself with a twinge of sadness. “What about your Mother-Dog?”

  “My Mother-Dog got sick and died.” Miserably the pup lowered his crinkled face to its forepaws. “So did my Sire-Dog. I’m all alone.”

  Wolf stared at him. A pup this size, left all alone in the forest? With giantfurs and coyotes and mountain sharpclaws? He was doomed.

  “What’s your name?” Wolf asked him.

  “Snail.” The pup raised his mournful-pup eyes to his.

  Wolf choked on a laugh, and forced his face to look solemn. “I’ve heard some strange names lately, but Snail?”

  “I like snails,” said the pup dolefully. “They’re tasty. And there’s not much else around here.”

  Wolf sat back on his haunches, perplexed. “What are you going to do?”

  The pup tilted his ugly crumpled head, fixing his eyes hopefully on Wolf. “I could come with you.”

  “I don’t think so.” Wolf shook his head. “I don’t have a Pack either. I wouldn’t be able to look after you—I’ve got enough trouble looking after myself at the moment.”

  The pup wriggled, and crept tighter beneath his belly, so that Wolf had to crane to look down at him.

  “But I could look after you,” he whined, nuzzling into Wolf. “I’m quite fast for a pup, even my Sire-Dog said so. We could be a Pack together! I could be your lookout. I could find the prey, and chase it to you, and you can kill it!”

  Wolf peered at the little thing, dumbfounded. “I don’t know. . . .”

  The pup poked his head out from beneath him, his eyes pleading. “I could find you lots of snails.”

  Wolf whuffed with laughter, he couldn’t help it. Then he grew thoughtful again. He’s a pup and he’s helpless. You can’t leave him out here. And snails aren’t that bad. . . .

  “I suppose you could come with me for a little while,” he told the pup doubtfully. “Just for a bit, though. And you have to do everything I tell you. No fooling around or disobeying me. And no pestering giantfurs.”

  “Yay!” The pup bounced out from beneath his legs, wagging his hindquarters furiously. “I promise, I promise! I’ll be so good!”

  Oh, Great Wolf, what have I let myself in for? But Wolf couldn’t help a tingle of amusement. “You’d better be.”

  “I will!” The pup sat down suddenly, panting. “What’s your name?”

  My Name, thought Wolf. My Name?

  He could say Wolf, the last name he’d been given. Or should he say Dog? It was the Name his Pack had given him under the full moon, in sight of the Great Wolf; the Name his Mother-Wolf had told him to be proud of.

  A breeze stirred the foliage as the pup gazed expectantly up at him. On it, he could smell the mountains, the firs, and the sagebrush.

  I don’t have to be either of those things, he realized. Both my Packs are gone. Maybe it’s time to choose my own identity. Live as myself, and for myself. Find my own friends and family and respect. Protect the wolves and dogs that I want to protect.

  Maybe I can make a Pack of my own.

  He felt his spine stiffen with determination. Gazing into Snail’s eager eyes, he drew himself up proudly and gave the pup a wolf grin.

  “You can call me Alpha.”

  Excerpt from Survivors #2: A Hidden Enemy

  Lucky and the Leashed Dogs have finally settled in the forest. But a fierce Pack of Wild Dogs has laid claim to the land—and they are led by a menacing half-wolf Alpha. Read on for a look at their first meeting. . . .

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Our territory! Ours!”

  Birds took off with an alarmed clatter and screech from the treetops, and disturbed leaves fluttered down around Lucky’s paws.

  He stood stiff and trembling, gazing back the way he’d come. That was his Pack in the valley—no, not his Pack, but his friends. And those ferocious barks told him one thing: They were in terrible danger.

  Terrible danger he was not there to help them fight.

  Lucky glanced around, torn. Since just after sunup, when he’d left his friends to fend for themselves, he had traveled a long way. He could make out the misty silhouette of the far hills in the distance, and now that he was a good way from the valley he was able to look down on almost the entire forest. Indeed, he’d nearly climbed clear of the trees, and close in front of him was the ridge he’d been heading for. The sight of it had been spurring him on, making his legs run faster and faster—but now he stood as still as a tree.

  His friends needed him.

  Heart pounding, Lucky bolted back the way he’d come.

  Forest-Dog! Don’t let them come to any harm! Let me get there in time. . . .

  He raced toward the valley, leaping over fallen branches and scattering leaves. He should have trusted his instincts. Deep down he’d known that he was not supposed to leave the Pack. But he had trotted away like a Lone Dog, and now his friends were vulnerable.

  Who will protect them if I don’t?

  He could still hear the howls of anger, dog voices that he didn’t recognize mingled with the barks of his litter-sister and the rest of the Leashed Dogs.

  “Our land, our water! Get out!”

  “Everyone together! Stay with me!”

  Lucky’s powerful hind legs brought him quickly to the crest of a small hill and he scrabbled to a halt before his momentum could take him plunging down.

  Wait, Lucky . . . find out the lay of the land before you dash into trouble.

  Lucky’s keen gaze searched the valley below. It opened out into broad and lush meadows beyond the thick woods. It had seemed ideal for the Leashed Dogs. There were places for Mickey to hunt and for Martha to swim, plenty of shelter for Sunshine and Alfie and Daisy, wide ranges for Bruno and Bella to explore. He should have known that other dogs would have had the same idea. Of course another Pack had gotten to the valley before them, and now those dogs were defending their territory.

  In the distance, silver light glinted on a smooth expanse of water; farther off and next to the forest’s edge ran the river where he’d last seen the Leashed Dogs. Lucky bounded down the hill, heading toward it.

  The hostile Pack’s growls and barks made Lucky’s fur prickle with anger and fear. But he knew if he burst out from the forest in broad daylight he’d be seen at once, so he made himself go carefully.

  Something had changed about the river since he’d left his friends there. A strangeness, Lucky thought. And then he remembered the streams and pools close to the destroyed city. They had the same scent of danger that Lucky was picking up now.

  Horrified, Lucky stoppe
d and stared. There was a nasty green slick on the surface of the water. This was supposed to be a safe haven! The river was supposed to be clean, pure—and it had been, or they’d thought so when they found it yesterday.

  But now, Lucky could see the deadly stain spreading downriver.

  I led my friends to poisoned water!

  Was there no getting away from the taint of death that the Big Growl had brought? At this end of the river, even the trees and bushes at the water’s edge looked half-dead, shriveled and broken as if a giant dog had chewed on them. As he ran across the hillside parallel to the stream, Lucky’s heart felt heavy in his chest. If the Big Growl’s sickness could infect even this place, there might be nowhere else for the dogs to go. Nowhere they could be safe.

  “Get out!”

  A vicious howl split the air, and Lucky heard the panicked yelping of confused dogs and a sharp yip of pain. He raced along and down the hillside, claws skidding on stone. When he broke out of a line of thick scrub, he caught sight of them at last.

  His friends looked small and vulnerable against the attacking Pack: a wild-looking band of large dogs, stiff-legged and snarling. Now and again, one would spring forward to give a brutal volley of barks.

  “You’ve got it coming, Leashed Dogs!”

  He could hear Bella’s voice, too—quieter, more frightened, but still brave: “It’s all right, everyone. Stay together. Sunshine, get behind Bruno. Martha, help Daisy.”

  Skulking low to the ground, crouching in the shadow of a huge boulder, Lucky counted seven dogs in the enemy Pack. Blood surged through his body and he felt a powerful impulse to race right into the battle, but his instincts, learned on the city streets, held him back. He realized with a rush of relief that the fighting had stopped for the moment. The other Pack was just taunting and insulting Bella’s Pack—if Lucky raced in now, the situation could become deadly again. The hostile Pack might decide to finish the smaller dogs quickly so they could concentrate on him.