Journey's End

by Christopher Holt

  “Uh,” Rocky said, “between a pack of angry wolves and a hurricane, I’m gonna take my chances with the hurricane.”

  “I agree,” Max said. “We’ll face Dolph on our own terms, not when we’re cornered.” Once again, he crept forward carefully on the narrow ledge. “Stick close—both of you.”

  Lowering his head, Max took in a deep breath, then rounded the corner. A wave of rainwater plastered his fur to his skin. Shivering, he leaped down onto the parking lot, running through the icy sheets of water.

  He veered left and crawled underneath one of the delivery trucks. Crouching low, he turned to find Rocky and Gizmo beside him, shaking themselves dry.

  They peered out toward the train tracks, which were obscured by the lashing grass. Even though it was still daytime, the storm clouds cast the world in deep midnight shadow.

  “That’s where we’re running to, right?” Gizmo asked, snout pointed at the tracks. “There’s not a lot of places to hide between here and there.”

  “Oh, no,” Rocky whispered, looking back the way they’d come. “I think I see wolves!”

  Lowering himself so he was partly submerged in the water, Max crawled up next to Rocky. Though it was hard to see in the gray-green darkness, there were several large shadows stalking slowly in their direction. The figures pawed at a door to the mall, testing to see if it would open. One wolf raised his snout high just as lightning flashed behind him, illuminating the dark gray sky.

  Thunder boomed almost immediately, and Max heard an angry, defiant howl, one he’d heard many times before. Dolph. But there were too few wolves with him to be the whole pack; the others must still be inside. And they hadn’t spotted Max and his friends—yet.

  Turning awkwardly, Max crawled toward Gizmo. “We have to go right now and hope they don’t see us.” He licked Gizmo’s forehead. “Ready?”

  “I think so,” she said.

  Rocky stood next to Max, trembling from the cold. “Some days, I wish I’d just given those stupid wolves my kibble back at Vet’s office. Maybe then Dolph wouldn’t have gotten so mad that he’d come after us even in a hurricane.” He sighed. “Okay, I’m ready, too.”

  “Then let’s go,” Max said.

  With a deep, steeling breath, Max darted out from underneath the delivery truck. Immediately he was swallowed by the storm. Wind swirled the rain around him and buffeted his chest, threatening to shove him backward.

  “Are you still with me?” he barked.

  “Yes,” Gizmo panted as she splashed behind him. “But watch out for that—”

  Max looked up and yelped. He dodged to the left just in time to keep from running directly into a burned-out streetlamp.

  “—light.” Gizmo finished her warning.

  “Thanks!” Max said.

  The parking lot seemed like an endless black ocean, and his whole body shouted at him to turn back, to stop fighting.

  But more howls rose over the storm, and Max forced himself to continue.

  Grass slapped his face and then surrounded him, and Max realized he’d run out of the parking lot and into the overgrown field. Mud squelched beneath his paws, coating them in slime.

  Rocky and Gizmo had disappeared into the tall grass. All Max could see of them was the rustling of the stalks as the dogs made their way across the field.

  Then the mud gave way to tiny sharp stones, and he saw metal and damp wood up ahead. They had reached the train tracks.

  “Go left!” Max cried as he headed west, in the direction of the cliff.

  He bounded over the tracks, the pads of his feet landing on icy steel and rotted wooden beams. He narrowly avoided stepping on shattered glass. A plastic shopping bag slapped against one of Max’s front legs, clinging as though desperate to be free from the wind. Max awkwardly shook his leg until the bag tore free and flew into the sky.

  This didn’t feel right, thought Max. These rails must have been falling apart since before the humans left.

  “We’re almost there!” Rocky barked from behind Max.

  Max peered through the rain and saw the entrance to the tunnel. There was a shelf of rock above it, casting a dark shadow. Then Max realized that what looked like a giant black opening in the hillside wasn’t an opening at all.

  The entrance was completely boarded up.

  Max slowed to a stop. The tall cliff provided some shelter from the rain and wind. He looked back to see if they were being followed, but there was no sign of the wolves, at least not yet.

  Gizmo darted forward and sniffed at the boards. “These smell really old,” she said.

  “They look old, too,” Rocky said.

  Max could make out the tall, wide concrete arch above the tunnel. Long strips of rotting wood ran across it almost all the way to the top. A few boards lay on the ground, where they’d fallen from the arch.

  Attached to the front of the barricade was a white sign with bright red lettering. Though the message was coated with streaks of mud, he saw the words WARNING: UNSAFE CONDITIONS.

  Maybe Samson hadn’t been wrong about animals going in and not coming back.

  “What do we do?” Rocky asked, pacing in an anxious circle. “I don’t think those wolves outside the mall saw us, or they’d be here by now, but any second that mouse might rat us out and tell Dolph exactly where we went.”

  Gizmo dug under the bottom board, but the wet rocks were packed too tightly for her to shift them.

  Giving up, she trotted to the left edge of the board. “Maybe we can bite it off?”

  “That sounds like a good way to yank out your teeth,” Max said. “The humans must have used really strong nails to attach this.”

  Gizmo cocked her head, looking up at the opening at the top of the barricade. “Hmm, I guess there’s no easy way to climb up there.”

  Wind whistled on Max’s side, and he looked over to see a big, rusted barrel sitting in front of the right side of the arch. He padded toward it.

  “You see something, big guy?” Rocky asked as he and Gizmo followed.

  “No,” Max said, “but I hear something.”

  Sticking his head around the back of the barrel, he felt a gush of wind coming past the boards, carrying with it a strong, pungent stench that burned the inside of his nostrils. He reared away, startled.

  Rocky dropped to his belly. “What is it? What did you see?”

  “It’s a smell, actually,” Max said. “Animal droppings, I think. Mixed with something… awful.”

  Gizmo went forward for a sniff, disappearing around the side of the barrel. A moment later, she leaped back, her eyes watering.

  “What could be causing that terrible smell?” she asked, then sneezed. “But Max, did you see the opening?”

  Max’s tail wagged. “There’s an opening?”

  “Yes!” Gizmo said. “The barrel is hiding it, but it looks like someone tore away the end of the bottom boards. It’s a tight squeeze, but I bet we could all fit!”

  Rocky turned away from Max and Gizmo. “Nope, not doing it,” he said. “Someone blocked this tunnel off for a reason. We need to find somewhere safe to lie low and hide until this stupid storm is over. Someplace dry, with smells that aren’t terrible.”

  A long, low howl rose through the slamming rain, over the roar of the wind.

  It sounded close.

  Tail tucked, Rocky yelped, then spun around. “On second thought,” he said, “I’ll take whatever’s in there over all those wolves.”

  Gizmo followed him, and the two small dogs vanished into the shadows behind the rusted barrel. Rocky’s muffled barks of disgust echoed through the barricade.

  Holding his breath, Max shoved himself at the barrel, moving it just enough for him to slip behind. Just as Gizmo had said, the ends of three boards had been wrenched free, revealing a dark jagged opening.

  Dropping down, Max crawled forward. The edge of the boards scraped at his sides, and he held back a yelp, focused on getting out of the storm and away from the wolves.

  With
one last shove of his hind legs, Max was past the barricade and crawling on concrete. He climbed to his feet and shook himself, sending water flying, and then took a deep breath.

  The stench of animal droppings nearly smothered him.

  Hacking, Max shook his head back and forth and closed his eyes.

  “You get used to it after a few moments,” Gizmo said, her barks echoing through the vast tunnel.

  “Lies,” Rocky said between whimpers. “This smell hurts me. I feel hurt.”

  “I know, Rocky,” Max said. “But we have to deal with it for now.”

  Max opened his watering eyes to study the tunnel. A small amount of gray light streamed through the top of the barricade, brightening the center of the wide passage, so he could see the train tracks that ran along the floor. Everything was concrete and steel, with metal beams supporting the ceiling high above. There were unlit lamps attached to posts along the wall. Farther down the tunnel, a few lamps cast a meager orange glow.

  Buffeted by the storm, the boards behind them rattled, and the wind whistled and whined. The hurricane was mostly muffled now, though pings of dripping water were all around them, and Max thought he could hear the faint rushing of a river.

  Despite the awful smell, nothing looked dangerous. Holding his tail high to reassure his small friends, Max trotted forward along the right side of the tracks.

  “Let’s get moving,” he said as Rocky and Gizmo fell in line behind him. “The faster we reach the other side, the faster we get away from these wolves.”

  “And the faster we get some fresh air!” Gizmo added.

  They made their way quickly past the first bend, the stench growing stronger by the minute. Aside from the awful smell, Max couldn’t figure out why the tracks had been abandoned.

  A gentle breeze blew over Max’s damp fur. He turned to look for its source and got his first glimpse of something wrong.

  On the other side of the tracks, one of the steel beams had buckled, and the concrete wall had collapsed into a pile of wet rubble. The opening revealed some sort of cavern.

  “How do you think that happened?” Rocky asked.

  “I have no idea,” Max said.

  Gizmo’s pink tongue lolled free. “I wonder how far down the cavern goes.”

  Rocky nudged Gizmo’s side, urging her forward. “I don’t think we have time to find out. We can visit spooky deep caves another day.”

  “I hope so,” Gizmo said with a wag of her tail.

  Max quickened his pace as the tunnel straightened out. He had no idea how far they’d come. All he knew was that the fetid smell was stronger than ever. The source became evident as they trotted forward—the floor and the tracks were littered with mounds of black droppings.

  “Oh, yuck,” Rocky said as he carefully stepped around the pellets. “This. Is. Gross.”

  Something rustled high overhead.

  “Shh,” Max whispered to his friends as he looked up.

  He expected to see more of the crisscrossing metal supports, but the dim lamps revealed a ceiling coated with what looked like fuzzy dark brown mold dangling from the beams.

  One of the fuzzy things moved slightly, twitching a leathery wing.

  Max felt his heart nearly jump out of his ribs.

  “What is it?” Gizmo asked.

  “Bats,” Max whispered. “Thousands of them.” Looking back at his friends, he added, “And if we wake them up, we’ll be swarmed.”

  CHAPTER 7

  THE SLUMBERING SWARM

  “Bats?” Rocky yipped.

  Gizmo shushed him and, more quietly, Rocky said, “Please tell me you mean baseball bats, buddy. My pack leader loved to play baseball out in the fields behind Vet’s house.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Max whispered, glancing back up at the winged creatures. “These bats are the kind that can fly.”

  “No wonder the smell is so bad,” Gizmo said in a hushed voice, carefully stepping between mounds of droppings. “Maybe they’re friendly? I’ve heard stories of bats that drink blood from other animals, but any I’ve ever seen were only going after bugs and fruit.”

  Tail tucked, Rocky took a few steps forward. “I’m not gonna wake them up and find out,” he said in the quietest voice Max had ever heard the Dachshund use. “Bad enough we have wolves after us; no need to make other animals angry.”

  Max followed him. “The exit can’t be too much farther if all the bats are hanging here,” he said. “They wouldn’t want to fly very far to go hunting.”

  The bats continued to rustle their wings in the darkness above. A few chirped in their sleep, but none seemed to wake up.

  As the dogs crept slowly and carefully down the tracks, Max realized the bats had infested most of the abandoned tunnel. They hung from the ledges, covering every surface above their heads.

  Even in slumber, their pellets rained down, plinking on the concrete floor. Some landed on Max’s back, and he shook himself to fling them off.

  He was beginning to miss the raging hurricane.

  The soft shushing of a river came from ahead, and the track appeared to veer suddenly to an opening on the right. It was a far tighter turn than Max imagined a big train would be able to make.

  Rocky slowed to a stop. “Uh, I think we just found out why the tunnel was all boarded up.”

  “What is it?” Gizmo asked as she came to sit at Rocky’s side. “Oh,” she said.

  Illuminated by a shaft of hazy light was a large pile of debris. Chunks of broken concrete and rocks, twisted metal, and mounds of mud covered the tracks and filled the space from floor to ceiling.

  The tunnel had caved in.

  Max saw a jagged hole to the right, revealing another large cavern. Gushes of fresh air came from the other side of the opening, chasing away some of the horrible stench.

  “Looks like there’s only one way to go,” Max said.

  Rocky let out a whine. “You think these bats are bad. But do you know what lives in caves? Bears and lions and tigers. Not to mention wolves.” He trotted sadly after Max. “This just isn’t our day.”

  “Cheer up, Rocky,” Gizmo said, then licked his side. “I don’t think lions or tigers live anywhere near here.”

  “Great,” Rocky said, his ears drooping.

  Max stopped at the opening, where rough concrete gave way to a smooth, damp, rocky ledge.

  Max said to Rocky, “If any bears cause you trouble, I’ll fight them off. And just think, once we’re out of here, we won’t have to deal with that awful smell anymore.”

  “True.” Rocky tentatively wagged his tail. “All right, I can do this!”

  “Glad to hear it,” Max said. “Now, stay behind me. I’ll make sure the ground is stable so you don’t fall.”

  The stone ledge was cold and damp beneath Max’s paws. He looked up to see long, spiky stalactites hanging from above—and bats, too, still apparently asleep.

  Max peered over the ledge. Deep below was the river he’d heard, probably fat with rainwater.

  Turning to the left, he followed the ledge in the direction the tracks had been leading. He heard Rocky and Gizmo stepping cautiously behind him, and he could see dim daylight.

  “We’re close!” Max said, his voice echoing throughout the cavern.

  Both Rocky and Gizmo hissed for him to be quiet.

  “Sorry,” Max whispered. “But there’s light up ahead, and the stone feels solid. We’re almost free.”

  A howl.

  Max stopped in place, his body rigid. The howl had come from behind them in the tunnel.

  The wolves had followed them.

  Worse—the howl had been loud, which meant the beasts didn’t know about the slumbering bats.

  The crinkle of wings came from just beyond the cavern entrance. One bat squealed, then another.

  They were waking up.

  “We need to move,” Max barked, already galloping forward along the ledge. “Stay close to the wall!”

  “Max,” Gizmo panted as she and Rocky raced
after him. “Be careful! The rocks are slick!”

  “Don’t worry. Just keep running!”

  Max’s pulse pounded, and a surge of panicked energy flooded his limbs. He bounded forward, veering around outcroppings and leaping over fallen rocks, his eyes focused on the light ahead.

  Behind him came more howls and bat screeches. Rocky whimpered.

  Then the cavern exit loomed in front of them, a gray gap offering a glimpse of a rain-soaked world. Clouds of water droplets whirled in through the opening, tugging at Max’s fur and making the stone beneath his paws slick and dangerous. He ducked his head and slowed his gait as he reached the exit.

  Outside, the three dogs were immediately enveloped by the hurricane. They found themselves standing on a narrow precipice at the edge of a deep, jagged gorge. A large river surged at the bottom of the gorge, cresting in angry white waves.

  Looking to the left, Max saw the train tracks emerging from another concrete arch built into the rocky hillside, the exit also covered with boards. The tracks spanned the gorge on a trestle, a high bridge over the empty air, reaching solid ground on the other side. It must have once been a sturdy construction of iron and timber. But now, the metal was twisted and rusted; the wooden railroad ties underneath the tracks looked as if they were rotted and moldering.

  Max felt Rocky and Gizmo huddle behind him as he looked around, desperate for some other way across, but the gorge seemed to stretch forever in either direction.

  “We need to get across those tracks,” Max barked. “It’s the only way to escape the wolves.”

  “That doesn’t look too sturdy, Max,” Rocky said. “A good gust of wind could blow us right off!”

  “Max won’t let anything happen to us,” Gizmo said confidently. She crawled under Max’s belly and onto another ledge outside the cavern, a narrow strip of stone that led to the tracks.

  The wind tangled her fur and forced her to keep her eyes half closed, but she kept walking toward the bridge.

  Max followed her carefully. Each step was slippery, treacherous. Cold, wet fur plastered his skin, and he shivered.

  Gizmo and Max reached the boarded-up archway and stopped to catch their breath. From here, the tracks spanning the gorge seemed even less sturdy. The trestle swayed back and forth in the wind, creaking and rattling.