by GM Gambrell
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Some of his fear abated with the rising of the sun in the east. The feel of it on his skin was so different than under the shield that protected New Dallas. He looked back the way he’d come and stared at the city floating atop the myriad of pipes that glowed blue. He couldn’t see through the massive shield that sat atop the city like a bubble and wondered what all the floating buildings would look like from where he was.
The buildings still looked forbidding, but they were no longer dark and mysterious. There was a pattern to the destruction of the homes, as if a great wave of flame had leapt out from the center of town, just beneath where New Dallas hovered, and destroyed everything in its path. Many of the buildings leaned in the same direction, and the steel light poles and traffic signals, long rusted to the point that they were barely identifiable, had all been broken in the same direction. He went to one of the houses, through the space where the front door had been, and looked around. Any contents that might have survived the great fire and force that had wrecked the place were long gone. There was nothing but ash and rock.
Despite the sun rising, it was still extremely cold and he missed the warmth of the climate-controlled New Dallas. Magicians kept the weather in the city constant, and he couldn’t remember ever being so cold. The next house offered nothing but the long dead remains of a world he’d never know. With nothing more to see, he started walking east, as his father had instructed, towards the rising sun.
The residential area of destroyed Old Dallas gave way to something different, something he’d only gleaned from reading the old books. There were the remains of massive buildings, many times larger than any house, dotted with the skeletal remains of old vehicles that he knew were called trucks. He knew that the vehicles had been used to move goods from one place to another, so he figured the old buildings, masses of twisted and rusted girders, must have been used to store the things the trucks transported. He decided to explore one and, much like the homes he’d seen, the remains of what they contained were long gone, a victim of a thousand years of rain, wind, snow, and sun.
He spun around suddenly, hearing a growl behind him. There was a small dog there, coming up not quite to his knee. It was horribly thin, its ribs sticking out of its black and white fur. It had a hungry look about it, unlike the dogs of New Dallas.
“Hello, Sir Dog,” he said, using the standard greeting the dogs of the city insisted on. “I hope that I’ve not trespassed on your territory, and if I have, I apologize. Please send your Queen my greetings.”
He waited for the dog to answer, and when it didn’t, he laughed. The dogs here, in the Wastes, were not magical and couldn’t talk. That left him wondering how anyone, in the old world, communicated with animals. He took a few tentative steps forward and the scraggly dog retreated an equal number of steps.
“I don’t know how to talk to you, Sir Dog,” he said, “but I don’t mean you any harm. You’re actually the first living thing I’ve seen since leaving home.”
He kneeled and held his hand out, palms up. “I really don’t want to hurt you or anything.”
He wondered if the dog had ever seen a person before this far from New Dallas. Did the dog even know what he was? It took a few tentative steps forward, sniffing at the outstretched hand. Its teeth were still bared, though, and Duncan kept very, very still.
“It’s all right, Sir Dog. I won’t bite.”
The dog finally sniffed at his hand and then whimpered, allowing Duncan to rub his head. The dog drew closer, apparently deciding with one sniff that Duncan meant no harm, and pushed into him, warming himself.
“See, that’s not so bad. The first creature I meet in the Wastes and we’re already fast friends.”
Duncan, still slowly so as not to spook the animal, sat down cross-legged and slid the backpack off his back. He hadn’t looked at what his father had packed yet and was pleased to see several ears of corn, a couple cucumbers, a few tomatoes on the verge of going bad, and a bag of rice. There was also another water bottle and a clean change of underwear. He took out the tomato, bit a chunk out, and then offered the rest to the dog.
“You haven’t seen people, I’m sure. Have you seen a tomato?”
The little dog sniffed at the tomato and then gobbled it up in one quick bite. The two would be friends from that day forward.
“What do I call you? We call all the dogs at home Sir Dog, even if they’re female. It’s a silly thing, I know, but they insist on it. So…Sir Dog, then? We’ll just keep it simple like that.” He said, taking the dog’s paw to shake. The dog looked at him like he was stupid. “Okay, we’ll work on that.”
The fur on the dog’s back went up and it turned and began growling.
“What is it? I thought we’d gotten past all this? Don’t you like the name?”
Duncan then heard other growls, from further in the destroyed building. The growls weren’t like the little dog’s; they were meaner and bigger. Fear clawed at his gut and basic instincts kicked in. He began quietly and carefully backing away. The small black and white dog, his back to him, backed away as well. The bigger dogs rounded the corner from them. The pack was a mixed lot, but they were all much larger than Sir Dog, and they were mean looking. The pack looked like killers, at home in the Wastes, and he was scared.
He picked up two rusty round iron bars, both about three-foot in length. “Look, guys,” he said, still used to talking to the sentient magical dogs back home. “Sir Dog and I don’t want any trouble. If this is your territory, we’ll leave at once. I have the protection of Queen Bella.”
The pack’s leader, a lean tan and black pincher, advanced a few steps and Sir Dog, who was half his size, advanced to meet him. Duncan stepped up as well, trying to figure out what he was going to do with the two steel poles in his hands. He’d never been in a fight in his life and didn’t even know how to go about it. It didn’t take him long to find out what to do, though, as the pincher leapt forward and locked with Sir Dog in a swirl of fur and yelping.
One of the other dogs jumped at him and Duncan swung the pipe in his right hand as hard as he could, catching the large dog in the head and flipping it away. The dog howled out in pain but Duncan didn’t have a chance to regret hitting the animal as another came in low and latched onto his leg. He sliced downward with the pipe in his left hand, striking the dog in its hindquarter. The dog yelped out but instead of letting go, bit down harder.
He could only spare a glance at Sir Dog as he struck the dog on his leg again, and couldn’t tell which dog was in the lead in the furious fight. The little Sir Dog was a firestorm, dodging the bigger dog’s snout and ducking under him, snapping at his stomach. His initial doubt of the little dog was quickly gone.
Pain flared in his leg as the dog bit down harder and he cried out, attracting the attention of several other dogs. As they rushed at him, he raised the bar above his head and struck the one at his leg, finally dislodging it, but then he was knocked over by another of the dogs. Down on his back, the large dog leapt on his chest and tried to latch onto his throat. He managed to bring the bar in his right hand up, though, blocking it. The dog, snarling and snapping at him, was nothing like the dogs back home. The Sir Dogs were constantly at war with the cats, but in that war they were dignified and even regal. This was a savage, and Duncan had no doubt that his life was in dire danger if he didn’t think of a way out.
At least two more dogs latched onto him, ripping at his clothing and skin, and in a cloud of pain, he could barely make out Sir Dog being slung away by the bigger dog. Though he couldn’t see where he landed, he could hear him whimpering. His vision began to fade as the agonizing pain of the dogs attacking him overwhelmed him.
And then he heard two distinct bangs and the dog on his chest flew away in a cloud of blood. There were two more of the bangs and the dogs at his legs let go and scrambled away, whimpering. The rest of the pack followed, their tails between their legs.
He was unable to stand or even sit, he hurt so
much, but his rescuer stood above him. He wore a floor-length tan coat with many patches and goggles. His head was wrapped in a long, blue-and-white checkered scarf. He raised the goggles, parted the head covering, and smiled.
“I found you.”
Duncan wasn’t sure if he was pleased or not that Diamond Jim had found him, but he didn’t have time to think about it as he faded into darkness.
