DogForge (12 page)

Denali knew she couldn’t run. She couldn’t hide. And she couldn’t dodge. So she did the one thing she could do, she stood proud and growled back.

Scar-nose laughed a sound like tumbling stone. “I’m gonna bite your pretty nose off.”

Grat bowled through the line and howled a savage roar.

Scar-nose spun with surprised eyes. The two met with a thunderous clash and both dogs rolled to ashen ground.

The pack attacked Grat. They darted in close and snapped down razor sharp teeth. Grat focused his attention on the dog beneath him and snapped and snarled, tooth meeting tooth.

Denali leaped at one to try and do something. A dog bit her on the shoulder and tossed her aside. She watched, helpless, as they all leaped upon Grat.

He came for me, and I let him down. All for nothing. She watched, unable to do anything, as he disappeared under the pack.

Grat rose, the picture of fury, and snapped his jaws into one dog after the next. They hung like fleas from his flanks. They darted in, haunches low, and struck snapping bites. Scar-nose leaped again and came down hard on Grat’s shoulder. His teeth sunk in and Grat couldn’t shake him.

“No!” Denali yelled.

“Go!” Grat roared. He snapped his jaws onto Scar-nose and shook his head from side to side. But now the others came in.

Denali wanted, more than anything, to stay. But she knew it was futile, he was lost, there was no way he could survive. If she stayed, she’d die, and do him no good. She turned and sprinted away.

On the other side, Samus’s line pushed in farther. They had broken the line of the defenders. Wounded dogs raced past, escaping as they could. Ivan stood with his maulers in the front of the line and tore through the defenders.

Denali ran and dodged past the horribly wounded. She raced towards the line of maulers. “Ivan!” she barked. “Ivan!”

Ivan dropped the corpse of a yellow dog and turned to face Denali. His mouth dripped blood and drool. “What?”

“Grat!” Denali panted hard. “He’s in trouble!”

Ivan stared down the line. His eyes narrowed and he barked orders to the maulers. “Go! To Grat!”

A group raced towards him, but a line of defenders blocked them off.

“Get inside before the sun sets! Then the doors will close.” Ivan said to Denali.

The sun sat low on the horizon.

Denali raced towards the wall. Her heart slammed in her chest, she was almost there.

Mjol sprinted inside one of the holes and a steel door dropped down.

Denali stopped and turned. She could see the battle line and almost dropped the canister in awe. On one side, the fight was clearly won, Samus stood out from the pack as a victor. On the other, Grat’s side, the fight was not over. Then she saw him—Grat still lived.

Those who fled from Samus’s group had joined with those assaulting Grat’s side. The maulers still beat against one flank but couldn’t break through.

Samus’s line fell back. Grat stood alone.

“No!” Denali cried.

“Yes!” Samson growled and charged.

Denali rolled back and dropped the canister. She dodged away from Samson but his teeth snapped down onto her tail.

“This is my day!” Samson snarled and snapped again at Denali, but missed.

She spun around and eyed the canister. “Coward!” she barked back and led him away from it.

Samson chased and caught a tooth on Denali’s back paw.

She cried out and snapped at Samson. She bit him on the bridge of the nose. He yelped and fell back. “Bitch!”

Denali ran towards the cylinder. She snatched up the filthy thing and sprinted towards the dark openings.

Samson trudged under the weight of his pack and glared at Denali. He set his nose and ran parallel to her. “I’ll see you inside!”

The dark opening approached and yawned above her like a cathedral door. She paused at the edge and stared inside. Nothing. It was like looking into the night.

Denali stepped into the shadow, turned, and stared out one last time before the door closed. The last thing she saw was Grat, bloody, savaged and tore, straining to see his daughter. When the darkness settled, Denali vowed that Samus would pay.

Then, the lights came on.

T
he room was tight, the walls scarcely wide enough to hold a single dog. A glass orb hung on the smooth wall.

She stepped farther in and noticed the floor. No dust, no accumulation of age, no cracking, no weather. It was almost entirely different from the man places she’d normally pillaged. There was a smell, a different smell, that she couldn’t place. She sniffed hard and could only smell the dirty canister.

Denali felt the weight of the canister in her mouth. Her only tribute to the machine gods. All the other pups had packs of accumulated scrap, she had but a single glowing canister. A cracked canister at that.

She sniffed.

A stinky, cracked canister.

“What do I do now?” she said aloud.

The room didn’t answer.

Denali dropped the canister onto the floor. It bounced and her heart skipped a beat that it might break again.

There was a dull sound like a far off bell.

Denali cocked up her ears and tensed. There was a mechanical sound, a whirring, a hissing, and then a click.

The glass orb on the far side of the room glowed a brilliant shade of green. The door beneath it slid to the side and revealed a chamber that stretched into the distance like a great iron plain.

Denali looked out into the space with awe and a touch of reverence. She bowed her head, scooped up the canister, and went to move out of the room.

The door slid close, quickly, and the light went out.

“I see,” Denali said, and dropped the canister.

The light returned and the door opened.

She looked down at the canister and wanted to take it with her. It had meant so much to Cicero. She thought of the dead men and shivered.

Denali stepped quietly through the door.

Closed doors stretched down the wall. Above her door, a dim green light danced, the only one. All of the other lights were dim.

The space around her was cavernous and wide with a single spot of light ahead. Beneath it a shape grew larger and larger. A statue of a man, gray and somber, stared out into the distance. His face was set, serious, with his eyes smooth like glass. One hand hovered over his heart while the other hand pointed to one of two passages.

Denali stopped at the statue stared up. The dim sense of reverence changed to an all out religious experience. This was what she’d dreamed of, and been taught, all her life. To serve man. And here it was. Whatever it was.

She glanced behind her and saw nothing. No one else was out yet.

The passage where the man pointed smelled off. It wasn’t a bad smell to Denali, but she didn’t like it. The other passage smelled of the outside, even a touch pleasant. 

The dog part of her strained to go towards the warm smells, the food smells, the escape smells. The conscious side of her looked up to the man and squinted at the glassy orbs. 

“Trust,” she mumbled to herself. So that’s it, trust. She looked from the hand over the heart to the hand pointing to the door.

There was a click from one of the doors behind her and Denali spun. A green light glowed on the far wall and a door opened. Mjol trotted out.

Denali thought about waiting. She knew the others wouldn’t give her any help, and getting called a runt wasn’t going to help her.  Instead she went down the path the statue pointed at. Her eyes locked on the gray eyes and a part of her expected it to nod or react, but it did nothing.

The passage was dark, a brooding darkness, like stumbling on a cloudy night with the moon tucked away. Her claws clicked on the floor and the air felt dead. Her eyes were wide and her head cocked, listening for anything.

A howl echoed from the main chamber. She stopped and listened. Her pack was behind her, and she felt a tug to go to them. She thought of Samson, bared her teeth in the dark, and kept going.

It felt like the floor descended. Her fur brushed against the wall and she jumped to the side. She felt foolish, skittish, and a touch afraid.

A dim grayness came and it felt like the steely time before dawn. The light grew and Denali came to a wide chamber filled with mound after mound of corroded iron balls. The far wall was studded with hatches. Each hatch had a depression in front of it.

“Where’s the statue?” Denali mumbled and looked around.

There was nothing more. She sat down and looked carefully but still nothing came to her. Riddle, riddle, where’s the riddle? Gotta be here, but where? Iron, and a bowl.

More barks echoed down the passage. Denali’s hackles rose and she paced over to the dish. Then to the mound of iron balls. She sniffed the raw rust.

“Pick you up?” she mumbled and bit down on the rust. At first she thought it was stuck, locked into the heap, but then it moved slightly. She released it with a clink and began to worry that this was a test she couldn’t pass.

The barking came closer and Denali glanced around quickly. She nudged one of the balls with her nose and gritted her teeth until finally it popped free. She dug at it with her front paws, nudged it with her nose, and did everything she could to move it towards the nearest hatch.

It rolled and crunched across the room. She pushed it, guided it, and cajoled it. She scooted low to the floor and pushed it into the depression. It rolled lazily and came to a stop. The hatch creaked and opened a sliver.

A breeze of stale air gushed out.

Denali rushed back, her tail wagging, and worked at the next ball. Her paws, already worn and raw, left bloody tracks on the floor. The barking grew closer. 

Another ball clinked into place and the sliver grew.

Denali raced back and forth, pushing and straining. Her tongue hung out and she could taste iron and corrosion. The clacking of claws and padding of feet came closer. One more ball clanked in and the door was almost wide enough to push through.

Mjol walked into the room. “Runt,” he grunted.

Denali ignored him and pushed a particularly lumpy iron ball. Two more, just two more.

“Samson is coming,” Mjol said.

Her heart beat quicker and one more ball clanked in. The hatch was now a quarter of the way open.

Mjol walked over to the hatch and sniffed at the air.

“It’s mine,” Denali growled. She kept her eyes on Mjol and shuffled the last orb.

“You can have it,” Mjol said with a yawn. “I don’t mind letting someone else find the nasty bits.”

“Smug,” she mumbled and the last ball clinked into place.

The hatch creaked open a sliver more and Denali padded over to it. It smelled of dust, old grease, and a hint of bone. She wrinkled her nose and took it in again, definitely bone.

A growl set Denali’s hair on edge and she snapped her head around to see Samson standing across the room. Behind him a dozen more dogs emerged from the shadows.

“No one remembers anything here,” Samson growled, and bared his great white teeth. “Time to die!” He leaped forward and charged.

Denali ducked through the hatch. The sharp edges of the hatch dug into her shoulders. She pushed and clawed and finally popped through.

Samson halted at the hatch and snarled at her. A stout muzzled dog named Jagok, who was smaller than most, tried to push his way through. He twisted and turned his body and wormed his way in.

Denali set off into the darkness. She took three steps and the hatch creaked closed.

Jagok yelped and squealed but couldn’t break free. Denali rushed towards him but saw there was nothing to be done. The hatch closed and cut his body in half.

Jagok’s upper torso dropped with a thud and the hatch sealed.

She turned away and felt sick. This was more than a trial, this was life and death. She knew it would be difficult, but this wasn’t what she expected.

She turned away from the corpse and set off down the passage.  Her footsteps echoed in the darkness and she strained not to think of Jagok. Thoughts of traps or other devices slowed her pace and she watched every corner carefully.

The bone smell grew stronger and she emerged cautiously into the next chamber.

Rib cages, large and grotesque, hung on the far wall with a patina of red flesh dried tight. Light filtered through the gaps in the ribs, the next passage was just through the chalky white bones.

Denali walked across the room and sniffed at the bones. There was a smell of fresh air through them and a taste of meat. It wasn’t caribou, she didn’t know what it came from.

She bit down and tested the strength. The bone was solid and much harder than it looked. She worked her teeth down each of the ribs and over to the center of the sternum. Time wasn’t on her side and she tugged and chewed at each one.

She gnawed and tugged. A crack sounded and she tugged harder.

A single rib peeled back and snapped like a thunderclap.

Denali’s ears rang from the sound. She leaped up and used her paws for leverage on the next. There was enough room for her nose to get in and she cracked the thick white rib on her back teeth.

It was tough, hard like stone, and ungiving. She bit down so hard her eyes went white and she whined through the pain. Then a second crack like the sound of breaking frost. She pulled at it frantically and snapped it away in a cloud of bone slivers. The taste in her mouth was awful but she ignored it and set on the next rib.

She stopped and listened. A hatch opened far behind. The others were coming. She pulled frantically and gnawed down hard. Her teeth ached and then another rib was gone.

Denali savaged through one rib after another. Her tongue was raw and blood caked on her lips in a slurry of white grit and dirt. She lifted herself up and hopped on her back legs until she was through the ribs and in the center of the cage. Relief washed over her, but she couldn’t help but waiting. The urge to taunt was strong, she was first and wanted them to know it.

Finally Mjol loped in with Sever close behind.

Samson emerged behind the pair and snarled angrily. He glared at Denali and unleashed his rage on the ribcage she’d just gnawed through.