The Empty City (7 page)

“It's good to see you, too. It's been a long time.” All the same, there was a certain wariness in the big dog's eyes as he leaped back down to the meat scattered on the floor.

“Too long,” said Lucky. “I'm ready to see a friend again!” He hesitated, not wanting to sound needy or weak in front of this independent old dog. “We can watch each other's backs, at least! Maybe now I can get a few bites of food without looking over my shoulder.”

The excitement—and the sight and smell of the meat littered at Old Hunter's feet—were too much for Lucky, and he crouched to leap down off the counter. He was brought up short, though, when Old Hunter stiffened and growled once more.

“No offense, Lucky,” he rumbled threateningly, “but it took me long enough to find this stash. It's not for sharing, friend.”

Lucky stared at him, his shoulders sagging. What
was
a friend, if not someone to share meat with? Indecisively he sat down on the counter once more. “But—”

“I've been guarding this since the Big Growl. You know how hard I've had to work to keep it? You're not the first dog to come along. And there were foxes.”

Lucky licked the drool from his chops, his flanks shivering. He was almost unable to bear the closeness of food. The door of the big silver box behind Old Hunter hung off its hinges, and as well as the meat at the big dog's feet, there was more piled on the shelves. The metal box must have kept the meat cold, because he could see water pooling around the plastic-wrapped steaks, and some of them looked frozen solid—like the injured rabbit he'd found last winter. The meat might be frozen, but it would still be edible, even before it melted. He knew that. And there was so much of it....

“But there's plenty here....”

Old Hunter growled again, more angrily. “There's plenty of it, but it could be the last meat left to find. I can make it last. I
will
make it last, Lucky.”

Lucky felt his whole body tense with the shock—this was so unlike his friend! Old Hunter had always been willing to share before, and for such a fierce-looking dog, he was known for being slow to anger. The Big Growl must have spooked Old Hunter very badly.

Lucky lay down, lowering his tail but not his head: He kept that proudly raised. “We've known each other a long time, Old Hunter. You've always shared with me.”

“Things change, Lucky.”

“
We
don't have to. We're both survivors. We always have been! You and I, we're tough. You're tougher than any dog I know.”

The big dog stared at him, lips still tugged back from his teeth, but his suspicion was wavering. The tip of his tail twitched with indecision. Lucky saw it was flicking close to something else: something that dangled from a broken cold-box, dangerously close to the pooling meltwater of the frozen meat. For the first time in a long time, Lucky sensed the invisible power of the longpaws, prickling in his fur and blood.

“Old Hunter!” He lunged, banging his shoulder into the bigger dog's side. Old Hunter staggered sideways, away from the snaking thing, just as its severed tip brushed the pool of water and sparked viciously.

If Lucky hadn't taken him by surprise, he knew Old Hunter would have fought him; as it was the big dog sprawled on his flank, staring in shock at the swinging, spitting cable.

“I'm sorry, Old Hunter, I—”

“No,” he growled softly. “No, Lucky. Thank you. I should have known. Been more diligent. I thought the light-power was dead.”

Cautiously regaining his feet, the old dog sniffed delicately at the water, then used a paw to swipe at the meat, knocking and dragging it safely away.

“Careful,” said Lucky.

“I will be. The light-power snake would have bitten me. I'd be hurt or dead if you hadn't been here.”

Now, decided Lucky, was a good time to stay silent.

“Know what?” Old Hunter said at last. “You're right, Lucky. The Big Growl's had everything its own way so far. Why should I let it beat me, too?”

He took a pace back from his guarded meat.

Lucky yipped with relief and leaped down from the counter, giving a wide berth to the water and the power snake. He remembered his manners, licking Old Hunter's face with gratitude and affection, and the big dog reciprocated, making a far happier rumbling noise in his throat. Then, respect properly shown, they both began to wolf down the meat.

The half-frozen food tasted better than anything Lucky had ever eaten. He ate it quickly, noisily, messily. Only when he'd satisfied the worst of his hunger did he manage to slow down and gnaw at it more sociably with Old Hunter.

It was good to be eating with a friend.

“So,” mumbled Old Hunter after a while, through a half-chewed bone. “Where were you when It happened?”

There was no need to ask what
It
was. “In the Trap House,” said Lucky, shivering briefly at the awful memory. “They'd caught me a few no-suns before.”

“Bad luck.” Old Hunter shook his head.

“Not completely. The Big Growl freed me. Maybe the Earth-Dog took pity on me.” He thought for a moment, becoming solemn. “I must remember to bury meat for her when I'm outside.”

“A good idea. But leave enough for yourself. The Earth-Dog understands
that
.”

“You're right.” Lucky was grateful for Old Hunter's reassurance and his hard-earned wisdom. “And you? Where were you when It growled?”

The big dog grunted at a happier memory. “Hunting rabbits in the park. And catching them, I might add.”

Lucky licked his jaws. Now that the ravening hunger no longer chewed at his belly, he could remember the taste of fresh rabbit with pleasant nostalgia. “They're fun to chase,” he remarked, “but hard to catch.”

“You have to be wily,” said the wise old dog, licking the last scraps of flesh off a bone. “Play friendly for a rabbit; make it think you're not a threat. Be calm and uninterested, however hungry you are. And then, when it's in paw range, pounce fast!”

“I've done that before, and it wriggled free.”

“Let your whole weight fall on it. If you try and catch it with your paws, it'll squirm away and be gone before you know it.”

“Thanks.” All of Lucky's best hunting tips had always come from Old Hunter. “You must have been hunting in the wild since you were a pup! I really should practice proper hunting as well as scavenging and begging.”

Old Hunter gnawed thoughtfully on the stripped bone, licking at the marrow. “I wasn't always in the wild,” he murmured. He sat up and scratched at his neck with a hind leg, managing to part the fur a little. “See that?”

Lucky stared. The bare bit of skin, rubbed smooth and hairless, couldn't be what he thought it was. Could it?

“I spent time as a Leashed Dog.”

Lucky couldn't believe it. “You lived with
longpaws
?”

“When I was no more than a pup,” said Old Hunter gruffly. “It didn't last long, thank goodness. They moved away and didn't bother to take me with them. That's when I started to survive on my own. But it's true: Before then I was a Leashed Dog.”

“What happened to it? The …” He found it difficult even to say the word.

“The collar? I took it off myself. It wasn't easy.” Old Hunter's expression darkened. “I had no choice. I was growing, getting very big. It was cutting into my neck. Might have killed me in the end, but I chewed it off. Took me all day and half the night, but I did it. I swore I'd never wear another one.”

A shudder rippled through Lucky's muscles. Collars were unnatural; dogs like him and Old Hunter should run free. That was the true way, the natural way.

What would a collar even feel like, locked around a dog's throat, choking and restricting? Maybe he knew. Something flickered in his memory. Was it possible …?

Very, very dimly Lucky could recall his old Pup Pack. The other pups in it had worn collars; he was sure of it. So had he, too, worn one? A hated symbol of captivity, a sign of being in thrall to longpaws?

What had happened to him? Lucky wondered. What lay in his past that was so cloudy and elusive? He couldn't remember. More than that, he didn't
want
to remember, and it wasn't just the fear of some perhaps-imaginary collar. Just thinking about the Pup Pack made him feel sad, though he didn't know why. The memory brought with it other remembered sensations: warm bodies, small hearts beating close to his, the crush and comfort and noise of a crowded basket.

Lucky shook himself, unease lifting his fur. The half-forgotten images brought with them a horrible feeling: that dreadful, cold sadness, like a stone in his belly. He got up on all fours, stretched away the dull pain. Dipping his head, he licked Old Hunter's ear.

“Thank you, friend.”

“You're welcome, young one. Good luck to you.”

Lucky hesitated.
Good luck …
Didn't they both need more than that just now?

“Old Hunter … I've been thinking. It might seem crazy, but why don't we team up for a while?” At the mute astonishment in his friend's eyes, he rushed on hurriedly. “Just for a little while, I mean. Until we get used to—to all these changes.”

Old Hunter still said nothing, only watched him a little sadly.

Not sure whether to take his silence as encouragement or not, Lucky rushed on. “I know we're both Lone Dogs at heart. I
know
that, and we belong on our own, in ordinary times. But everything's so strange and dangerous. The Big Growl has changed so much. Maybe it would be good to watch each other's backs for a little. We'd be a good team, you and I....”

His voice trailed into silence. Old Hunter, too, stood up.

“I'm sorry, Lucky,” he said gruffly. “It wouldn't do. It wouldn't feel … right. It's like I said: We can't let the Big Growl win. We can't let it change
us
.”

“But—the light-power snake. Remember how it nearly stung you? If we're together, we can—”

His friend's eyes grew harder. “You probably saved my life, that's true. But we have to keep on surviving alone, like we always have. Understand? It's every dog for himself.”

Lucky bowed his head in reluctant agreement, and gave Old Hunter a fond flick of his tongue. “I understand. But thank you again.”

“Thank
you
. Here.”

As he turned back, Old Hunter picked up a sizable chunk of meat in his jaws and dropped it at Lucky's feet. Lucky pawed it, surprised.

“Go on, take it. I won't miss it.”

Lucky gave him a grateful whine as he seized the meat in his jaws. He threw Old Hunter a last look as he leaped up onto the counter, then bounded back through the broken mall.

It wasn't long before he slowed
to a gentle jog, then halted altogether. He shifted the meat in his mouth slightly. A full belly had made him sleepy, and here, close to where he'd entered the mall, he was standing in front of a very tempting bed.

This huge inner House held far bigger longpaw things than the others, including a low, broad, squishy longpaw seat made of that same aged skin as the treasure-pouches. Lucky gazed at it with longing, and took a few paces toward it. He was so tired. He could rest, then eat when he woke, then move on again....

A pungent earthy musk assaulted his nostrils, overwhelming the enticing smell of his prospective bed.

Oh no …

There were animals around; he'd known that. Animal scavengers and longpaws, too. But he hadn't taken much notice when he'd cared only about finding food, when he'd had nothing they could take from him.

Now he did.

Lucky tightened his grip on the chunk of flesh, growling softly. There was a high stack of wooden shelves behind the seat, and he sensed something hidden there. A sharp black nose twitched, followed by mean predatory eyes and huge pricked ears. Lucky's growl became louder, more threatening, as the gray fox eyed him.

Then, around the shelving, three more of them padded, thin and vicious-looking. They exchanged glances.