Journey's End

by Christopher Holt

  With one last look back at the wolf leader, Max said, “We need to get to the people before those wolves get to us.”

  CHAPTER 9

  AN ODIOUS STENCH

  Night came swiftly as gusts of wind rose, chasing the main storm.

  Max, Rocky, and Gizmo ran beside the tracks, fleeing the gorge and putting as much distance as they could between themselves and the wolves.

  Behind the dogs, in the distant east, thunder still rumbled, and the night blazed with flashes of lightning. It was almost as if the humans had come back to send up fireworks, just like they always did in the summertime.

  “Max,” Rocky said as he scrambled over a tree that had fallen across the tracks, “I don’t know if I can run any more.”

  Max slowed down, then stopped entirely. His whole body ached, and his limbs were trembling.

  Rocky and Gizmo rolled onto their sides on the wet, leaf-covered grass, panting, their tongues hanging free.

  “Do you think we’ve run far enough?” Gizmo asked. “Have we lost them?”

  Max looked back. They were in the middle of a narrow field with tall trees on either side. Raising his snout, Max huffed at the air. It smelled of fresh, clean grass and hidden bush animals, but there was no scent of wolf. The pack must have had to travel a long distance to escape the gorge before they could resume following Max and his friends.

  Which meant the three dogs had a few hours of freedom.

  “I think we have some time to rest,” Max said as he turned in a circle, scanning the dark trees. “We just need shelter.”

  Rocky sat up and pointed with his snout at the tree line just north of the tracks. “What’s that?”

  In the distance, Max saw a shed that had been blown against the trees. It must have once been beside the tracks, but the storm had torn it free.

  “Come on,” Max said.

  The three dogs padded softly through the tall, wet grass until they reached the wooden shed, which leaned at an angle. Sniffing, they crawled through an opening in the side.

  The shed’s interior smelled of dust and mold—but it was dry. Some of the night sky showed through slits in the wood, and Max could even see a few stars. Rocky paced in a circle, then plopped onto the wooden floor. “This works for me, big guy.”

  Cuddling up next to him, Gizmo said, “Me, too.”

  Max lay down, his eyes already halfway shut. “You were both so brave today,” he said.

  “Ah, it wasn’t nothing, buddy,” Rocky said.

  Gizmo nuzzled close to the Dachshund. “No, it was really something,” she said softly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you two.”

  “Don’t worry,” Rocky said. “You’ll never have to find out.”

  Max’s tail thumped happily against the floor of the dark shed. And then sleep came, and he drifted off into dreams.

  Max was back in the desert.

  Wolves howled in the dark clouds that surrounded him. But they weren’t the only shapes in the blackness.

  The clouds twisted and ballooned into familiar figures. Rocky and Gizmo appeared first, staring at him before disappearing.

  Then he saw Charlie and Emma, clinging to each other.

  And then the clouds were clouds again, a swirling funnel that kept Max stuck in place on his little patch of scorched desert. Wolves howled, the noise rising out of the screeching winds.

  You are not as trapped as you feel, Madame’s voice said.

  Max turned to find the old black Labrador standing behind him. She wagged her tail—and the clouds behind her parted, revealing the towering wall of silver.

  Max ran past Madame, toward the wall.

  Make the leap, Max, Madame barked.

  And he did.

  He jumped with all his might, soaring into the blue-and-white sky high above him.

  The three dogs woke with the rising sun.

  They snuck out of the tattered shed and blinked at the morning. Everything looked brighter and fresher than it had yesterday. After the storm, it was easy to find a puddle deep enough to drink from, though their stomachs growled with hunger. The kibble they’d devoured at the mall was a distant memory.

  Gnawing on a stick next to the half-collapsed shed, Rocky said, “You think we’ll reach that town soon?”

  “I hope so,” Max said, leading his small friends back to the tracks. Renewed from sleep, they continued trotting west toward the town the mice had spoken about, in search of the mysterious Stripes and Spots, who could lead them to the wall.

  Dawn’s rays revealed a pink-and-blue sky, and a gentle breeze carried a fresh, dewy scent to Max’s nostrils. But daylight also exposed the full aftermath of the hurricane’s rampage.

  The train tracks led Max and his friends through wilderness. The storm had felled many trees, cracking some in half and uprooting others. The grasslands were swampy and overflowing with water. Broken branches and torn leaves littered the ground.

  “This stuff is not pretty,” Rocky said. “No sirree.”

  Occasionally, the forest to the north would thin out to reveal a highway that ran parallel to the old, decaying tracks. Some of the big green signs had fallen free of their supports, the metal poles bent in half as though they were straw.

  There was no way Dr. Lynn’s beacons had survived the storm. The dogs’ only hope of reaching the wall, and their people, was to find Stripes and Spots.

  By midmorning, the sun was so warm that Max’s fur was dry and tangled. Up ahead, he saw the train tracks cross a four-lane road running north and south.

  “Hold up, guys.” Max slowed to a stop in the center of the intersection and looked down the road both ways. Rocky and Gizmo collapsed next to him on the heated asphalt.

  “Are we there yet?” Rocky moaned as he lay on his back, letting the sun warm his belly.

  Just to the south was a large, single-story brick building with a big sign that read DEQUINCY SHOPPING CENTER.

  Tail wagging, Max barked, “We are here, Rocky! DeQuincy—just like Samson told us. Now we have to find those two dogs.”

  Max headed north, where most of the animal scents were coming from. They passed houses with shattered windows and shutters torn free. A utility pole had fallen onto one of the houses, collapsing its roof.

  Seeing the storm’s destruction, Max was actually glad the humans hadn’t been at home.

  Other than the sounds he and his friends made, the town was eerily quiet. Most of the places they’d traveled through on their journey had at least some animals, either abandoned pets or wild scavengers. That must have been true here, as Max could clearly pick up their scents.

  But the streets were empty.

  As they walked, one animal smell grew much stronger than the rest.

  They had just passed a grand two-story home when Rocky scrunched his snout.

  “Something is rotten in the state of DeQuincy,” he muttered.

  “What’s that?” Max asked.

  Rocky shook his head, flapping his ears. “Nothing. There’s just some bad scent around here. Can’t you smell it, big guy?”

  Max inhaled. Rocky was right. Among the musk and tang of assorted animals was something weirdly oily, a smell like burning rubber.

  Gizmo sniffed, her nose twitching, then said, “Oh, I smell it, too! It’s not as bad as the bat pellets, though.”

  “That’s not saying much,” Rocky said.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” Max said. “Probably just garbage left behind when all the humans went away.”

  “Nope!” Rocky suddenly backed away from his friends. “I don’t trust places that don’t smell right, big guy. And this place smells like nasty, stinking garbage. Remember Belle’s mansion?”

  “Yes,” Max said. “But we have to keep going, Rocky. Dolph is after us, and Dr. Lynn’s trail is gone. This is the only way we’re going to find her.”

  Gizmo wagged her tail. “Plus, just yesterday you stared down a whole pack of wolves, Rocky! You can’t be afraid.”

  Rocky paced
back and forth, growling softly. “I’m not afraid. It just smells bad!”

  From somewhere nearby, a high voice shouted, “You smell bad!”

  All three dogs stiffened. Max slowly turned in a circle, searching for the animal who had spoken.

  He saw a gas station off to his left, its windows dark. Atop the bright red awning that shaded the pumps sat a small, striped creature. She had pointed ears and a strip of black fur over her eyes, like a mask. She looked like a cross between a fox and a bear, with a bit of squirrel thrown in for good measure.

  A raccoon.

  Rocky stomped forward, his eyes on the creature. “What did you say about how I smell?”

  The raccoon sat back on her hind legs. Her claws were almost like tiny human hands.

  “You heard me,” she said, sniffing. “You stink.” She leaned over and picked up a branch, then fanned herself with the leaves. “You’re probably just smelling yourself.”

  “Hey!” Rocky yipped. “I don’t smell any worse than any other dog.”

  The raccoon flipped the branch back over her shoulder, then dropped to all fours. Imitating Rocky, she hefted up her backside and stiffened her fuzzy, gray-and-black-striped tail. “Hey! I am the stinkiest dog who ever lived! They call me the King of Garbage, because that’s what I smell like!” She looked up. “In case you didn’t understand, I was pretending to be you.” She laughed—a tiny cackle.

  Letting out a noise halfway between a growl and a whine, Rocky turned to Max. “Are you gonna let her talk about me that way, big guy?”

  From above, in a near-perfect imitation of Rocky’s voice, the raccoon said, “Are you gonna sit there like a big, doofy mutt, big guy?”

  Max padded over to the sidewalk in front of the gas station. Tilting his head back, he met the raccoon’s beady eyes.

  “Maybe you can help us,” he said. “Can you come down here?”

  “You can help yourself,” the raccoon said, her voice a mocking squeal. “You come up here.”

  Max cocked his head. “And how am I supposed to do that?”

  The raccoon twitched her whiskers. “Well, I had no problem.”

  Rocky dropped to his belly, his tail sagging. “Of course you didn’t,” he grumbled. “Rodents like you can climb anywhere.”

  “Hey!” The raccoon tossed down another branch, narrowly missing Rocky. “I am not a rodent.”

  Rocky jumped to his feet and bared his teeth. “You sure look like one!”

  “You look like one!”

  Gizmo nudged past Rocky and Max, wagging her tail. “Hello!” she barked. “Hi! I think we might have gotten off on the wrong paw. I’m Gizmo, and these are Rocky and Max. We’re actually looking for some animals who live here.”

  Raising her snout in the air, the raccoon said, “That’s nice.” She leaped down to a trash can and sniffed inside, then jumped to the ground and waddled down the road.

  Gizmo looked back at Max and Rocky, bewildered. “How… how rude!”

  Rocky licked Gizmo’s fur. “I don’t care if it smells awful around here,” he declared. “I’m not gonna let her get away with talking to you like that.”

  Ears slightly flattened, Gizmo said, “Me neither. Let’s go after her.”

  The two small dogs didn’t give Max a chance to chime in. They darted forward, chasing the young raccoon. Max followed.

  “Excuse me!” Gizmo said as she raced to walk on one side of the raccoon. “Miss… um… raccoon?”

  “We weren’t done talking,” Rocky said as he trotted up on the animal’s other side.

  Despite being outnumbered, the raccoon seemed unconcerned.

  “Quit following me,” she said, holding her ringed tail high. “I don’t want to pass out from your funk.”

  There was definitely a funk in the air, but it was not from the dogs or the raccoon. It was so acrid, so pungent, that Max could almost taste it.

  Max quickened his pace to catch up to the others. “We’re looking for two animals named Stripes and Spots.” Sniffing the raccoon’s tail, he said, “You wouldn’t happen to be Stripes, would you? Since your tail is—”

  The raccoon spun around and smacked Max on his nose with her tail. He was so stunned that he stood there on the sidewalk, silent.

  “Ew!” the raccoon squealed. “No, of course not. Stripes is such a stupid name.”

  Gizmo growled at the raccoon. “Don’t hit him! You’re being really mean. And for no reason!”

  Crossing her arms, the raccoon glared at Gizmo. “I’m just trying to do you a favor. If you knew who Stripes was, you’d know why you’re the one being mean.”

  “Well, we don’t know who Stripes is,” Rocky said. “That’s why we’re asking!”

  The raccoon looked from Rocky to Gizmo to Max. She scratched her chin. Then she scrabbled up the trunk of a nearby tree and nimbly raced across a long, thick branch to the eaves of an abandoned coffee shop.

  “Wait!” Max called out. “We really need your help. We’re searching for our families… and we need to talk to Stripes. Or Spots. Maybe even both of them. Can you help us? Please?”

  The raccoon peered down at the dogs and called, “Trust me, if you think what you’re smelling is bad now, you really can’t handle meeting Stripes.”

  “Should we take that as a no?” Rocky asked.

  As her small head disappeared from view, the raccoon cried out one last warning.

  “You’d better turn tail and leave town. Or else Stripes will turn her tail on you!”

  CHAPTER 10

  STRIPES AND THE SILVER BANDIT

  Despite the rude little raccoon’s claim that she didn’t want to be bothered, she continued to taunt the three dogs.

  While they scrounged for food in a corner market, its windows blown out by the hurricane, the raccoon draped herself against the cash register. “I’m telling you, if you lay one eye on Stripes, she’ll squirt you square in the face!”

  When they were lapping up rainwater from a pool whose tall sides had collapsed during the storm, she curled up on the grate of a rusty barbecue grill, warning them, “Stripes is feared for miles around! Even the bears are scared of her!”

  And when they huddled together on a porch, shading themselves from the sun for a brief rest, she squealed, “Stripes will make you wish you’d never been born!”

  Each time Max tried to confront her, to find out where he and Rocky and Gizmo needed to go, the raccoon pointed her muzzle into the air and waddled off, as though they were bothering her.

  Max had no idea why the raccoon kept trying to get rid of them, but he found it hard to take her warnings seriously. It was early afternoon by the time Max, Rocky, and Gizmo found themselves wandering through the center of the town. They couldn’t leave until they’d located Stripes, and if the shifty raccoon wasn’t going to help them, they would have to search for the animal themselves.

  It was a modest town, this DeQuincy, its small houses surrounded by fields and trees.

  It must have been a nice place to live once, but the storm had taken its toll. Street signs lay flattened against sidewalks. Abandoned trucks were crushed by fallen trees. Plastic bags and scraps of wet paper littered the streets and mounded in the gutters, the hurricane having upended Dumpsters and trash cans.

  The horrible smell wasn’t from the trash, though. As pungent as it was, yesterday’s storm would have washed it away—so it must be fresh. Someone had worked this very morning to make DeQuincy as off-putting as possible.

  “I’m really, really tired of this!” Rocky yowled, shaking his head. “Every time I try to sniff out where some dogs might be, this stupid stench gets in the way.”

  From a building on the nearby corner, the raccoon’s high voice cried out, “You’re just smelling your own breath after eating all that dog food. Everyone knows you’re supposed to wash your food before you eat it!”

  Rocky growled, but Gizmo nuzzled him. “Just ignore her.”

  The building the raccoon sat on was painted with red and white
stripes and had big open windows. Inside, the dogs could see colored booths and a yellow menu on the wall that showed pictures of food. The sign out front read RANDY’S DINER.

  A bright burst of wind came from around the diner, and with it a quick breath of fresh air. For a brief moment, Max smelled musky dog and cat fur.

  Quickly, he veered toward the road on the other side of the diner. “This way!” he barked to his friends. Max sensed the raccoon watching them eagerly from above, but he took Gizmo’s advice and ignored her.

  As Max rounded the diner and trotted onto the new street, the stench once again smothered every other smell. And now he could see why: Standing in the center of the road, all alone under the high, hot sun, was the source of the odor.

  The creature was smaller than Rocky or Gizmo, with a wide, fat body held low to the ground. Its head was tiny, the size and shape of a squirrel’s. It had four squat legs and a thick, flat, fuzzy tail. The tremendous stench wafted off the creature’s backside, and Max wondered what the thing could possibly have eaten to make such a smell.

  Max, Rocky, and Gizmo stood still in the street, silent and wary. A dry, warm breeze rose, swirling dust and dead leaves.

  The creature flicked its tail to the side, cocking it with warning.

  From atop the diner, the raccoon squeaked in glee. “Oh, now you’re going to get it! I tried to warn you, but you didn’t listen.” She clapped her small hands together. “Ooh, this is gonna be good!”

  Max took a tentative step forward. “Hello?” he barked.

  Rocky nipped at Max’s heel. “Are you crazy, big guy? Don’t go talking to it. We don’t even know what it is!”

  “I think I do,” Gizmo said. “I met one before, but the smell wasn’t anywhere near this bad.”

  “What is it?” Rocky asked.

  The animal walked forward on its short, squat legs. As it came closer, Max could make out two stripes of white fur that ran all along its black body, from the top of its head to the tip of its upraised tail.