Journey's End

by Christopher Holt

“It’s a skunk!” Gizmo said.

  The raccoon raced back and forth, her paws clanging on the diner’s metal roof. “Get ’em, Stripes! Spray ’em good!”

  Max had heard woeful tales of skunks before. Other dogs at the kennel had told stories of sniffing out a new friend, only to be met with a faceful of an awful, smelly spray that clung to every piece of fur and made their eyes and nose and mouth burn. Even after a bath, they still smelled horrible.

  Warily, Max backed away from the approaching skunk. At the first sign that it was going to turn tail on him and his friends, he was ready to run.

  But despite the raccoon’s warnings, when the skunk approached, she merely said, “Hello!”

  Wagging her tail, Gizmo trotted over to the skunk and sniffed her carefully. Doing her best not to show her disgust, Gizmo said, “Hi! You must be Stripes. We’ve been looking for you.”

  “Have you?” the skunk said. “Well, I’m glad you’re just dogs, then. I heard a rumor of wolves nearby, so I’ve been spraying the whole town to try to scare them off.” She ducked her head. “Sorry about the smell. It’s only supposed to be used to defend myself. I don’t like making friendly animals feel sick.”

  “Aw!” the raccoon cried from above. “Why are you talking? Spray them! Make ’em run away howling! Show ’em who’s boss!”

  Stripes sat back on her hind legs and turned to look up at the raccoon. “Tiffany, what have I told you about trying to scare off guests?” Stripes squeaked. “Predators, sure, but I can tell these dogs are good folk.”

  Shaking a tiny fist in the air, the raccoon squealed, “And what did I tell you about calling me Tiffany? I’m the Silver Bandit! I scavenge treasure where none dare go!”

  To the dogs, Stripes whispered, “She means the garbage dump.”

  Tiffany didn’t hear her. From the corrugated roof, she cried out, “I am a nimble thief! A shadow in the night! I sneak past bobcats and coyotes without them even knowing I was there!” She leaned back on her squat hind legs once more and smacked herself on the chest with a tiny paw. “Tiffany was my baby name. I’m nearly six months old now, and I demand to be called by my grown-up name: the Silver Bandit!”

  Sighing, Stripes turned back to Max, Rocky, and Gizmo.

  “I have no idea where she gets this stuff,” the skunk said. “I’m sure she doesn’t even know what a bobcat is.”

  “I do too!” Tiffany squealed. “A bobcat is just like a normal cat, only its head is too big for its body, so it bobs like a chicken when it walks! I saw one just yesterday, and I snuck past its stupid big head and stole one of its eggs. Then I escaped without it even waking up!”

  “I’m pretty sure cats don’t lay eggs,” Max said.

  Tiffany scrambled to the edge of the roof, then leaped down into a row of overgrown bushes. In a moment, her masked face popped up through the leaves.

  “You’re pretty sure cats don’t lay eggs, huh?” Tiffany said. “Well, I’m pretty sure I know what I saw, and that was a whole herd of bobcats, bobbing their heads, laying eggs as they walked, just leaving them behind to be taken by a master thief like myself.”

  “But if they were doing that, why would they care if you took one?” Rocky asked. “Anyway, I thought you said the bobcat was asleep!”

  Gizmo nuzzled him, saying, “Don’t think too hard about it, Rocky.”

  Tiffany twitched her ears and said, “I’m pretty sure thinking too hard isn’t something we need to worry about with this guy.”

  “Hey!” Rocky barked.

  But in a flurry of leaves and branches, Tiffany disappeared behind the bushes.

  Stripes sighed and lowered her tail. “Follow me while we talk,” she said. “I only sprayed the outskirts of the town, so the farther in we go, the easier it’ll be on your poor noses.” She lowered her head. “Really, if I had any other way to scare off predators…”

  Gizmo ran up to trot at Stripes’s side. “It’s all right! You’re a skunk, so it’s only natural.”

  Whispering to Max, Rocky said, “There’s nothing natural about the stench wafting from her backside, if you ask me.”

  Max’s tail wagged in amusement, but he didn’t want to risk insulting the friendly skunk. He quickened his pace to walk on her other side. “I’m Max, by the way,” he said. “And these are Gizmo and Rocky.”

  “Good to meet you,” Stripes said. “You said you were looking for me?”

  “It’s kind of a long story,” Max said as they passed more small stores and homes with broken windows and rain-soaked yards. “But before that storm came through—”

  “Such a dreadful storm,” Stripes replied with a shake of her head. “Most of the damage was on the east side of town. Luckily it’s not so bad farther in.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Max said. “Anyway, yesterday morning a herd of horses almost ran us off the road, and one of them told us they were trying to outrun the storm. They also wanted to get away from an electric wall. When I tried to find out more, she mentioned your name—is there someone here named Spots, too?”

  Stripes stopped in the middle of an intersection. Despite the hot sun, she shivered.

  “Oh, I remember those horses, all right,” she said. “Those big, clomping hooves of theirs did a number on the lawns a few days back. Of course, now you can’t tell the difference between the damage they did and what the storm tore up.”

  Max followed her gaze to a nearby cluster of houses whose windows were all blown out. An ancient tree had been uprooted, its coiled roots dangling in the air, its trunk collapsed across the lawn.

  “Why were the horses here?” Rocky asked.

  Stripes turned to look at the Dachshund.

  “A few were from the stables in town,” she said. “The rest of them had been traveling all over the countryside, and some had been to the wall you talked about. When they weren’t stamping around like they owned the place, they were nattering on about humans coming to electrocute us all.”

  Waddling close to the other animals, she lowered her voice and said, “We know the humans aren’t ever coming back, and that’s just fine by me. Some of the house pets aren’t too thrilled about it, but I rather like having the freedom to roam the streets, don’t you?”

  Rocky looked at the skunk, bewildered. He started to speak, but Gizmo got there first.

  “It is nice being with other animals,” the little terrier said. “Sometimes I miss my pack leaders—my human family—but I don’t know if I’ll ever see them again.”

  Stripes’s black-and-white head darted back and forth as she studied the dogs. “Oh, I didn’t notice those collars you’re wearing. You’re pets, too.” Turning away from them, the skunk continued down the road in the direction of the afternoon sun. “You seem so familiar with the wilderness that I just assumed you were feral.”

  First the mice they met preferred the world without humans, and now this skunk was saying the same thing. Max wanted to defend his human family, but he didn’t want to argue with Stripes, at least not before finding out more.

  “So about the wall,” Max said, following the skunk. “The horses made it sound like you might know something about it.”

  “Not me, no way,” Stripes said with a swish of her tail. “I haven’t been out of this town since I was born, and I don’t ever plan to leave. Anyway, I would never go poking around a wall put up by humans.”

  “So is it Spots, then?” Rocky asked. “The horses said one of you had been on the other side of this mysterious wall.”

  The skunk twitched her big, bushy tail for a second time. “Oh, it was definitely Spots. He’s a crazy old Bluetick Coonhound, though he wasn’t always so crazy. Or so old, for that matter. He likes to be called the Train Dog.”

  “Do you know where we can find him?” Max asked.

  Off the side of the road, branches rustled in a tall, spindly tree. The three dogs and the skunk stopped to look at the commotion. For a moment, Max thought it might be birds, returned from wherever they had flown off to.
/>   Instead, the dogs saw Tiffany scrabbling onto a wide branch above their heads.

  “First,” the little raccoon bandit declared, “I present to you a one-of-a-kind, genuine bobcat egg. So there.” In her tiny hands, she held up a smooth gray stone.

  Spinning in a circle, Rocky yipped, “That’s a rock!”

  Tiffany ignored him. Setting the stone carefully on the branch, she twitched her furry tail. “Second, where do you think you’d find some mutt calling himself the Train Dog?” she said. “Maybe by some trains?”

  Max’s ears perked up. “Are there any trains around here?” he asked Stripes. “The tracks we were following seemed abandoned.”

  Stripes sat back on her haunches and rubbed her paws together. “There is another set of tracks that runs through town and goes by the old railroad museum. More days than not, that’s where you’ll find Spots. He’s a creature of habit.”

  “Can you take us to the museum?” Gizmo asked.

  The smooth, polished stone flew down onto the street, cracking against the asphalt.

  “Never!” Tiffany cried, shaking a tiny fist. “Only the animals of DeQuincy are allowed there! The Silver Bandit forbids you, Stripes, to lead them to our museum!”

  Raising her tail, Stripes hefted up her backside and aimed it at the raccoon. “If you don’t stop it right this instant, Tiffany, I’m going to spray you! You know what your mother will say if I do!”

  “Not my mother!” Tiffany squeaked, and disappeared into the foliage.

  With a sigh, Stripes lowered her tail and met Max’s eyes. “I’ll take you to see Spots,” she said. “But be warned: The Train Dog who went to the wall is not the same Train Dog who came back. And he’s not going to take very kindly to strangers poking in his business.” She shivered. “Not one bit.”

  CHAPTER 11

  THE TRAIN MUSEUM

  Stripes was right about the markings she’d made—the farther into the center of town she led Max, Rocky, and Gizmo, the more the odor faded. Finally, Max was able to inhale without swallowing a mouthful of burning gas.

  “And I thought I was gassy,” Rocky muttered to Max. “Remind me not to make a habit of hanging out with skunks.”

  “Be nice,” Max whispered. “Stripes is helping us—and besides, it doesn’t smell that bad anymore.”

  The skunk led them off the main street and down a dusty road made of packed dirt. Old brick buildings were on either side, surrounded by yellow fields. The breeze rose, carrying downy white dandelion seeds and dry, broken blades of grass.

  Ahead of Max and Rocky—who stayed a safe distance from Stripes’s bushy tail—Gizmo kept pace with the skunk. “How did you come to know Spots?” she asked as they walked. “I’ve met some skunks before who were nice to me, though I do tend to get along with most animals. But I’ve heard from other dogs that if you even go near a skunk they’ll spray you.”

  “I almost did spray Spots when we first met,” Stripes said. “I was a kit at the time, hiding under his pack leader’s porch, all alone, when his big head burst into the darkness. All I saw was a giant snout huffing and slobbering, and I was scared out of my mind. I didn’t even think—I turned around, raised my tail, and got ready to spray.”

  The skunk ducked her small head. “I’m ashamed of it now, but I was orphaned and alone, and all I knew how to do was spray and run. But Spots caught scent of what I was, and before I could do anything, he howled, begging me to wait. No dog—heck, no other animal at all—had ever tried talking to me, so I was surprised enough to listen.”

  “Lucky Spots,” Rocky said.

  Stripes chuckled. “Very.”

  In front of them, a small tree that had been torn up by the storm lay across the road. Stripes carefully led the dogs around it, then resumed course.

  “Anyway,” the skunk went on, “Spots asked me why I was there by myself, and I managed to squeak out an answer. He promised to be my friend and help me, so long as I never perfumed anyone without good cause. I trusted him, and soon he and his brother were bringing me food and keeping me a secret from their humans so I wouldn’t get chased away.”

  “Spots has a brother?” Max asked. “Is he around somewhere, too?”

  “His brother’s name is Dots,” Stripes said. “He’s not here anymore, though. He—” She looked away from Max, whiskers twitching. “Honestly, it’s not my story to tell. I’ll let Spots explain.”

  “Fair enough,” Max said.

  The group continued on in silence. Something had clearly happened to Dots, and Stripes seemed upset about it.

  “How did Spots come to be the Train Dog?” Gizmo asked. “It’s such a regal name.”

  “Oh, he’d been calling himself that long before I ever met him, since the day he took his first trip aboard a steam engine,” Stripes said, staring at the horizon. “I still remember the first time I saw him ride. Dots carried me through the fields on his back so we could watch the train come down the tracks, all decked out with colorful lights.” Stripes was clearly enjoying telling this story. “It was wintertime,” she continued, “and Spots’s pack leader was in the locomotive—that’s the big car at the very front—wearing his blue-and-white-striped cap, waving out the window. And hanging his head out that same window was Spots, having the time of his life.

  “He always spent a lot of time at the museum with his pack leader. Spots was the mascot of the place. He told me plenty of stories when he came to see me.” Stripes sighed—the kind of sigh that was full of memories. “It wasn’t long before I became too big to live under the porch, so I moved out to the field behind their house. I still had to stay hidden, but we remained friends, even though Spots spent most of his time at the museum.” Stripes glanced at the empty train tracks. “When the humans disappeared, I thought we could finally play together, without my having to worry. But Spots and Dots were anxious to know where their humans had gone. That’s why they went to the wall.”

  “So something happened to Dots at the wall, then,” Rocky said.

  Stripes twitched her tail. “Like I said, it’s not for me to tell.” She quickly glanced around. “Oh! I got so lost in my story I almost forgot where we were going. We’re here.”

  The skunk pointed a paw past the train tracks. Just beyond an overgrown lawn was a wide white structure topped by a rust-red roof. In the center was a two-story building with a sign over the front door that read DEQUINCY RAILROAD MUSEUM. Two wings connected to the central building, and attached to the west wing was a train platform. A flag hung limply on a pole just outside the main entrance.

  Max didn’t see any trains, but he could smell the smoky scent of coal, and beyond it the musk of animals.

  “This way to Spots!” Stripes announced as she crawled over the train tracks.

  Max, Rocky, and Gizmo followed her across the lawn and onto a concrete path, past the main entrance to the back of the museum—and all three dogs stopped to gape.

  “Would you look at that!” Rocky wagged his tail excitedly. “It’s just like in the movies my pack leader watched on TV!”

  Max blinked. Behind the main building sat a big black steam engine under a metal awning.

  It was a massive machine, like no other vehicle Max had ever seen, and definitely not like the sleek monorail train he’d ridden in several weeks before. No, this locomotive—as Stripes described it—seemed heavy and ancient, its black finish dulled and aged.

  The entire front was a long pipe, with smaller pipes on top to let out steam. It was connected to a cabin, behind which was a trough filled with coal. The whole contraption sat on slender, grooved wheels. There were glass lights and narrow platforms attached to its front end, and all sorts of tubes running along its length. The number 124 was painted in white on its side.

  Rocky and Gizmo bounded forward to investigate, but before they reached the platform, Gizmo stopped to gawk at the car behind the locomotive. Her ears perked up, her tail wagged, and she cried, “I know what that is! It’s a caboose!”

  She ran
toward the bright red car and leaped inside through its sliding door. Rocky followed her, and the two small dogs sniffed at every last part of the interior, wriggling with excitement.

  Max wagged his tail, then looked down at Stripes. “Sorry, we’ve never seen a real, live train before.”

  Stripes sat down and rubbed her front paws together. “It’s no problem. Spots will appreciate your enthusiasm. Plus, it seems like you three have gone through a lot to get here, braving that storm and all. You could use a little playtime.”

  Max padded across the gravel under the big metal awning. He leaped up into the caboose, landing on an old wooden floor. Inside, it smelled of hay and dust.

  There was an open door on the other side of the car, so he stuck his head out to investigate—and saw the tiny town.

  Past the big trains, next to another set of tracks in a field behind the museum, was a line of buildings just big enough for human children to play in.

  The corner building, the biggest of them all, had a swinging door under a sign that read SONNY’S SARSAPARILLA SALOON. Next to it was a smaller building with GENERAL STORE painted on its side. There was a white building with a pointed roof and a steeple on top, and a sheriff’s station with WANTED posters in the windows.

  But what was most interesting about this town of half-sized buildings was the miniature train sitting on real tracks that circled the town in a big loop. It was a replica of the big locomotive, painted a polished-apple red. Behind it was a jet-black coal car, connected to a boxcar with its top half cut off, and at the very back a caboose with its doors open to reveal an empty interior.

  Max could almost see the train filled with happy, cheering kids, the steam engine tooting its horn as it rode all around the small town. He bet Charlie and Emma would have loved to visit this place. Suddenly he ached for them, wishing they were here and not beyond some electrified wall, lost in a city of tents.

  The wall. He’d let himself get distracted. They weren’t here to explore. They had to find Spots.

  “Rocky,” Max barked over his shoulder into the caboose. “Gizmo. We need to get moving.”