Dead of Night

by Erin Hunter

  Storm squirmed against the damp earth. What would the Pack’s “justice” be, for a fox?

  What would justice be for me? If they suspected her, would the Pack Dogs hold her down while she was clawed or bitten? Would they simply leave a jagged scar across her flank, or would they go for the throat? And would it be Alpha herself dealing the blow, or . . . would it be Lucky?

  “No,” Lucky said, and Storm’s relief jolted her away from the dark path her thoughts were walking. “I want justice as much as you do—but what I want more is for the Pack, all of us, to be safe in the long run. That means getting rid of the foxes for good, not starting another fight.”

  Storm’s tail wagged involuntarily at Lucky’s words. He was speaking sense! Of course, he still believed that if the foxes left, Whisper’s killer would be gone too . . . but that was a problem she would have to deal with another time.

  Woody and Rake both growled deep in their throats. “If it was one of your Pack . . .” Rake began.

  “Whisper was one of my Pack!” Lucky snarled back. He lowered his voice again. “And so are you. I am the ranking dog here, and we’ll be following my plan. Any dog who doesn’t like it can walk away now.”

  Rake and Woody both looked away. There was a tense silence, and then Lucky’s tail thumped twice against the ground.

  “Good,” he said. “Storm, Arrow, you split up and take flanking positions on either side of the fallen tree. If they think they’re surrounded by Fierce Dogs, it will make them feel weak and uneasy—and they’ll be more likely to surrender.”

  A murmur of agreement passed through the other raiding dogs. It still irked Storm a little, to hear Lucky make such sweeping statements about Fierce Dogs, even if he meant it well. But at that moment she was feeling too relieved to do more than give a small sigh as she nodded to Lucky and got to her paws wearily.

  “Get into position and wait until I give the signal, then come into the clearing,” Lucky said. “And look as fearsome as you can. The rest of you will stand with me and bare your teeth. Be frightening.”

  Arrow got to his paws, and they crept out from the dogs’ hiding place. Without a word or a glance back at Storm, Arrow padded away from her and vanished into the thicket. Storm circled around it until she thought she’d gone about halfway, then pushed through the thick undergrowth toward the fallen tree.

  She crept toward the foxes’ den as quietly as she could, though in the stillness she felt like nearly every step was making enough noise to bring all the foxes running. Fierce Dogs were built for speed and strength, not stealth. But she went on, placing her paws as carefully as she could, getting down on her belly to wriggle underneath thornbushes and pressing close to the trunks of trees where the warning scent of foxes stung her nose. She was tense with excitement, but still so tired, her legs heavy with weariness.

  The others approached the foxes’ den from the front, crawling under the same bushes that the exploring patrol had a few days before. Storm couldn’t see them, but she could scent them. Lucky had better make his move soon, or . . .

  “Foxes! Come out and face us!” Lucky’s bark echoed between the trees. Storm heard yowling and scuffling from the empty clearing, but no foxes appeared. “I said, come out, or we will dig into your den and find you!” Lucky cried.

  The noise grew louder, and then a flood of red fur burst from the hole beneath the fallen tree. One, three, five . . . Storm counted ten foxes, all of them full-grown, their fur puffed up with fear and anger.

  “Dogses!” one of the foxes yapped. “Nasty attack-dogses! Leaves fox-home, or we rips their throats!”

  Lucky came forward, out from under the thorns, and stood in front of the foxes. Rake, Woody, Mickey, Thorn, and Snap all followed him. They made an impressive Pack as they bared their teeth, silently backing up their leader.

  “Foxes,” Lucky said again, with the barest hint of a growl in his voice. “You have plagued this territory for too long. We will not tolerate you anymore. This place is ours. Leave now, and never return.”

  Storm was certain the foxes would heed the Beta’s threat. But instead of cowering back, the not-dogs howled incredulously, forming a line. Storm tensed, crouching to spring as soon as Lucky gave the word. Don’t leave it too long, she thought. I don’t think these foxes are going to scare that easily. . . .

  “Ours!” one of the foxes barked back. Storm realized, with a small twist of anxiety, that it was Fox Dawn, the creature she had seen complaining that he hadn’t caught any prey. “Ours before yours! Terrible dogs, mad, bad dogs! Kills our cubs, steals our foods!”

  “No more!” shrieked Fox Ash, the thin female Storm had seen eating her catch on top of the fallen tree. “We stand!”

  And without another word, the foxes leaped toward Lucky.

  Storm burst from the thicket as Fox Dawn’s jaws clamped down on Lucky’s leg. Lucky gave a volley of angry, pained barks, grabbed the fox’s scruff in his jaws, and tore him off. Storm snapped at Fox Ash, forcing her to cower back.

  The other dogs had been so stunned by the foxes’ attack they couldn’t move, but now they came to their senses and leaped into the fray, snapping and snarling.

  Arrow burst out of his hiding place and scrambled over the fallen tree in a flash of black and tan and teeth and muscle. The foxes yapped and backed away from him. Storm surged forward too, growling. Most of the foxes stepped and rolled to avoid her, but two of them glared at her with fire in their eyes and charged.

  Storm yipped in pain as their teeth and claws latched onto her back. She bucked and kicked out with her hind legs, tossing her head, trying to throw them off. There were more small bursts of pain from where their claws caught in her skin as they went flying, but then the weight was gone and the two foxes were sprawling in the long grass.

  A third fox charged at her, but she reared back and brought a forepaw down across its muzzle. The fox was knocked off its feet hard, and its head hit the ground and bounced. It lay still—not dead, Storm could see, its thin ribs still heaving as it panted, but its eyes were glazed. The fox was stunned.

  Storm stepped back, catching her breath. She was flagging, her muscles aching and her vision slightly fuzzy. She should have slept more—but how could she have known?

  Win the fight. Keep them down. Then you can rest. . . .

  She turned her back on the fox, looking to the others, trying to see through the flying dust and fur and the rolling, swiping dogs and not-dogs to see which Packmate needed her help.

  But before she could step forward, something pierced deep into her hind leg.

  “Argh!” Storm howled, twisting around. It was the fox—the one she’d thought she’d stunned—with its jaws clamped firmly on the back of Storm’s leg, tearing deep through the skin and into the muscle. She could feel blood dribbling, and the fox’s growl vibrating against her bones. As it saw her fury, a crazed look came over its yellow eyes, and it bit down harder. Storm gasped. Blinking lights and patches of darkness danced in front of her eyes as the pain hit, eased off, and swelled again. “Mangy not-dogs! Get—off!”

  She threw back her head and seized the creature’s scruff in her teeth. The fox gave a yelp of pain and its jaws released their grip on her leg. Storm tossed the fox away from her, fury giving her a burst of extra strength, and it flew halfway across the clearing and plowed into one of its Packmates, knocking them both to the ground in a bloodied heap.

  Storm’s vision swam again. The blood trickling over her back paw was warm. She tried to shake her head, but it just made the shadows swimming in front of her bigger and darker.

  Foxes charged toward her, and a rush of fury flowed through Storm. She roared and snapped at the creatures, feeling like she was falling into the dark, as if there were foxes clinging to her back and neck, slowing her down. Anger pulsed in her ears and throbbed in her head. Her skull felt too small to contain her rage. And then . . .

  She wasn’t sure where she was—her belly was flat on the ground. She could smell blood and leaf mulch
and fox and dog, and she could hear a terrifying growl from somewhere nearby. Strong paws were holding her down. She writhed, trying to throw off her attacker, but she was too exhausted to move against the weight on her side.

  “Storm!” The dog’s voice was deep, familiar. It was Arrow. “Storm, stop. It’s over.”

  The black cloud over Storm’s eyes cleared away, and bit by bit she started to see the scene in front of her: Arrow’s face, concerned but stern, looking into her own. The foxes, cowering back, vanishing into the thicket of thorns where the dogs couldn’t follow. One of them struggling to keep up, hobbling on one hind leg, with the other hanging loose and bleeding.

  And then the rest of the dogs. They should have been watching the foxes go, barking after them in triumph . . . but instead they were all staring at Arrow and Storm. Lucky’s eyes were full of confusion and disbelief.

  The other faces were full of fear.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  This is what happened before.

  “Let me up,” Storm managed to say, trying to keep her voice calm. Arrow hesitated. Storm didn’t blame him.

  This is what happened when Terror died.

  Sometimes Storm thought that Lucky believed she had murdered the mad dog Alpha in cold blood, calculatedly, to free Twitch and his Pack from Terror’s deranged rule. And sometimes she thought he believed she had given in to her Fierce Dog nature, let herself feel pleasure in sinking her teeth into another dog’s throat. She knew it worried Lucky to think that she would be capable of something like that. But the truth was all those things . . . and none of them.

  Storm didn’t fully remember Terror’s death.

  She remembered attacking Terror, remembered how she had fought against the mad dog and torn his jaw clean from his face. And she knew that he had died. But in between, there was a dark pit of uncertainty.

  She hadn’t been deprived of sleep back then—she had simply been furious. They had traveled all the way back to the Dog-Garden, in search of Fiery, Moon’s lost mate, who had been kidnapped by the bad longpaws in the shiny yellow furs. All the way, Lucky had seemed worried that Storm—Lick, as she’d been back then—wouldn’t be able to cope with seeing her old home again. He thought her Fierce Dog instincts would overwhelm her. And then, when she’d seen it . . . loudcages full of poisoned animals, Fiery wounded and sick, the Fierce Dog called Axe taking his revenge on the longpaws who had caged him and made him drink the bad river water . . .

  Her fury had burned white hot inside her. She hadn’t just been angry with the longpaws, or with Terror for enslaving his Pack through fear—she had been angry with the whole world. In her mind, she had raged against Earth-Dog herself, for bringing them so far and then letting Fiery die, even though they had managed to rescue him from his cage.

  Perhaps Lucky had been right. Perhaps, when it had come to a fight against Terror, she really had succumbed to some Fierce Dog urge to rip and tear. . . .

  To kill . . .

  In the foxes’ clearing, Arrow finally stood back, and Storm rolled onto her belly, feeling the pain in her hind leg as a distant throbbing.

  She could see the same looks on the faces of the other dogs as she had seen on Lucky’s when she had killed Terror.

  They’re not seeing the loyal Packmate who hunts with them every day. They’re not even seeing the dog who defeated Blade on the ice and ended the Storm of Dogs.

  All they see is a savage Fierce Dog.

  And perhaps they were right. There was blood on her lips, and mud and scraps of red fur under her claws.

  Storm dragged herself to her feet, her tail drooping. Without a word to the others, without even waiting for Lucky to say anything, she turned and squeezed through the gap in the nettles and out of the foxes’ clearing.

  Somewhere out in the forest she could hear the sound of running water, and it called to her with its promise of something cool and clean. She limped between the trees, trying not to put too much weight on her injured hind leg, until she found a stream that ran through the woods, trickling over a bed of smooth stones.

  She walked into the water until it came about halfway up her legs, gasping when it hit her wound. She stood tense and still for a moment, until the chill started to numb the pain. Then she worked her paws against the gleaming stones, shuddering as mud and fur and trails of blood flowed away from her claws.

  Whining, Storm lowered her head, and then plunged her muzzle into the cold water. It filled her nostrils and she opened her mouth, letting the water in, washing away the taste of fox blood that clung to her tongue. She rubbed her face against the stones, trying to get clean, not caring that she couldn’t breathe. . . .

  Something pushed against her shoulder and she raised her head, trailing drops of cold water—but it was only Mickey. He was standing in the stream too, his long black-and-white fur soaking wet and sticking to his legs. He pressed his head against her shoulder again and gently but firmly steered her back onto the bank. She didn’t fight him.

  “What are you thinking?” Mickey muttered. “You were under far too long. You’ll drown yourself! What would Martha say if she saw you doing that?”

  Hearing Martha’s name was almost too much for Storm. She whined and cringed away from Mickey. “I just wanted to get clean,” she said, in a voice so quiet she could barely hear it herself. “I can feel the blood on me. . . .”

  Mickey stepped forward and pressed his neck to Storm’s, then gave her a sympathetic lick between her eyes. “I know. But you won’t make it better by hurting yourself. Think, Storm. . . . If this is frightening for you, think how the others are feeling. Running off by yourself and coming back half-drowned isn’t going to make them any less wary of you.”

  “I don’t want them to be wary of me,” Storm whined, feeling very small. “That’s the point. I just wanted to make things better.”

  “And they will be,” Mickey said. “As long as we can show them you’re not afraid of yourself.”

  Storm looked up at him, unsure what to say. But I am afraid of myself—at least, I’m not sure if I should be.

  “Now, come on,” Mickey said briskly, kindly but commanding. “We need to get back to camp. You just keep a level head and don’t let them see that you’re worried,” he added. “The others won’t think anything of it. I promise.”

  His voice was so reassuring that Storm followed him, hopeful that he might be right. She couldn’t feel the blood anymore—maybe she had washed it all off, after all. Maybe the other dogs wouldn’t be afraid of her if she didn’t let them think she was afraid.

  Still, there was a nagging part of her that wouldn’t be put down so easily.

  If you can drive off a whole pack of foxes without knowing it, the voice said, who’s to say you couldn’t kill one small gray dog in your sleep?

  “There they are!”

  Storm heard Beetle’s bark ring out from the camp and felt a burst of relief. Lucky gave a bark of triumph and broke into a run. Storm adjusted the rabbit she was carrying in her jaws and followed, lagging behind a little on her wounded hind leg, but just as glad to be home at last.

  As soon as the dogs stepped into camp, they were surrounded by their Packmates, cheering for their safe return and clamoring to know whether they’d driven off the foxes.

  “Give them space,” said a voice, and Storm was happy to see Alpha coming toward them. Behind her, the four pups wriggled and sniffed curiously at the edge of their den. Lucky dropped his rabbit and bounded toward her, rubbing the side of his face along hers and licking her ears.

  “I’m glad you’re all safe,” Bella said, though Storm noticed that her gaze lingered on Arrow. “It must have gone well—you brought prey!”

  “The fight was so easy we still had energy to hunt on the way back,” Snap said proudly, placing her rabbit with the others. The prey pile was looking impressive now. “Forest-Dog was good to us today. We’ll eat well tonight!”

  “It’s over, Sweet,” Lucky said quietly, leaning his head close to his mate. �
��They won’t bother us again.”

  Storm frowned. She was sure they had scared the foxes away . . . for now. But the not-dogs had been more than willing to fight, and they would have had no idea that the Pack thought they were defending themselves—only that they came into the foxes’ den and attacked.

  She found herself meeting Arrow’s eyes over the heads of the excited, triumphant dogs. He didn’t look convinced either.

  We’ve dealt with the foxes . . . but for how long?

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Storm burst from the thicket and snapped at Fox Ash, forcing her back. The other dogs were somewhere close, leaping into the fray, snapping and snarling. Arrow scrambled over the fallen tree. The foxes yapped and backed away from him. Storm surged forward, and two of the foxes glared at her with fire in their eyes and leaped.

  I’ve done this already, Storm thought. It’s just a memory . . . nothing to worry about.

  She felt a distant prickling of pain in her back as they latched on. Just as she had before, she bucked and threw them off. She felt much calmer than she had felt during the fight—this was a dream, so she didn’t have to be afraid. The dogs had already won.

  The third fox charged at her, and she brought her forepaw down across its muzzle. She saw the fox’s head bounce on the hard ground, its ribs heaving, its eyes glazed, just like before. This time she knew it wasn’t really stunned, but she still felt herself turning anyway, looking for other dogs to help.

  No! she tried to tell herself. Turn back! It’s going to—

  In the dream, the bite on her hind leg felt distant, no worse than the scratch of a thorn. But her anger was sharper, clearer than the muzzled fury she’d felt in the real fight. Rage filled her body, until she thought she could tear down the whole world in vengeance—for herself, for Whisper, for the way the Pack treated Arrow, and the Fierce Dog’s stoic silence. . . .

  Storm threw back her head, seized the creature’s scruff in her teeth, and threw it away from her. It flew halfway across the clearing and plowed into one of its Packmates, knocking them both to the ground.