by Erin Hunter
There was no reply, and Storm sat there for a little while longer, thinking of her friends—Bruno, the big dog who’d looked at her just like Dart until he’d finally come to his senses and apologized to Storm, and Whisper, the small gray dog who had been so happy to escape Terror’s claws that he idolized Storm.
“I’m sorry it took me so long,” she said. “But I’m back now, and I’m not leaving again until I’ve made this right.”
Storm barely had to pay attention to where she was going now, her paws seeming to find their own path through the tangled bushes and through the piles of fallen leaves.
She had to get close enough to the Pack that she could see what was going on without them knowing she was there. The edge of these trees would be perfect, as long as no dog came right past her to go hunting.
The plan that had formed in the night was unsteady, but it was the only one Storm could think of that might work.
Don’t even go to the Pack. Don’t try to tell Lucky or Sweet. Just catch Breeze alone and convince her to leave the Wild Pack forever—whatever it takes.
She couldn’t quite imagine what confronting Breeze would be like. It still seemed to Storm that there were two Breezes—the traitor, and the loyal Packmate. Would she still pretend that she was Storm’s friend? Or would she turn and attack her?
What if she won’t go? Storm wondered. What am I willing to do? What if she tries to hurt the pups?
I’m no savage, no matter what some dogs believe. I won’t kill Breeze.
Not unless I have to . . .
Storm stayed between the trees, occasionally moving farther back if the wind changed so her scent might be blown toward the Pack camp. From the edge of the wood, she could peer through the undergrowth and see the grassy slope that led up to the camp. Her heart ached as she settled down to watch and saw the dogs moving around, walking down to the pond to drink, setting off on hunts or patrols. She didn’t see Breeze all day.
She rolled in the mud and leaves that covered the forest floor and then lay very still, and that seemed to be enough to hide her scent from the Wild Pack. At least, no dog found her, and no alarmed barking came from the camp.
It seemed as if Dart was telling the truth—nothing terrible had happened since she was gone. The camp seemed peaceful. A strange twisting feeling started up in Storm’s stomach, as if she was being pulled in two directions at once: it made her uneasy to know that her absence might have prompted the bad dog to stop, but at the same time she was relieved to see all her Packmates safe and well. Her tail wagged despite herself as she saw them gather for their meal: Lucky and Sweet in the middle of the circle, flanked by their pups.
The pups were so big now! Storm could hardly believe they were the same dogs. All of them were taller than Daisy now, even Tiny. It wouldn’t be very long now until they’d choose their adult names. Storm’s heart ached with the knowledge that—if everything went according to plan—she might save their lives, but she might never speak to them again.
She couldn’t hear what the dogs were saying, but Alpha was obviously calling them up in order to eat their fill—the pups were first, tucking in with their tails wagging hard, then Sweet and Lucky, then Twitch, Mickey, Snap . . . each dog stepped up one by one, and each face made Storm sigh. She had known many of these dogs almost all her life. They had been with her through the hardest times, through the half wolf and the Storm of Dogs. She had missed them.
And when I go back to Bella and Arrow, I’ll still miss them.
Hardly any of these dogs had tried to be cruel to her—certainly not since Dart left. She didn’t think any one of them wanted to believe that she was the traitor. It was just that they wouldn’t listen to her. They had let their fear lead them, like the Leashed Dogs on their leather straps.
Breeze was right in the middle of the ranks, and when she stepped up to eat, Storm’s heart hurt even more. Breeze’s short brown fur was neat and clean, her soft face friendly and open. There was no spark of madness or malevolent gaze. She looked . . . happy.
After they ate, Storm watched Lucky playing with the pups, rolling around in the grass, tumbling down the slope and grabbing one another’s scruffs in playful, gentle teeth.
I used to play like that, Storm thought. But Grunt was always too rough, and Wiggle was too scared. Maybe soon I can play with Nip and Scramble . . . if I make it back to them.
A ball of white fur bounced along the ground—Sunshine, working hard as usual, bringing new soft bedding to the hunters’ and Patrol Dogs’ dens. She met Breeze walking the other way and stopped. A chill of fear ran down Storm’s spine for a moment.
Don’t you dare touch Sunshine! she thought, but at once she knew that Breeze would do nothing of the sort, not yet, not right in the middle of the camp. She couldn’t hear them barking, but they looked like they were having a pleasant conversation.
How can she look so peaceful, but be so bad?
Lucky scrabbled up the slope and joined them, his tail wagging. Sunshine bustled off and vanished, and then Mickey barked something and Lucky turned to see what he wanted—turning his back on Breeze.
No! Storm wanted to howl. Her fur prickled painfully along her back. Breeze could leap now. . . .
She won’t. That isn’t her plan.
I don’t think.
Still, Storm watched with her heart pounding in her throat until Breeze left, ducking in through the bushy entrance to the Patrol Dogs’ den.
He has no idea how much danger he’s in, Storm thought, and it made her chest feel tight. But perhaps he never needs to know. If I can deal with Breeze alone, they can all go on believing . . . believing that I’m the bad dog.
It was a desperately sad thought, but it didn’t make Storm as angry as it would have done before. She was done with trying to explain herself. It didn’t matter what they thought of her as long as they were safe.
After all, I have a new Pack now.
The Pack were all settling down now, making their way to their respective dens. The pups’ game was slowing down: Storm saw Tiny leap on Fluff’s unsuspecting back, but then slide off again with a huge yawn. Storm found herself yawning too. Her eyelids felt heavy. She had traveled so far in so few days, and Breeze was quiet in her den, surrounded by dogs.
It wouldn’t hurt just to close her eyes for a moment. . . .
The Moon-Dog was hiding her nose, only a thin arc of bright silver showing in the sky. The light she cast was strong, but somehow sickly and cold. Storm tried to focus on the camp. There were distant shifting shapes at its edge, but when Storm looked directly at them, they seemed to flit away.
She was concentrating so hard, she wasn’t sure when the noise began—it was a soft crunching at first, like red leaves under the paws of a heavy dog, then a louder, closer breaking of twigs. Something large was pushing through the undergrowth, coming nearer and nearer. Storm couldn’t turn her head to look at it; she could only crouch with her gaze fixed on the darting shadows at the camp while it lumbered closer.
It was nearly on her now. She could hear its wet, rasping breath.
Now she could turn, but she was too late. The shape had passed her, plodding through the trees. It was circling the Wild Pack. For a moment, it was lost in the shadows, but then it stepped into a patch of moonlight and its coat glowed pale yellow.
It was Terror.
Horror crawled in Storm’s belly like flies over a piece of long-dead prey. She watched, frozen, as he poked his drooling snout out of the undergrowth and snarled at the camp. Then he turned and continued on his way. He was circling the Wild Pack, stalking them, closer and closer. Storm tried to bark, to raise the alarm, but when she opened her jaws, no sound came out.
Terror’s pale fur flashed again in the moonlight, and then a shadow fell across Storm’s vision. Her belly was pressed to the ground, her ears flat to her head, and she trembled as the Fear-Dog stalked by. He seemed to be made of pure nothingness, darker than the shadows of the forest could ever be, and Storm knew in her bones t
hat even though she could see the edges of him, in some much truer way he was far larger and stranger than she could ever understand.
He didn’t look at her, but Storm still began to shake, on the edge of panic, still frozen to the spot and unable to howl a warning to her Pack. She knew he wouldn’t attack a dog, if he wanted to kill them—his sheer presence was enough to drive them mad. . . .
She awoke with a start and a whimper, scrabbling to her paws and blinking in the light of the Sun-Dog. Her heart was rattling in her chest and she felt dizzy as she spun around on the spot, still half expecting to see the Fear-Dog creeping between the trees.
It was just a dream. I haven’t even walked anywhere, I just slept through the night. . . .
But some dog was barking. Storm’s ears pricked up and she stood at alert, her bent tail stiff and lashing at her legs. She was almost overcome with the urge to howl a warning now that she had control of her own voice, but then she realized what the dogs were barking.
“We’ll be back soon!” That was Lucky.
Four dogs were bounding down the slope, their ears flopping and their tongues hanging out with happiness. Storm threw herself back down into a crouch and peered through the twigs of a bush.
Her heart ached. The bad dog hadn’t attacked in the night. Her old Packmates seemed safe and well. They seemed happy.
They don’t miss me, she thought. It hurt, to face the fact that life had simply gone on without her.
Did they all think she really was the bad dog now?
The four dogs yapped to one another as they headed out in search of prey, and Storm caught her breath as she saw who was in the hunting party: Lucky, Mickey, Snap, and Breeze.
Storm bared her teeth, a thin growl escaping her throat.
They may not realize it, but they still need me.
Breeze must be their scout dog. That meant soon she would split off from the party, running fast and far to scent out the best hunting places. She would be alone.
As soon as the dogs were out of sight, Storm got up and stretched hugely, joints in her back and legs clicking out satisfyingly. She shook herself hard to throw off the last of the darkness from her dream and began to follow the dogs.
She was going hunting too.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Storm had never really hunted another dog before, and it was harder than she had imagined. Prey creatures were alert and wary of their surroundings, but they were usually focused on eating whatever was in front of their noses, or gathering sticks and grass for their nests. The dogs ran with their heads raised, tasting the air all the time for scents being blown from far away, stopping and looking around, alert for any movement.
Storm had to stay on guard all the time, sneaking into cover whenever she could and keeping herself downwind of the hunting party. At one point, as the four dogs were crossing a wide field full of late-blooming yellow flowers, the Wind-Dogs abruptly turned and ran in the opposite direction. Storm’s paws kicked up dirt as she bolted for shelter. She hunkered there, her heart in her mouth, as Lucky raised his muzzle to the sky and paused as if he had smelled something strange. Then he shook himself and caught up with the others.
Storm followed carefully, skirting around the field just to be sure. She couldn’t let them catch her—she had no excuse for trespassing here, or for tracking them, that any of them would believe.
It seemed to take forever, but finally the four dogs paused under the shade of a tree with blazing red leaves. Storm couldn’t hear what they said, but she saw Breeze nod, and Mickey’s ears twitch with amusement, and then Breeze was off and running in one direction while the other three headed in another. Breeze moved fast, like a scout dog should, to cover more ground in her search for prey. Storm scrambled to run after her, suddenly afraid that now her chance had come, she would manage to lose her.
Breeze shot across another field and vanished into a thicket of trees, and Storm barreled after her. It wasn’t easy to keep up. Breeze seemed to be heading somewhere in particular, by the way she squeezed through bushes and leaped over rocks, hardly stopping to scent the air or look around her. Storm bounded and scrambled along behind. Caution lost out to the worry that Breeze might vanish and Storm would be right back where she started.
She followed Breeze into the woods and was forced to slow down as she found herself facing a tangle of branches. Every way she turned, she ran into another twisted tree or thorny bush, and by the time she fought her way through to a more open space, she had lost sight of the scout dog.
Spirit Dogs, no, Storm thought, her teeth gritted, desperately scenting the air. Then there was a rustle and a startled cheeping sound as a flurry of small birds took off from the trees, just to her right. Storm sprang toward them, pounding through a flurry of fallen leaves. If she hurried, she might catch Breeze’s scent.
A clearing opened up in front of Storm, and she almost fell over her own paws as she realized that Breeze was there, sitting in the thin grass with her back to Storm.
What’s she doing?
Storm stepped quietly between the trees and into the sunny open space.
“Hello, Storm,” said Breeze, without turning around.
Storm froze. A prickling feeling crawled underneath her fur, like an army of ants marching across her back. She was suddenly, painfully aware that she’d been so focused on the chase that she hadn’t worked out what she would say to Breeze when she did catch her.
Well, this is it. There’s no point in hiding now.
“Hello, Breeze,” she said, walking farther out of the shadows.
Breeze turned around. Storm was startled to see that her expression was full of joy, her tongue lolling happily from her jaws as she padded across the clearing, her eyes shining. “It’s so good to see you again, Storm!” she yapped, and before Storm could react or pull away, Breeze had given her a kindly lick on the nose. “Are you all right? Why are you here?”
Storm stared at Breeze, feeling almost as frozen to the spot as she had been in her dream. For a moment she actually found herself trying to come up with a polite, friendly greeting.
Then she thought about Whisper’s grave, already pushing up thick new growth. She thought about Tiny, half-drowned because she followed a story into the lake. Bruno’s jaw ripped clean off, Twitch’s agony as the sharp clear-stone pieces stuck into his mouth . . . the happy, peaceful Pack that they could have been, with a place for Storm, and for Arrow and Bella.
If they hadn’t been driven out, would Bella’s birth still have gone wrong? Would Tufty be alive right now?
Even with Breeze’s pleasant, hopeful face in front of her, looking as soft and friendly as ever, Storm growled.
“I know, Breeze,” she said. “I know you killed Whisper and Bruno.”
She watched the smaller dog carefully. Breeze tilted her brown head, her eyes wide and her ears pricked up in surprise.
Then she barked out a laugh.
“How funny,” she said. “That it should be you who figured it out! I never thought of you as particularly bright.” She wagged her tail like an eager pup. “Whisper and Bruno both had to die. They were the first—but they won’t be the last, of course. That will be you, Storm, I hope.”
Storm felt strangely light, as if this couldn’t really be happening. The horror of Breeze’s friendly, calm expression as she talked about murdering two innocent dogs made Storm’s paws itch with the urge to back away.
“You’re the bad dog,” Storm growled, forcing herself to stay exactly where she was. “It’s because of Terror, isn’t it? You were loyal to him, and this is all your revenge. You’re planning to kill the dogs who were involved in his death.”
“Oh, but it’s so much more than that. Let me help you,” Breeze said, but now there was an edge in her voice, and her open expression turned to a slight snarl. “Terror knew the truth. We both did. There’s nothing glorious or terrible about a simple death. But a long life, plagued by fear . . . or a death that inspires fear in other dogs . . . those are preciou
s to him.”
“The Fear-Dog,” Storm prompted. Part of her was howling to move, to attack, to do something, but she ignored the dread pooling in her stomach and kept still, waiting for Breeze’s reply.
“You murdered my Alpha, the only other dog who ever understood the Fear-Dog,” Breeze went on. She sat down in the grass, as if they were having a nice chat about the best way to hunt squirrels, instead of talking about the murders of their Packmates. “I couldn’t simply kill you. That wouldn’t please the Fear-Dog at all. I promised him that I would tear your Pack apart, make them afraid of their prey, their territory, even each other. For your crime, every dog you care about, and every dog who stood by while my Alpha was murdered, will know terrible suffering,” she added. “I’ve been biding my time, working on my next move. I’m looking forward to watching Lucky realize his precious pups are gone forever. The Fear-Dog will be pleased.”
You will never touch those pups again, Storm thought. But to threaten Breeze now would cut off her mad, rambling explanation, and there were answers Storm still needed.
“But Whisper didn’t kill Terror—he was in your Pack before he was in ours,” Storm whimpered.
For an instant it was almost as if Breeze had vanished and been replaced by a different dog—her fangs bared, her eyes opened wider than Storm had ever seen, and she twitched and snapped at the air in front of her. “Do not talk of that pathetic dog,” she howled. Then she seemed to get control of herself again, and the snarling maw melted back into a mild, open expression.
What was that? Storm thought, trying not to look as horrified as she felt. Suddenly she understood, deep in her belly, how a smaller dog like Breeze could have taken down a much bigger dog like Bruno. Was that face the last thing Whisper and Bruno ever saw?
They must have been so afraid.
“Why, then?” she prodded Breeze. “If he was so pathetic, why bother killing him?”
The alarming snarl didn’t come back over Breeze’s face, but her ears twitched in agitation.
“Because he wouldn’t shut up,” Breeze growled. “He was always going on and on and on about you. How brave you were and how kind you were and how you had saved us all by murdering our Alpha. Terror would never have stood for such disloyalty! Terror would have made him eat his own tongue . . . but anyway,” she added, blinking, settling back into her calm, pleasant voice, “it was time. I needed to really get the Fear-Dog’s attention, turn his gaze on your Pack. And it worked.”