“Now they’ll ration water in addition to kibble,” one dog growled.
Sure enough, that evening, Higgins told every dog they were limited to five snoutfuls of water a sun until the next rain. Shep spent that night Outside with Dover, hiding from the pack’s hateful looks. Like I wanted to spill the water, he grumbled to himself.
Then there were the snakes. Huge diamond-backed ropes like the one Shep had uncovered, narrow things like shoe-strings, snakes of every size and color lurked under stones or dropped out of trees. Most were harmless. But one bit a pup on the paw; the poor girldog was dead in a heartbeat. The attack got every dog barking.
“What’s the defense team doing to get rid of the snakes?” one dog bayed.
“Forget the defense team,” another grumbled. “Where’s our great alpha? Why hasn’t he killed the snakes?”
It was as if to distract themselves from their hunger and thirst, they complained about the snakes, or the bats, or the felines caterwauling in the street at night.
“How can my pups get any sleep with all that racket?” one dam whined.
As the griping of some pack members swelled to a dull roar, others’ woofs were devoted entirely to the repetition of the Storm Shaker legend. Shep heard it mumbled while he was lapping up his water ration, while he was moving through the stairwell, and during his shift guarding the entries on the crushed floor. Though he still cringed every time he heard it, a small part of him appreciated the silly story. It reminded him that at least at one point, he’d done something heroic. And it was better than a complaint.
The nightly meetings were taken over with whining from one end of the den to the other. Shep’s announcements consisted of merely acknowledging every dog’s fears and telling them it would all be fine. Shep worried, however, that his barks provided less comfort to the pack than they once had.
“When’s the alpha going to start showing these scavengers who’s boss?” one dog barked at the end of Shep’s speech.
The next night, it was more than one dog barking about an alpha. “If you can’t keep the pack safe, maybe we should start scenting for a new leader!”
The third night, there were several dogs bellowing about sniffing out a new alpha. Shep scanned the pack and scented for any strange odors. He identified several dogs who smelled anxious, at least more anxious than the general crowd. Shep marked those scents in his memory, then stood tall.
“I’ll have no more barking about a new alpha!” he snapped. “Callie and I and the other pack leaders are keeping every dog as safe and as well fed as possible. If you have ideas we haven’t tried, please come tell us. Now back to your dens!”
As the dogs dispersed, he followed the scent of the alpha-barkers. He traced their track into the old food room, which was dark as death and smelled of old kibble gone to rot.
“They’re never going to submit,” one dog — Bernie? — woofed. “They know we’re not seriously going to challenge them.”
“Why do you think that?” growled a girldog who sounded a lot like Blaze.
Shep couldn’t believe his ears. He took a careful, quiet scent. He’d been right — it was Blaze.
“If a few more of the big dogs join us,” Blaze continued, “we won’t have to challenge them. Shep and Virgil can’t protect the yappers.”
Shep smelled that there were two others in the room besides Blaze and Bernie. He dropped down from the hall into the food room.
“How could you?” he growled. “And why would you?”
Three of the dogs leapt away from Shep, hitting the cabinets lining the front wall. Shep could smell their fear and shock. Blaze smelled only of herself.
“I can’t believe it took you this long to find us,” she snarled.
“Why, Blaze?” Shep whimpered.
Blaze moved closer to him, her scent overwhelming his nose. “I’m doing this for you, you big fuzz head.” She licked his nose. “Once the pack overthrows the yappers, it’ll be clear for you to take control.”
Shep snapped at Blaze’s snout and she shied back, confused.
“We’ve been barking about you being alpha for suns,” she snarled. “I figured you just needed some help getting going.”
“I don’t want to be alpha,” Shep growled, “not in that way, not alone. That’s not the kind of pack I run. I thought you understood that.”
“The pack you run?” Blaze yipped. “If you run the pack, why is this even a discussion? Stop pretending that the dogs are voting or doing anything other than following your — not the yappers’ — rules. Dogs need an alpha. Be the leader you know you are.”
Shep turned his muzzle to the three cringers near the front wall. “Get back to your dens.”
“No!” barked Blaze. “This is our chance!” She leapt out of the rear door-hole, scrambled up to the hall, and bounded into the main den.
Shep chased after her and tackled her mid-stride. Blaze shot him a look full of hurt, like this was his betrayal and not her own.
“Why are you fighting this?” she growled. “Stop hiding behind those cringers!” She rose and began to circle Shep.
“I’m not hiding!” Shep snapped. “We are a team. But I guess you can’t understand that.”
“Team.” Blaze spat the bark from her jowls as if it were poison. “There’s the alpha, and there are the followers. Your idea of a team is a joke. Who’s really making the decisions? Is it you, or is it Callie?”
Shep glanced at the crowd of dogs forming around them. This was suddenly about more than just whether Blaze was right or wrong. Blaze could break the fragile peace that held this pack together.
Shep stepped back. “I won’t fight you, Blaze,” he woofed. “But you’re wrong. This pack isn’t run by an alpha; it’s run by all the dogs. We all play our parts. If you don’t like it, you’re free to go.”
Blaze growled, raising her hackles. She glared at Shep. “That’s not how dogs are meant to live. We need one leader to guide us. This dream of all dogs having a say, it’s just that: a dream.” She swung her snout at the crowd of dogs. Their numbers were hidden by darkness, but Shep could smell that the whole of the pack was there, ears open.
Blaze turned to them and continued, “You dogs, you can smell I’m right. We need leadership. What do we know of life without our humans? We need a dog to help guide us. And if Shep won’t be that dog, then I say we smell out another!”
Several dogs barked their approval. Then some others howled that Shep was such a leader. Shep smelled anger in the air. A dog snarled, then Shep heard fighting near the rear of the boat. It was all coming apart. How could he pull things back together?
The lights flared on.
Standing between Shep and Blaze were Oscar, Ginny, and several pups. Oscar howled a strange high-pitched yowl, which was answered by dogs from all corners of the den.
“Followers of Shep!” Oscar bayed. “We know the true lineage of our leader. He is the Champion of the Great Wolf, come to save us in this time of need! He is the Storm Shaker, the true leader! As the Great Wolf shines above us, as the Silver Moon crosses the sky, we know that Shep will shine true and lead us through these times of darkness. As Lassie guided dogs to humans, so Shep will guide us when our humans abandon us.”
“All praise Shep!” howled Odie.
“Shep!” innumerable voices barked. His name rang throughout the den.
Blaze looked at Shep as much in confusion as in anger. Shep looked back at her blankly, not sure what to do. But he didn’t have to do anything. Oscar’s followers stepped forward, each crawling before Shep and licking his paws. The rest of the pack — confused, scared — followed their lead, and came cringing before Shep.
Frozen there in the unnaturally bright light, with strange dogs bearing their bellies to him, Shep felt just as he had on that first night after his family abandoned him: powerless, scared, and faced with a world he did not understand. Who were these dogs, so willingly submitting to him? Who was this bold pup standing beside him, leading a pack of his
own, yet looking up at Shep with adoring eyes? Who was Shep to accept that adoration? This parade of submission? I am not the Great Wolf’s Champion, he thought, almost as a reminder to himself. His teeth chattered under his jowls.
When the last dog had finished licking Shep’s claws, Shep tried to sniff Blaze out, but she was lost amidst the scents of the other dogs. He escaped up the table-ramp to the meeting room, where Callie sat alone in the darkness.
“Did you hear what happened?” Shep woofed.
“I heard it,” Callie said.
“What was Oscar thinking?” Shep asked, as much to himself as Callie. “What gave that little pup the fur to jump into a fight?”
“I did,” Callie barked flatly.
Shep stepped back. “You?” he yipped.
“I’ve known about Oscar’s club since it started,” Callie barked, her voice tired. “It’s grown, as I guess you now know. The dogs liked hearing the stories, and they spread like fleas throughout the pack.”
“But you know I hate those stories,” Shep woofed. “I’m not the Great Wolf’s Champion. From the beginning, I didn’t want dogs telling stories that I was in any way related to the Great Wolf. I want the pack to follow me, not some myth. I want to be my own dog.”
“At what cost?” Callie asked. “The pack was set to tear itself apart. You heard them. Blaze was scratching at an itch many dogs have been feeling. You either had to fight her, or find some other way.” Callie licked her front paw. “I knew you wouldn’t fight her, so I found another way.”
“But now what?” Shep woofed. “What will the pack think when they find out I’m just another dog?”
“I guess we’ll choke on that bone when we come to it.”
Shep lay down. He wasn’t sure what to say. Callie was right; something had to be done in that heartbeat, and Shep had frozen. But now what? How was he supposed to act every sun, now that he’d been officially unveiled as the Champion of the Great Wolf? Even thinking the idea made his fur itch. What will the Great Wolf think of me now, pretending to be what I so clearly am not?
“I wish you’d woofed with me about this,” Shep said, finally.
“What would you have said?” Callie lay facing him, but her eyes stared up at the window. The sky was cloudy.
“I don’t want to be their Champion,” Shep whimpered.
“It’s not just about what you want anymore.”
Shep lay there in the dark. Callie was right — again. As always. He knew that the pack mattered more than he did. He remembered how he’d felt facing down Kaz. He’d been ready then to sacrifice himself for the group. But the pack itself had been small; he’d known each dog’s scent. Now, the pack was so large, he had no idea who was new from one sun to the next. Was he really ready to sacrifice himself for all these dogs, these strangers? Was this really who he wanted to be?
As Shep rose to his paws, he thought about saying something to Callie, something about how much he appreciated her help, or how much he needed her as a partner. But he said nothing. He left her in the dark, staring up at the blank face of the clouds, and took the back staircase-hole to the crushed floor and Out into the night.
Dover sat beneath his boat, as he did every night. Shep joined him, as had become his own habit.
“Hear the ruckus?” Shep grunted, sitting beside the old timer.
“Heard it,” Dover woofed, “but not sure what to make of it.”
“Pack’s still holding together,” Shep said.
“By a dewclaw,” Dover added, looking at Shep with his deep brown eyes. Then he smiled. “But that’s better than most could do with a pack of this size, facing dangers no dog has smelled since before the first collar.”
They sat together in the dark, feeling the breeze ruffle the fur on their backs. When sleep came, Shep curled next to Dover and the old dog rested his snout on the younger dog’s scruff.
“You’re doing good, pup,” Dover snuffled. “Real good.”
The next morning, as Shep lapped up his drink ration, he paused to examine the muzzle reflected in the water. His jowls were flecked with white hairs, and his eyes seemed to have shrunken under his brow. The dog in the water looked worn-out. What’s happening to me? Shep wondered.
“Shep!” Oscar cried as he bounded up to him. “I can’t tell you how amazing last night was.” His ears were up and tail was wagging. “Getting to stand next to you, in front of the whole club was even more exciting than watching you fight those wild dogs! Odie said he thought that we kind of looked alike, like maybe I could be your pup. Isn’t that the best-smelling thing ever?”
Shep felt awkward even meeting Oscar’s eyes. “We look nothing alike.”
Oscar’s tail drooped slightly, but kept wagging. “Well, he didn’t say exactly alike, just maybe something noble about the snout?” Oscar waved his little nose in the air, demonstrating its proportions for Shep.
Shep didn’t know what else to say, so he said the only thing on his mind. “Pup, I don’t like that story you made up. I don’t like all these dogs in your club thinking I’m something I’m not.”
If Shep had torn Oscar’s tail off, the pup probably would have looked less hurt.
The woofs trembled as they fell from his jowls. “But last night — I thought …” His eyes were wide, and his ears hung limp around his muzzle. “I only wanted to help you, like Callie said. Didn’t my story and my club help you?”
Shep sagged into a sit next to the pup. “It’s not that you didn’t help,” he said, “it’s just that the Great Wolf, he really means something to me.”
Oscar’s tail began to wave and wriggle. “He means so much to me, too, Shep!” he barked. “When Callie told me that story while the wave was crashing all around us, all I could think of was you fighting that whole pack of wild dogs and Zeus and how much that was just like the Great Wolf and the Black Dog. And then when we told Odie that story together, it suddenly all piled together for me, about you and the Great Wolf and being his Champion. I mean, how else could you have done all that incredible stuff? The Great Wolf must have smelled how much you were like him and made you into his Champion!”
Shep shook his head. “Oscar, you really believe that? About the hairs and the tears?”
Oscar crinkled his nose. “Ginny added that stuff in,” he woofed. “Do you not like those parts? Because I thought the story didn’t need anything more than just what really happened, but Ginny said it needed ‘fluff and fancy-ing,’ whatever that meant. She also stuck on that bit about Lassie.” Oscar panted. “I don’t even know who Lassie is.” He grinned at Shep and wagged his tail. “It’s hard to run a club, you know?”
Shep did know, better than any dog. But he didn’t feel right barking about that kind of thing with a pup. Particularly when the pup was running a club whose very existence made Shep’s fur crawl. Woofing about things with Dover was one thing; confiding in Oscar was another bag of treats entirely.
Shep stood up. “Oscar, I’m sorry if you’re having troubles, but that club is a burr you put in your own fur. All I wanted to bark is that I wish you’d have left me and the Great Wolf out of it.” Shep took a final lap of water. “The Great Wolf is my hero. Don’t you understand how that makes him special to me?”
“I do,” Oscar grunted. His tail was so far between his legs, its tip dragged in the dirt. “Don’t you understand that you’re my hero, Shep?” The pup loped away from him and disappeared inside the boat.
Shep sighed; he felt like a pile of scat. Why couldn’t I have just wagged my tail and walked away? What kind of dog was he, to be tearing the squeaker out of the pup’s toy? He was doing every thing wrong. As he trotted out to begin his hunt, several pack members crouched to let him pass, a mixture of fear and awe on their muzzles. Shep broke into a run and only stopped when he could no longer scent the boat.
He decided to set small goals for himself, to make the hunt even more exciting. He would bring in the most prey that any hunter had caught in one sun. He found a metal box in an alley, hea
vy enough to keep out scavengers, and flipped it over: He would hide his prey inside.
By midsun, he’d downed two rabbits and a squirrel. He chased a chipmunk into a ruined den and smelled an interesting, musky scent. It was a ferret, still trapped in its cage. Shep pawed the cage and the nasty weasel spat and scratched at Shep’s claw. Its beady eyes betrayed a vicious intelligence. The ferret was not going to give in that easily.
Shep found the door to the cage and bent it open with his teeth. “There you go,” he woofed to the ferret. “Now we can fight fair.”
The weasel considered Shep for a heartbeat, then sprang for the open cage door and squeezed its way through. It smiled at Shep; they both knew what was coming.
The ferret bolted across the floor, its long body humping along the stone. Shep scrambled after it, heart racing. The weasel wriggled into a tiny hole in the corner, thinking Shep couldn’t follow. Shep jammed his paw into the hole and ripped the sheet of paper-stone from the wallboards. The ferret squealed and dove at Shep’s paw. Shep swept down with his jaws, barely missing the cunning creature’s head.
The weasel leapt at Shep’s jowls, and Shep rolled the thing onto its back. The ferret snapped and clawed at Shep’s snout. He could barely land a tooth before the thing had its head out of the way. Then Shep mashed the weasel’s chest with his massive paw and caught its head in his jaws. The fight was over.
Shep snuck into the den through the stairwell and dropped his four kills in the kibble room while Higgins was fussing with rations in the back corner. The only dog who saw him was Snoop, who had been assigned to help Higgins with kibble distribution. He barely got in a “Hey-Shep-how-ya’-doin’?” before Shep slipped back into the stairwell and out into the evening.