The Death & Life of an American Dog Page 11

  Sunny looked at Atlas, not upset but merely confused. She was much more familiar with the area than were they, so a change in leadership seemed uncalled for at this point.

  “We’re strangers here,” Atlas admitted. “But the Gull Dong is hiding, watching. He’s the enemy, and that makes this our world.”

  Sunny nodded, falling behind Atlas as he moved to take point from Flashman, who silently signaled all clear. She had contributed her expertise to the mission, and now it was time to let the military dogs do what they did best.

  Cautiously, silently, keeping to the shadows, they approached the docks where shadowy ships rested like slumbering behemoths.

  * * *

  Zain’s muscles ached from hours of immobility. He watched the sun’s slow slide into the western sea and the emergence of the stars. Seeing so few sky-lamps, and dim ones at that, made him yearn for his homeland, for the sere deserts and snowy mountains, over which uncountable stars blazed in glory, each one representing the soul of some dog who had found favor with the Dog at the Well. Or so claimed, he thought with a wan smile, the old story told to pups in their litters, at least those who survived the cullings.

  Night settled on the National City marine terminal, and Zain waited.

  Zain chastised himself for letting his mind wander from the task at paw. The lights around and on the ships in port went out as the day’s activities ceased. The growls of machinery gradually gave way to silence. Knowing he was the only dog around for miles, he gave scant attention to anything but the berthed ships.

  Damp mist rose from dark, clotted waters of the harbor, settling in Zain’s bones, making him feel much older than he was, and the scars on his side ached more than ever. Once again cursing this land of ignorance and infamy, Zain uttered a short prayer to the Dog at the Well, asking for the strength necessary to complete this quest to restore honor. As an afterthought, he asked that Anila should show understanding when he gave her the news about Iblis, even though he knew some miracles were beyond the power of even the Dog at the Well.

  Zain sighed, resigned to whatever fate awaited him, and rested his head on his extended paws. Then he saw a vague movement in the misty darkness, or thought he had. He stood immediately, legs straight and back arched, head straining forward. He did mot break from cover, for he had no desire to give away his position in case this was a false alarm, or worse, the unexpected appearance of a foe.

  He moved to the edge of the iron fence, every nerve within him vibrating. Then he saw them emerging through the tendrils of mist, Anila in the lead, Abasi the Bully Kutta just behind, with the others ranged in the loose configuration of a wary pack in enemy territory. Zain smiled as he saw Purdil, the black and white Gull Dong who was his best friend, and Cheragh and Mashaal, also Gull Dongs, but the former gray and the latter pale. His attention to the other dogs, however, was less than momentary, for, as always, it was Anila who commanded his notice and his fear.

  She was taller by far than any other dog in her pack, and where they had so little fur as to almost pass for hairless, she was adorned with long silky fur that seemed to flow like a rippling river when she ran, even at the slow trot she now adopted for coursing through the mist. Her neck was long, arching gracefully from her shoulders. As she ran, her long-skulled head slowly shifted to and fro, her cold gaze penetrating the night. Those bright and glinting eyes—even at this distance, her eyes grabbed Zain’s attention—were the eyes of a hunter looking for prey.

  Zain shook himself out of his trance and made a soft chortling sound. Anila paused, waiting for the dog to show himself, while the others dropped into predatory crouches should the rendezvous turn out to be a trap. Almost stumbling in his haste, Zain exited the break in the fence and flew to Anila.

  “Peace and greetings in the name of the Dog at the Well,” Zain said, respectfully bowing, extending his paws as fully forward as they would go, pressing his brow to the asphalt. “Welcome, Anila.”

  The Afghan Hound gazed down coolly and disdainfully at the prostrate Gull Dong. She smelled the fear rising from him, let him remain in that submissive pose till she also smelled his pain.

  “Rise, Zain, and report,” she said.

  With the arrival of their brother, Zain, the possibility of attack apparently passed, but the other dogs stayed on alert, watching the surrounding mist for signs of any foe. Even though they burned for news of Zain’s mission amongst the infidel dogs of this benighted land, they would remain on guard until Anila issued the order to stand down. Only Abasi drew near Anila, but even he was careful not to crowd too close.

  “O wise and merciful Anila, I greet you in the name of…”

  Anila silenced him with a sharp growl.

  “Where is Iblis?” she asked.

  “I have followed the American dog ever since I…”

  “Yes, we received your message, the reason we came in the belly of the metal beast,” she responded curtly. “Where is Iblis?”

  “I was diligent in…”

  Zain fell silent as she stepped forward, could not stop himself from taking a step back. She arched her neck downward, bringing her long muzzle almost into contact with his blunt head. Her mouth opened ever so slightly, revealing sharp teeth.

  “Where…is…Iblis?”

  “I knew until today,” Zain admitted. “I followed him without fail, tracked him from one huddling place to another. But, today, there was an…” He paused, but was not aware he also cringed before her. “There was an incident.”

  “He discovered you were tracking him!” she accused.

  “No! No, I was stealthy and discreet,” he denied. “I was very careful, so I swear.”

  “What then?” she demanded.

  Zain wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, being given a chance to explain the situation, but he dared not show more weakness before Anila than he already had. Nor could he intimate in any way that he might construe her willingness to listen to him as a weakness on her own part, or, even worse, as mercy.

  “Ever since sending the message to you, I have been a shadow to Iblis, have tracked him from lair to lair, and this day, this most important of days, was no different,” Zain explained. “If anything, I attended the devil more carefully than ever, knowing that you would soon arrive and…”

  “Get to the point, Zain,” Anila said. “If you have one.”

  “I watched Iblis as he lay in hiding behind a restaurant in Chula Vista, a city southward, and, from his habits, which I have carefully studied, I expected him to remain there till the morrow,” Zain said. “However, he dreams and makes noises in those dreams, this time attracting the attention of an interloper.”

  “He was attacked?” Anila asked.

  “No, this other dog, a black wild-haired Pomeranian, talked to Iblis,” Zain replied. “He wanted to help him.” Zain saw the disbelief in Anila’s expression. “No, it is true! I was in hiding nearby and heard it all. The dogs here are very strange…in many ways.”

  “Why would any dog offer to help Iblis?”

  “I do not know,” Zain admitted. “But I did hear the Pomeranian claim to be a detective.”

  “A what?”

  “And that his friends were detectives too,” Zain added quickly, “that they wanted to help Iblis, help him get to some place where he would he safe, where he could…remember.”

  “Remember?”

  “Iblis has no memory of who he is, of the sins he committed in our homeland,” Zain explained.

  “No memory?” Anila demanded. “You are sure of this?”

  “It is something I suspected, but which I could not confirm due to my orders to merely watch and report,” Zain said. “As he spoke to the Pomeranian, however, my suspicions were confirmed. He does not know how he came to be here, nor anything of his great sins; he does not even know his name, but thinks his given name is really Iblis, christened by a voice from the midst of flames.”

  Anila’s mouth opened in a great smile, and Zain did not know whether to be encouraged or frigh
tened.

  “His heart has been marked by the Dog at the Well, his mind burned by the fire of truth,” the Afghan Hound murmured. “If any of you…” She moved her head to take in all the members of her pack. “If any of you ever doubted the righteousness of our quest, this is all the proof you need to know that we have been blessed in our holy mission, that we have been chosen as soldiers in service to the Dog at the Well.”

  She let her gaze fall upon one dog after another, lingering just long enough to make each recipient of that stare feel as if she had looked into his heart. If there were any doubts, had ever been any doubts, none was foolish enough to admit it.

  Anila turned her frigid gaze back to Zain.

  “Since the Pomeranian’s plan was to take Iblis to another place, somewhere more permanent, I intended to follow them, to mark the house in which Iblis found shelter,” Zain continued. “I knew no one could stand against us, no matter what other dogs were associated with the Pomeranian.”

  “It was a good plan,” Anila allowed. “What happened?”

  “They were in an alley, and I was hidden behind some cars,” Zain said. “Then, a car crashed into the alley, frightened Iblis, and he ran away down the alley.”

  “You did not follow?”

  “I did, but not immediately,” Zain admitted. “The Pomeranian remained in the alley for several moments, preventing me from emerging from cover; if I had taken after Iblis as soon as he ran I would have been seen. When the dog left, I gave chase, but it was too late. Iblis was gone and I could not find a scent.”

  “You could have killed the Pomeranian,” Anila pointed out.

  “I thought that would attract too much attention,” Zain said. “The mouth of the alley where they were, opened onto a very busy street, in full view. And, had I put the Pomeranian to sleep, I would still have lost time in getting after Iblis.”

  Zain considered telling Anila about his other plan, of using the Pomeranian and his friends to track Iblis, but decided to keep that particular debacle to himself. In retrospect, he saw it was not a good plan. Besides, if he told her how he wasted the afternoon lying upon a roof, he would also have to tell her about how the dogs split their tasks between tracking and gathering information, how they had met with another military dog, and how the dogs worked in concert with cats. It was this last aspect, mostly, that he wanted to keep to himself. It was always difficult to predict how Anila would react to any information she considered heretical, and any messenger who took it upon himself to be the bearer of strange tidings had only himself to blame for whatever might happen next. No doubt, in the course of their mission, she would learn of the amicable relationship demonstrated by some dogs and cats in this strange land, but it was better if she discovered it on her own, or at least not from a dog already so deep in disfavor.

  “You failed in your task,” Anila said softly.

  “I was concerned with the need for…”

  “You failed.”

  “I considered that…”

  “You failed!”

  “I…” He looked into Anila’s eyes, saw the blaze of holy fire, and trembled. “I…failed.”

  “Abasi, chastise him,” the Afghan Hound murmured, stepping aside but keeping her gaze trained on Zain, eager to see what was to come. “But, chastisement only.”

  “No,” Zain pleaded. “Please, no.”

  Zain did not run, even though every fiber of his being told him to flee. He knew there was no escaping the Bully Kutta, and, even if he somehow did, the swift Anila would run him to ground, just as her breed did the most fleet of quarries. And, if he did run, where would he go? Anila or Abasi would run him down, and then it would be all the worse for him.

  The grinning Bully Kutta lunged at him, and he closed his eyes.

  The pack watched. Most yearned to look away, but none more than Purdil. He and Zain were friends. They came from the same village and had run free among the hills before recruitment by Anila to serve the Dog at the Well. It pained him greatly to see the savage chastisement doled out by the vicious Abasi, to see flesh flayed to the bone, but he dared not turn away. None of them did, lest Anila set Abasi upon them, or, worse, administer chastisement herself. Purdil clamped his jaws shut, forced his eyes to remain open, and sent silent prayers to the Dog at the Well on behalf of his friend.

  “Enough, Abasi,” Anila finally said.

  Abasi gave Zain one last savage nip, then stepped back from the Gull Dong’s body, reluctantly. Zain was covered with blood but proof of life was the heaving of his sides, the wet bubbling of his breaths.

  Anila looked in turn at the members of her pack to see how each reacted to Zain’s chastisement. She was pleased to see none had turned away, especially Purdil, who in his own way was just as weak in faith as Zain. Hardly surprising, she thought with contempt, as the two Gull Dongs hailed from the same wretched village.

  Nausea showed in Purdil’s eyes, excitement in the expressions of others, but amongst all the dogs terror reigned supreme. That was, she thought, quite satisfactory.

  Anila moved back to Zain and spoke softly to him, getting the information she needed. Then she issued the signal for the pack to move out, keeping to the same formation of wariness they had adopted upon leaving the ship

  The other dogs passed Zain, who still lay upon the ground.

  They could not help him, dared not help him.

  Get up, Zain! Purdil thought desperately, though he dared not speak. If you do not move with the pack, you are not of the pack.

  As if he somehow heard his friend’s silent pleas, Zain fought his way to a standing position. After a few moments of licking his most serious wounds to staunch the bleeding, or at least the worst of it, he followed after his pack, knowing that if he did not keep up he would not be allowed to remain behind, alive.

  The Gull Dongs and the Bully Kutta, following the beautiful alpha Afghan Hound, vanished into the mist and the darkness, heading southward to Chula Vista.

  Long minutes passed upon the docks, then three large canine shapes stepped from the shadows, gazing worriedly in the direction the pack had vanished.

  Chapter 8

  “When they reached Chula Vista, they headed out to the Point and occupied the ruins of the Shangri-La Restaurant,” Sunny said.

  “Gunpowder Point makes an excellent command post,” Atlas remarked. “It’s surrounded on three sides by deep water, the ruins and the brush provide a thousand hiding places, and there is no cover at all on the long access road coming down from where Bayfront Terrace curves southward. There’s no way to sneak up on them, not even if we were Water Spaniels.”

  “But that place has strays, and maybe a half-dozen homeless companions hanging around most the time,” Yoda pointed out.

  “Not any more, apparently,” Flashman said grimly.

  Suddenly Sunny shuddered and a sharp whimper escaped her mouth. The others looked to her, Yoda and Atlas going to her and leaning against her, letting her feel the comforting warmth of their bodies, the beating of their hearts.

  Kim stood on her hind legs, put her paws on either side of Sunny’s muzzle, and stared deep into the dog’s golden eyes. “It’s all right, Sunny,” the cat said. “You’re with friends.”

  The Golden Retriever nodded. “I’m all right.”

  “No, you’re not,” Levi said. “But you will be.”

  It was close to midnight. Sunny and the two military dogs had returned about a half-hour earlier, after trailing the foreign dogs from National City to the area at Gunpowder Point which the Gull Dong had apparently used as a base of operations while waiting for the others. They arrived home to the good news that Baron had been found, that he was sleeping peacefully, and that although he still did not recall anything about his past life or how he had come to Chula Vista, he at least now knew his name was Baron, not Iblis.

  “I can’t get out of my mind the image of what they did to the dog who met them after they came off the ship,” Sunny said.

  Now that she had stopped
shaking, the others moved away to give her space,

  “And you don’t know what he did to merit the punishment?” Levi asked.

  “No,” Sunny replied. “It was clearly at the order of the Afghan Hound, their alpha.” She shook her head. “So beautiful, yet so evil. We tried, but we could not make out what the Gull Dong told her or what she said to him, or the others.”

  “Too far away,” Atlas explained. “We did not know where the Gull Dong was hiding, and when we did find out it was too late to change our position.”

  “We could have used a pair of radar-ears,” Flashman said with a mischievous grin.

  Yoda started to growl, then relented. “Well, at least we’d know more about what is going on.”

  “Those dogs are after Baron, that much is sure,” Levi said. “We don’t yet know why they’ve come, but the reason has to be strong enough to draw them from Afghanistan. Regardless of the reason, the only punishment worthy of such a journey is death.”

  “It could be a matter of honor,” Atlas suggested.

  Flashman looked at him sharply. “Yeah, it could be at that.”

  “What do you mean, a matter of honor?” Yoda demanded.

  “In Afghanistan, honor is a matter of life and death,” Atlas said. “Not honor as we know it—keeping one’s word, being loyal, or doing the right thing—but honor based on how you’re perceived by others who believe the same way you do, mostly in the idea that you can lose your honor, your reputation, so to speak, because of the actions of others.”

  “That’s stupid,” Yoda snapped. “The only thing that counts is what I do myself, what decisions I make. If I’m disgraced in some way, it’s because I did it to myself. To blame others for my own faults is nothing but cowardice and weakness.”

  “Yes, but we follow the teachings of First Dog and Anubis,” Atlas explained. “Even dogs who never learned the old stories as pups still believe in responsibility, self-sacrifice and loyalty, so ingrained are those qualities in our culture. In Afghanistan, those traits are not cherished or followed, and the teachings of First Dog and Anubis are forbidden.”