Nevertheless, he wore his rain jacket, the one Candle had found for him. In one pocket, he carried a flashlight; in the other, two of the viper-pricks. It was always best to be prepared.
He looked around for a moment, seeking out any signs of movement, found none, and headed downhill for the waterfront, Cheney leading. The bristle-haired dog padded along with his big head lowered and swinging from side to side, his strange walk familiar to the boy by now. It might seem as if Cheney weren’t entirely sure where he was going, but the look was deceptive.
Cheney always knew where he was going and what was in the way. He was just keeping watch. Cheney knew more than any of them about staying alive.
He had found the big dog when it was a burly puppy, foraging for food in the remains of a collapsed building in the midtown, half starved and unapproachable. The puppy growled at him boldly, warning him off. Intrigued, Hawk knelt and held out a scrap of dried meat he was carrying, then waited for the dog to approach. It watched him for a very long time without doing anything, yellow eyes baleful and hard and suspicious. Hawk waited, meeting the other’s dark gaze. Something passed between them, an understanding or recognition, perhaps—Hawk was never sure. Eventually, the puppy came a bit closer, but not close enough to be touched. Hawk waited until he was bored, then threw him the meat, turned, and started off. He had other things to do and no place in his life for a dog, in any case. He had only just brought Sparrow and Fixit into the underground to join Owl and himself, the start of his little family, and finding food for the four of them was a big enough problem without adding a dog to the mix.
But when he had looked back again, the puppy was following him, staying out of reach but keeping close enough so that it would not lose sight of him.
Three blocks later, it was still there. He tried to shoo it away, but it refused to leave. In the end, its persistence won him over. It had stayed with him all the way back to the entrance to the underground, but refused to come inside.
Finding it still there the following morning, he had fed it again.
This had gone on for weeks until one day, without warning, it had decided to go down with him.
On reaching their home, it had looked around carefully, sniffed all the corners and studied all four kids, then picked out a corner, curled into a ball, and gone to sleep.
After that, it had stayed with them inside. But it had never become friendly with anyone but Hawk. It allowed the others to touch it, those bold enough to want to do so, but it kept apart except when Hawk was around. The boy couldn’t explain Cheney’s behavior, other than to attribute it to the fact that he was the one who had round the dog when it was a puppy and fed it, but he took a certain pride in the fact that Cheney, to the extent that he was anyone’s, was clearly his.
He glanced over at the big dog now, watching the way he scanned the street, sniffed the air, kept his ears perked and his body loose and ready.
Cheney was no one to mess with. He was big to begin with, but when he felt threatened he became twice as big, his heavy coat bristling and his muzzle drawing back to reveal those huge teeth. It wasn’t just for show. Today Hawk was carrying one of the prods for protection. But once, when he wasn’t, less than a year after he had found Cheney, he had gotten trapped in an alley by a pair of Croaks—zombie-like remnants of human beings who had ingested too much of the poisons and chemicals that had been used in the terrorist attacks and misguided reprisals that followed. Half dead already and shut out of the compounds, the Croaks roamed the streets and buildings and waited to die.
Croaks were extremely dangerous. Even the smallest scratch or bite from one would infect you; there was no cure. This pair was particularly nasty, the sum of their rage and frustration directed toward Hawk when they saw he couldn’t escape them. But they were so intent on the boy that they hadn’t noticed Cheney. It was a fatal mistake. The big dog had come up on them in a silent rush and both were dead almost before they realized what had happened, their throats torn out. Hawk had checked out Cheney afterward, fearing the worst. But there wasn’t a mark on him.
After that, Hawk was convinced that Cheney was worth his substantial weight in daily rations. He quit worrying when he had to leave Owl and the smaller children alone. He quit thinking that he was the only one who could protect them.
The street sloped downhill in a smooth, undulating concrete ramp that was littered with car wrecks and debris from collapsed buildings. On one side lay a pile of bones that had been there for as long as he could remember.
You didn’t see bones often in the city; scavengers cleaned out most of them.