Dogs of the Deadlands by Anthony McGowan

Author:Anthony McGowan [McGowan, Anthony]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780861543205
Publisher: Oneworld Publications
Published: 2022-07-22T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 27

Riches

And then there was the farmhouse. The dogs had sniffed around it, putting paws up against doors and grimy windows, vaguely aware that there might be riches within. But they couldn’t figure out how to get inside.

Shepherd could have smashed his way in through the rotten wood of the door, but like all farm dogs, he’d been a working animal, not a pet. Once, as a puppy, he had blundered in and taken a savage kick for his troubles, and ever since there was an invisible force field around it, which he would never pass.

It took the arrival of Misha and Bratan, and the great hunger, and then the coming of a mighty storm a few weeks later to breach the house’s defenses.

The storm raged in the night, cruel flashes of forked lightning, and driving sleet and hail forcing the dogs to huddle together in the barn. When they emerged in the morning, they found that the wind had blown over an ancient, dying chestnut tree. The tree had cracked, snapped, and slumped against the house, breaking windows on the top floor.

Misha studied the scene and figured out that this was a way in. Dogs are not natural climbers, but he found that he could just scramble along the splintered trunk. He then picked his way carefully through one of the broken windows, as the other dogs watched, fascinated, below.

Inside, all was dark and dusty. There was the smell of mice and also of other enticing things. Misha quickly sniffed his way through the upstairs rooms, sensing there was little of interest. He trotted down the stairs, appearing for a moment through the filthy windows, which set the other dogs off in a manic barking fit.

He soon found the kitchen, and he remembered the way food had been stored in the small house where he and Bratan had stayed with Mother. He nosed his way to the fridge and managed to pry it open. The inside of it was a forest of green mold, and a stench of death flowed out. There was nothing edible in there.

He pawed at cupboards and found tins that seemed to promise good things, but there was no way into them. Misha was beginning to think that his mission had been for nothing when he noticed that another door was ajar and he pushed through. Instantly, he knew that this was the source of the rich and meaty aroma that suffused the house.

The door opened on to a rickety wooden staircase, leading into the cellar. It was pitch-black down there, but Misha’s sharp nose told him that it was a place of deep and profound interest to a hungry dog, and he padded down the stairs into the gloom.

It wasn’t a neat, clean basement with wooden walls but a rough cellar, quite recently dug out. Misha snuffled through the space, the smells driving him almost to a frenzy. He sniffed into the corners, convinced he must find . . . whatever it was.

But nothing.

And then he realized that the smells were drifting down from above him.

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