Free DogForge by Casey Calouette Page A

same sadness as when Sabot had died. For a moment she wondered if they’d blame her for Karoc, too.
    A rise of gray stone and ice loomed before her. She sprinted around the edge and stopped in a clatter of stone. She yelped and dropped the canister.
    Waves of skelebots pursued the disappearing dogs. The leading edge savaged the dogs. Fur met with steel, but it wasn’t enough. The remnants of the defenders littered the snow and scree. Pockets of red snow were the only witness. Farther down, and nearly to the treeline, the rest of the pack fled. Pups, females, adults, with a ragged line attacking and covering the escape.
    “No!” Denali barked. She couldn’t let them go, not because of her, she knew she did it. It was the canister!
    She grasped it in her mouth and felt her tongue against the frosty metal. Was this what they wanted? Did they all hunt for this? She remembered when she struck the skelebot and how it reacted.
    She dashed over to a fallen skelebot. Her eyes watched the descending horde of skelebots and then she slammed the canister down.
    The skelebots on the rear edge turned and stared up the slope. The wails sang through the crisp wind. Skelebots on the battle line stopped the assault and looked up to the mountain.
    “Come!” Denali barked and slammed it down again and again. Only when she could see them all moving up the slope did she stop. What did I just do?
    The skelebots screeched. It was a mournful sound, a wail of loss and regret tinted with violence. Beneath they scrabbled through the rocks like savages, climbing one on top of the other. Even the treaded monster fought up the slope in a cloud of debris and shattered rock.
    Denali leapt over drifts of broken snow and clambered across the scree . Duty drove her. She didn’t care where she ran, as long as the skelebots followed.
    The line of skelebots climbed higher. Some floundered in the deep drifts while others moved with an animal intensity. They shifted, stumbled, but never stopped.
    She stopped on the backside of a drift and stared down at the valley. She could see the other dogs, like fleas on the white, moving into the safety of the trees. Her heart rose. Safe. She could almost pick out Grat and the line of pups with him. He’d never leave his pups, never.
    The thought hit her and she felt lost. Now what do I do?
    A snowy pass, like a ragged gouge in the mountain, peaked high above. Rivulets of snow danced and clumped before falling down the slope.
    She wondered how well the steel bodied bots could pass through deep snow. For that matter, she wondered how well she could. On the other side was the sea, and eventually the valley where the pack was going. Her pack. Her family.
    “Denali!” Samson cried out.
    Denali spun around and looked at Samson with wide eyes. The canister almost fell from her mouth.
    Samson ran toward her and nearly fell with every stride. He clutched his front paw tight to his chest and blood matted his fur. His tail tucked tight to his legs, his eyes wild with fear.
    A part of her said run. Leave him. For all he’s done to you. But then another part, the part that defined her, told her to stand. He was, at the most basic level, still her pack-brother.
    His eyes were thick with tears and red foam circled his mouth. “We need to go!”
    She turned and began to lope away. The pass was beginning to cloud up once again.
    “What about me?” Samson barked. The fear cracked his voice and he sounded almost like a normal dog.
    Denali stopped and dropped the cylinder. “Just don’t tell anyone.”
    Samson dropped his eyes to the snow and followed her.
    The two struggled through the drifts and would have halted if it wasn’t for the warming sun. Sheets of sticky wet snow slid down in cascades and creaked to a halt. 
    Denali turned. She watched the silver reflections sparkle beneath her. She ignored Samson and waited until he passed her up the slope. She settled on one of the skelebots and watched his progress.
    He was slow.