retreating. The giant door, she assumed, and pictured the great cogs whirling and dancing. She wondered what sort of wonders could possibly hide behind such a thing.
In the darkness she could feel the passage slide up and down. A crease in the metal announced something, but she didn’t know what it was. She had no worries about getting lost: her scent was like a beacon.
Then her paw hit something and she yelped in surprise.
She poked her nose at it. It was an old smell, a collection of smells all blended together with a hint of corrosion. She felt the obstacle with her paws, it was a mesh. She pushed and it fell away.
The lights came on.
Denali froze. She didn’t even take a breath. The only sound was the hammering of her own heart. The air was as still as creation.
A hallway spread out in front of her, bathed in an empty white light. The sloped floor was a littered mess of debris. Glass was smashed, devices shredded apart, and not a single container was intact.
Denali crawled out. She stretched her weary legs and took it in. The first one, she thought. Me. She felt almost giddy with excitement and sniffed wildly while her tail thumped against the wall.
She sniffed into everything and scratched away to see if anything was of value. The footing was difficult, she kept sliding to the low side. She paused near something that looked heavy and pissed on it. With her duty done, she set off.
She picked through every pile of debris and sniffed for anything of interest. There were vials. There was broken cases. Plastic and metal and things she couldn’t guess at. Through it all she was happy, excited, then the aching in her chest reminded her of the death of Sabot and her duty.
Farther down the hall, it was dark. When she padded closer, another section would light up and one farther back would go out. She passed closed doors pocked with dimples. She didn’t like doors. Doors were something dogs couldn’t get through.
It was a simple affair with no handle. There was something written on it, but Denali had no idea what. She’d seen writing often enough, and was told that once dogs could read it, but that was no longer the case. A narrow slit of a window was above the halfway point.
She sniffed. Nothing. She stood on her hind legs but couldn’t quite get high enough. The tip of her nose was barely at the level of the window. It looked dark inside, that was all she could tell. No, not quite, there was a glow. A tantalizing glow that teased her into action.
There was a small panel near the side and Denali judged that she could run, get two paws onto it, and leap up to where she could see inside. Satisfied with her plan, she took three steps back and pounced.
Her paws slapped onto the narrow panel. She could see the window approaching and was almost there when the door slid to the side. There was a moment of vertigo, a misjudgment of space: the door was opening. She leaped through and crashed onto the ground.
It smelled different inside. Very different.
The corpse wore a uniform so old that the fabric crumbled in the fresh air currents. Its eyes were sunken and shriveled into ashen orbs. Lips were drawn tight against bleach white teeth. It lay on top of a metal suit with metallic arms embracing it. The side of the corpse’s head was splintered open.
Denali stood slowly and stared. Old was all she could think. Old.
It was mummified by the cool dry air. She’d seen enough skulls to know it was once a man, but never one like this.
She tore her glance from the dark eye sockets and looked into the rest of the room.
There was table after table, each held a corpse. The room was filled with the dead, a gallery of mummified remains. It smelled of death. Of a horrible thing, corpse after corpse, left to rot. Alone.
A barricade stood on the far side with a heap of corpses. Dead men in jet black body armor with hard edged weapons lay jumbled about. Just in front was a sealed door. A door ringed with silent gears.
Fear
In the darkness she could feel the passage slide up and down. A crease in the metal announced something, but she didn’t know what it was. She had no worries about getting lost: her scent was like a beacon.
Then her paw hit something and she yelped in surprise.
She poked her nose at it. It was an old smell, a collection of smells all blended together with a hint of corrosion. She felt the obstacle with her paws, it was a mesh. She pushed and it fell away.
The lights came on.
Denali froze. She didn’t even take a breath. The only sound was the hammering of her own heart. The air was as still as creation.
A hallway spread out in front of her, bathed in an empty white light. The sloped floor was a littered mess of debris. Glass was smashed, devices shredded apart, and not a single container was intact.
Denali crawled out. She stretched her weary legs and took it in. The first one, she thought. Me. She felt almost giddy with excitement and sniffed wildly while her tail thumped against the wall.
She sniffed into everything and scratched away to see if anything was of value. The footing was difficult, she kept sliding to the low side. She paused near something that looked heavy and pissed on it. With her duty done, she set off.
She picked through every pile of debris and sniffed for anything of interest. There were vials. There was broken cases. Plastic and metal and things she couldn’t guess at. Through it all she was happy, excited, then the aching in her chest reminded her of the death of Sabot and her duty.
Farther down the hall, it was dark. When she padded closer, another section would light up and one farther back would go out. She passed closed doors pocked with dimples. She didn’t like doors. Doors were something dogs couldn’t get through.
It was a simple affair with no handle. There was something written on it, but Denali had no idea what. She’d seen writing often enough, and was told that once dogs could read it, but that was no longer the case. A narrow slit of a window was above the halfway point.
She sniffed. Nothing. She stood on her hind legs but couldn’t quite get high enough. The tip of her nose was barely at the level of the window. It looked dark inside, that was all she could tell. No, not quite, there was a glow. A tantalizing glow that teased her into action.
There was a small panel near the side and Denali judged that she could run, get two paws onto it, and leap up to where she could see inside. Satisfied with her plan, she took three steps back and pounced.
Her paws slapped onto the narrow panel. She could see the window approaching and was almost there when the door slid to the side. There was a moment of vertigo, a misjudgment of space: the door was opening. She leaped through and crashed onto the ground.
It smelled different inside. Very different.
The corpse wore a uniform so old that the fabric crumbled in the fresh air currents. Its eyes were sunken and shriveled into ashen orbs. Lips were drawn tight against bleach white teeth. It lay on top of a metal suit with metallic arms embracing it. The side of the corpse’s head was splintered open.
Denali stood slowly and stared. Old was all she could think. Old.
It was mummified by the cool dry air. She’d seen enough skulls to know it was once a man, but never one like this.
She tore her glance from the dark eye sockets and looked into the rest of the room.
There was table after table, each held a corpse. The room was filled with the dead, a gallery of mummified remains. It smelled of death. Of a horrible thing, corpse after corpse, left to rot. Alone.
A barricade stood on the far side with a heap of corpses. Dead men in jet black body armor with hard edged weapons lay jumbled about. Just in front was a sealed door. A door ringed with silent gears.
Fear
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