Through the streets of ruined society, she walks on slender legs. Dogs her age remind me of deer. Her ears swivel back and forth, and knowing she is better at detecting danger than I am, I watch her, ready to signal to those men and women upwind to bolt.

Santa Cruz is a great place to dog watch. Most of the buildings fell over the course of rioting, so the wind blows well over the cliffs, especially in the morning and evening. A few of the younger dogs we end up with aren’t too good for hunting, so we send the dark ones out near the water in the morning, and the light ones between us and the forests in the day. They can smell better than we can, and so we watch them for signs of trouble.

She’s running back now. Damn dog! She’s BARKING! They’ll hear, if they’re about. I use my body weight to pull the rope near me as fast as I can- raise the flag, call everyone back. But I look again, and she’s running AROUND something. I pull out some binoculars, and look again.

What in the hell did that dumb dog find?