Terror Run

• Amy Robertson, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2012

Step by step. That is what I keep telling myself and my men. Heads down and go. I glance over my shoulder and see one of the men straying. I run over and nip him back into line, they are nothing more than sheep. The battle rages either side of me and my men. 'Heads down! Go! Go! Go!' I bark at them. The sun dips below the hills to my east and I know our enemy will come at us soon. They always do in the cover of dark. I hear the planes fly over like bird calls flitting through the trees. My men seem to be distracted, especially the younger ones. I smell something on the wind. The enemy, I can smell their stench from a mile away. Here they come. 'Hurry!' I bark again anxiety having crept into my voice my men seem to speed up with it.
One of the younger ones runs out of line seeming to have completely lost his mind, 'Oi you! Get back here!' I scream at him, then the enemy's cries fill the valley, the planes fall silent. They are coming. I dash as fast as I can towards the young recruit and try to herd him back into line. Yet when I look around to the rest of the group I see the enemy with their wolfish grins already upon them. 'RUN!' I scream but their brains seem to not register it. The enemy advances on my men it's too late, we'll never make it now. All I can do is to stand and fight. They come at me and the young lamb again and again, I do my best and the rest of the men scurry about everywhere. Out of nowhere I am hit, and down I go, hearing the dying cries of my men as I do.
I hear the early morning birds singing and awake in the warming sun of dawn, my face damp with, I know isn't dew, but the blood of my dead. I drag myself up and move through what's left of the herd, of my men, their mangled bodies torn to pieces. I whimper and fall to the soaked ground, I have failed. I do not see how I can be a shepherding dog. When every time I try and get my flock through the wolf ridden valley to the safe haven of our home base and I fail to save a single one. What will my master say when I come back unsuccessful? How angry will he be? I hear a small whine. My sharp ears prick up and my nose leads the way to the source. I find the small lamb I'd run after, hidden beside a tree, behind what was his brother. I sniff him out and he's surprisingly unharmed. My tail wags a tiny twitch, through all the bloodshed, at least one was saved. Maybe I'll make a sheep dog yet.