Silver Delta Dogs

Chapter 1

“FAMILY KILLED IN A FLAMING BOAT BY THE SAPPHIRE KILLER!”, today’s headline read. Fitz sighed. Sure, it was simple logic that papers needed to draw in attention, but it was still sad that death always attracted the most news.

    “Thanks again, Godfrey,” he said wearily to the old Saint Bernard handing him his papers to deliver for the day.

    “You’re welcome, young man,” he said, equally weary from being up just as early, but still jovial. Fitz piled the tied-up papers in the basket of his old, red bike and began pedaling away. “Don’t sprain yourself!” Godfrey called.

    “I won’t!” Fitz responded, smiling.

    It was a long ride to the neighborhood Fitz delivered to. He’d already crossed the bridge from All’s-Clear to Bowman Island to get to the Silver Delta Chronicle’s printing house and the ride wasn’t even half done. Even with years of practice, his legs began to feel the weight of fatigue.

    The pre-dawn sky was just lightening from charcoal to cobalt. The stars were smothered by a blanket of clouds that caught the faint glowing haze of the city’s lights. Fitz’s pedaling powered a dim, yellow headlamp attached to the front of the bike, providing a wavering amount of guiding light and a soft whirring sound with each pedal. He passed by sleepy, gray buildings and skyscrapers until the buildings thinned out into two-and-three story residential homes separated by tiny, flat yards. A few small, gnarled trees sported some new green buds. The area was originally built on a swamp, which is why the area was known as Bogwood. Mosquito season was still a nightmare, but at least Fitz could be treated to the occasional duck flying overhead looking for a suitable puddle to rest in on its migration route.

    It was still too early for anyone to be out on their porch or looking out from a window. A few years ago, when Fitz wasn’t as used to biking such long distances, the sun and people would be outside by the time he wheeled in, huffing and puffing, to limpley toss a paper their way. Nowadays, all he had to greet were some wilted flowers in the windows of houses and a few timidly cheeping birds. The haunting quiet didn’t bother Fitz in the slightest. The lack of judgemental, leering eyes just gave him freedom he almost never had.

    He took in a breath of chilly springtime air. His family didn’t have the time or energy to vacation away from their tenement in All’s-Clear, even within the city, but from what he knew, this neighborhood had some of the most pleasantly clean air in Sildel. The Garden Pavilion in the middle of Bowman Island was usually lauded by advertisers as “a slice of nature in a bustling city”, but any pictures Fitz saw of it made it look like a tiny square of grass surrounded by skyscrapers. How “natural” could it be?

    After passing several houses without a Silver Delta Chronicle subscription, he came to his favorite part of his morning ride. With an extra ounce of effort, he pedaled up an unusually steep part of the road. He briefly checked to see if anyone would see him and saw no one. Slowly, with anticipation, he eked over the crest of the hill and began to coast. He straightened up, closed his eyes, took off his gray flat cap to hold in his clasped paw to prevent it from flying away, and lifted his muzzle into the rushing air, pretending to fly. He knew exactly how long he had to enjoy the feeling of cool wind in his fur in this fun, childish way.

    It was cut short.

    The bike hit something in the road abruptly and launched Fitz forward. He yelped “GUWAHH!” before unceremoniously tumbling onto the pavement.

    Groaning, Fitz resigned himself to laying on the the cold street for at least a minute, feeling bruises form and scrapes sting. He got up and picked up his gray flat cap that he had let go of mid-flight and had been crushed by the weight of his body. He dusted it off and secured it back over his short, black hair.