Without the smell, it would be all but impossible to find this base, buried as it is within a valley in Point Mugu State Park, completely hidden from view, with only a single road leading in and out.
I stand out of sight and study it from above. My ears tingle, and I’m hit by a flash of memory.
I’m in a sterile white laboratory, strapped to a table as dogs stare down at me from above. The memory is like ice on my paws.
This base. I’ve been here before.
It’s much smaller than I expected, a half-mile-wide clearing in the mountains surrounded by a high electrified fence topped with razor wire. At first glance it might not be a base at all, perhaps just a remote landing area for Black Hawk helicopters. But the memory suggests there’s more here than meets the eye.
The problem is there’s nothing much in front of me. No dog-training center, no holding cells, no place for soldiers to live. I only see a landing strip, a fuel depot, and some kind of low concrete building in the center.
Maybe my memory is playing tricks on me?
I breathe deeply and can smell the barest trace of the children, no more than a few scent molecules lingering in the air, but it’s enough for my ultrasensitive nose to detect. Chance and Junebug were here not too long ago.
I smell something else, too. The Maelstrom soldiers. They are somewhere nearby, which means I was right. There’s a base here. I sense the truth about where I come from is here, too.
I step forward, and I feel a subtle vibration under my feet. I place my ear to the dirt and listen. I can hear the buzz of machinery and whir of ventilation units far below.
The Maelstrom base is beneath me, buried underground.
I snort and walk in a circle, excited energy building in my body. I have to get inside. The kids are down there, and the clues that will unlock my past as well.
I walk the perimeter, staying out of sight in the forest, looking for any weakness in the defenses.
But the fence is continuous, and there are motion detectors and antipersonnel mines dotting the area. The hum of electricity runs through the fence, a clear warning that one touch is death.
I whine, frustrated, as I work my way back around to the front of the base. An imposing front gate is locked tight and framed with windowless black guard shacks.
There’s no way I can get inside.
I stand in the tree line, scratching at the dirt with my rear paws, feeling angry and trapped.
Without warning, a dozen blue-uniformed soldiers surge out of the guard shacks, lining up inside the gate.
Did I somehow trigger an alarm?
A moment later a motor roars to life, and the massive gate in front of the base starts to move.