Say No More (26 page)

Back arched high, she yowled that otherworldly yowl and swatted with her claws, slicing the leather of my nose. I yelped, spun back the way I had come from, and ran. To my right, a screen door banged shut. An old woman stood on the porch of the house, a shotgun gripped in her crooked hands. She cocked it, raised the barrel, and took aim.

Out in the open, I had no place to hide. I ran faster. The shot exploded with a bang. A shell whizzed over my head, buried itself in the clothesline pole directly in front of me. The pole’s edge burst into splinters. She primed the shotgun again as I raced over the lawn. Ahead lay a fallow field. I had ventured too far from the woods. The next shot went wide, plunging into the dirt behind me. I ran across that endless field while she continued to lob her ammunition at me. I ran until my tongue hung low, and my lungs screamed for air, and my muscles could go no more.

By the time I stopped to rest, I had no idea where the highway was. I couldn’t retrace my scent and go back. She would be there waiting with her gun. She would kill me.

And so I waited until morning, no food in my belly that night. At dawn I rose, skirted as far around the farm as I could where the crazy lady with the gun had tried to kill me, and followed my scent until the highway came back within sight.

For several more days I followed that highway — cars and trucks buzzing in the distance, its length lit up at night like a ribbon of red and white taillights — until at last I came to a place where the hills were taller and more abundant. A place that was looking more and more like home.

Trotting up and down the hills was tiring. Opportunities for food were fewer than they had been. But I was getting close, I knew it. And so I pressed on, even when I sorely wanted to lie down and sleep, even when the prospect of food beckoned from a cluster of human dwellings.

I had grown accustomed to a certain pace, fast enough to carry me many miles over the course of a day, slow enough to keep from tiring too easily and to stop occasionally to gauge my direction. I climbed a very steep hill, more determined than ever. But when I topped it, my heart sank.

There, in the distance, was the biggest creek I had ever seen. A river, Lise once called it when we went on a long car ride to visit her mother and then friends in Ohio. It cleaved the land in two. A barrier to my path home.

I sat on the top of that wooded hill for a very long time, thinking of all I had endured and how far I had come, thinking that if only I could get across that great expanse of water, then home must not be far away. But no matter which way I turned it in my mind, I couldn’t see how it was possible.

Because the only way across was the highway bridge — and that road had more cars on it than I’d ever in my life seen.

—o00o—

I went as close as I dared. The rumble of semis stirred an abject fear deep in my gut. They could not easily stop, they could not easily swerve. It seemed they could only go forward, far faster than my four legs could manage, bearing a tremendous weight at dangerous speeds. Any animal in their path was in the way. Dead.

During my solo journey, I had learned a bit of the patterns of humans in their vehicles. They were most active during the day, less so at night. The quietest hours on the road were the small hours before dawn, when twilight melted into daylight. Humans were just beginning to stir then, but most were not yet travelling.

That following night, I stirred often to gaze at the sky, trying to judge whether the time was right. Clouds blotted the sky. There was no smell of rain on the air, but the clouds made it impossible to gauge the time. When I next awoke, the highway was already buzzing with traffic. I was too late.

For a brief time I considered trying to swim across, but when I went to the top of a small ridge that overlooked the river, all I could see was brown swirling water and no sign of the river’s bottom. The distance to the far bank was so vast that the cars driving along the road there were only tiny dots. A small, swift boat zipped downriver, while two, long flat boats bearing piles of black dust slogged upriver. No, I would tire and drown before I reached the other side.

And so I waited another day. The rain started overnight and continued on well into morning. Another day went by.

I awoke deep into the night. This time, however, the sky was clear and scattered with stars and a moon so bright it was like a floodlight.

It was time.

—o00o—

The land sloped down toward the highway, trees giving way to those great swaths of grass that humans were so fond of mowing. This area, however, hadn’t been mowed for some time, and I was glad for that, so I could move through it less obviously. A possum ambled down the hillside in front of me, taking her time as she raked her claws through the gravelly dirt, searching for grubs and worms. She was no danger to me; still, I avoided her, as I had avoided all creatures for many days now.

How many days
had
it been? My species is not good at keeping track. After a few, the days all blend together. We tend to mark the passage of time by events — and my crossing this bridge was sure to be an event I would not soon forget.

Bathed in the silvery blue glow of moonlight, I could see everything so clearly. That was comforting and terrifying at once. The bridge was a monstrous thing, the biggest structure I had ever laid eyes on. Metal arms linked together stretched across the river, supporting a length of road so long and arched so high I couldn’t see to the other side. Cars still sped along, but they were far fewer than in daylight hours. It would be impossible to get across without having to share the road with at least a few of them. If I kept to the side, on that narrow strip between the solid white line and the low concrete wall, perhaps I could make it across.

Then again, perhaps I was stupid to try. But how else was I going to make it home?

I sat for an eternity, watching the headlights appear in the distance, cross before me, and then go across the bridge. If there was any other way ... Well, fact was, there wasn’t.

A stiff wind roared in my ears, making it hard to hear. I studied the road, waited until another truck went by. Just as I set my foot on the pavement, two more cars crested the bridge, coming my way. I scurried back and hid in the tall grass. When they were gone, I tried again. This time, I couldn’t see any cars at all.

The road rose up like a small hill. I ran as fast as I could to the place where the road left the land and soared above the water. My heart beating wildly inside my ribs, I stayed tucked tight against the wall. Above the howl of the wind, I could just barely hear the gurgle and sloshing of the turbid water below.

Faster, faster, I raced. This wasn’t a time for caution. It was a time for reckless speed, for muscles to ache for oxygen, for lungs to pull in air in great, heaving gulps. Stride after stride, my legs churned. In my travels, I had grown quick and strong and in this moment it served me well. At the farm, my work was usually done in short bursts of speed, but now I was even leaner and more hard muscled.

Halfway there! I crested the pinnacle, saw the land on the far side — and not one, but two cars headed straight for me. Their lights were blinding. I slowed, put my head down, and hugged the side wall. The first sped by furthest from me, but as the second passed, a blast of air shoved me into the concrete. I closed my eyes. The smell of rubber and gasoline invaded my nose. The road vibrated under my paws. The bridge itself shook.

When the shaking finally stopped, I started again, still running, but more wary. The road dipped downward. My stride gained speed. It was hard to distinguish the wind from the rumble of an oncoming vehicle. I resisted looking back. Too much time lost.

Almost to the other side, I eased my pace. On my side of the road were buildings, lights illuminating a parking area outside of them. How had I not noticed that before? If I had, I would have gone down the other side. I was about to stay my course when I saw people milling about outside one of the buildings. No, I should go to the opposite side, avoid them. No sense taking chances. Not when I’d come this far, crossed the bridge.

I passed a glance over my shoulder and cut across the road. But I had misjudged the distance remaining. Before I reached safety, a vehicle came flying over the bridge behind me. I didn’t hear it. And it ... didn’t see me.

There was a burst of light, a blast of air, and then an explosion inside my chest. I felt myself lifted up, flung high, slammed onto the road, and then I skidded across the rock hard surface before landing on the gravel strewn edge.

Ahead of me, brakes screeched on pavement, igniting the smell of rubber. Then a car door slammed, feet pounded.

Two faces hovered over me.

“Oh my God! I didn’t see it,” a woman said. “I swear I didn’t see it.”

“It’s okay, honey. It’s okay. Go get the blanket out of the trunk. We’ll put her in the car, then go over to that gas station. They can tell us where the closest vet is.”

The man put his hands on me, stroked my head.

If I could have run away then, I would have. This time, though, I wasn’t going anywhere.

I couldn’t move.

I
was stretched out on a towel reeking of something astringent, my head resting upright against a cool surface. I’d been sleeping for a long time and it was a wonderful thing to do. I wanted to keep sleeping, but my senses were sharpening. Unfamiliar sounds stirred me to the verge of alertness. I was aware of things happening around me: people talking, other dogs barking, a cat growling, the ping of metal instruments, and water running. It took some time before I recognized the smell: disinfectant.

The vet’s!

That was the last place I wanted to be. Being at the vet’s meant needles jabbing at your skin, fingers probing in delicate places, thermometers in your —

How can I get out of here?

I pried my eyes open. Images blurred together. I had to focus for several minutes, my head lolling uncontrollably, before objects sharpened. I felt oddly weak, just as I had after Tucker had given me that shot.

In front of me were thin metal bars in a woven pattern. The door to my cage was set on solid hinges, with a trigger-type of latch on tightly coiled springs. No amount of biting at the wires would free me — I didn’t need to break my teeth on it to know that. These cages were meant to be inescapable prisons, any entrance or exit controlled only by the dexterity of human hands.

Proof that these people meant to keep me hostage, too, just like Ned and Tucker.

A long needle had been inserted into a vein on one of my front legs. Tape held it in place and from the bottom of the layers of tape a clear tube emerged. The tube snaked out through the bars, leading to a plastic bag that dangled from a hook near the top of the door. I nibbled at the edges of the tape, but every small movement I made only brought a fresh stab of pain, so I left it alone for the time being.

Stretching a stiff neck, I looked outside my cube of a prison. I could tell by the sounds that more animals were caged on either side of me and some above. There was a small bank of cages to the left. Mostly cats with their ears flattened, looking totally pissed off. I shuddered. I had yet to meet a cat I liked. Why humans kept them around was a mystery to me.

In one of the cages that I could see, though, were four small puppies. They huddled against one another, fright evident in their limpid eyes. Their coats were dull, their ribs gaunt, and their bellies distended. They were sick and underfed. I wondered if that was how I had looked when Ned Hanson was supposed to be taking care of me? I wanted to lick the puppies, bring them food, snuggle against them until they were well. I wanted to care for them like I had wanted —
needed
— someone to care for me.

Further down the narrow room and to the right was a row of kennels. The angle made it hard for me to see inside, but occasionally a black Labrador Retriever would come to the kennel door and look out. He thumped his tail against the sides of the kennel and bounced on his feet in greeting every time a human passed. Was he insane? He should be hiding at the back end, not inviting people to take him out and poke at him.

A young woman with a high ponytail and wearing pink scrubs came toward me. I straightened my legs to push myself against the back of the cage, but the moment I did that an unexpected tightness flared over my left hip. Baffled, I glanced toward my rump. My coat was shaved from my loin, forward to my flank, then down to the bulk of my thigh. A long scar puckered over pink skin, stitches crisscrossing a jagged line.

“You’re awake.” The woman slipped her fingers between the bars and wiggled them.

I inhaled her scent, but hung back. I would not be as gullible as the Lab. My trust had to be earned. I guarded it closely. Relying on myself had preserved me ever since Tucker Kratz shooed me onto the highway from that rusty trailer on a rain-drenched night.

“Don’t worry, girl.” She smiled, but her eyes were sad. “I won’t hurt you.”

Yeah, I’ve heard that before. It earned me a kick in the ribs once, a drug-induced haze another time.

She disappeared for a minute, then returned with a handheld rectangular device. Flipping the latch on my kennel up, she reached inside. If I’d had the strength to scoot away, or even the presence of mind to bite her, I would have. But it was as if every thought in my head was swimming through pond muck. I couldn’t think quickly, couldn’t act quickly; I was at her mercy.

She waved the device over my withers. It beeped softly. She turned it over, squinting at the display.

“Ah, you do belong to someone, then. Well, that’s good news, isn’t it? We’ll just make a couple of calls and you should be back home in no time.”

Home
. The word echoed in my head.
Home. Home. Home
. The best word that humans ever spoke.

Please, please, please send me home
.

I was tired of wandering alone, tired of not knowing when my next meal would be or how long it would be before the nights turned unbearably cold and the water froze everywhere.