Trapped (2 page)

My brother has been threatening not to go to college next year. He says it's a waste of time and he wants to do something more “proactive,” whatever that means.

Dad starts to answer, but Mom puts a hand on his arm. “We'll talk about it later,” she says. “Why don't you clean up? Waffles will be ready in ten minutes.”

Sage disappears upstairs as soon as we get back in the house.

Mom and I work together in the kitchen, making the batter for waffles and cutting up fresh fruit for a topping. Jayvee tries to help, too, but mostly he gets in the way.

Just when I'm sure that I'm going to faint from hunger, brunch is ready. Dad comes in and washes up, but we have to call Sage three times before he hears us. When he's on the Internet, he tunes everything else out.

“Smells delicious!” Dad says as we sit down around the small kitchen table. It's a tight fit, but I like being cozy. We clasp hands. Dad squeezes my hand, and I pass the squeeze along to Jayvee. He passes it to Mom, who passes it to Sage, who passes it back to my dad. The squeeze goes around and around, faster and faster, until we're all squeezing at once. Then it's time to eat.

Dad spoons a big pile of strawberries and bananas onto his waffle and takes a huge bite. “Mmmm,” he says. “Spectacular!”

The rest of us dig in, too. Except for Sage.

He just sits there, looking down at his plate. “Are there eggs in here?” he asks, poking at his waffle, which is rapidly growing cold.

Mom sighs. “Two. Is that a problem?”

Sage pushes his plate away. “I guess I forgot to tell you,” he says. “I decided to go vegan.”

Wow. That's big news. Vegans are sort of like ultra-vegetarians. They don't eat meat or any other animal products, like milk or eggs or cheese. Vegans don't wear leather, and some of them won't even eat honey because they believe it's unfair to the bees to steal what they've created.

“Oh, Sage,” Mom says. “Don't you think—”

“I do think,” he says, interrupting her. “I think about the appalling conditions that the chickens who lay those eggs live in. It's barbaric to force animals to live that way! I won't be a part of that kind of exploitation.” He shoves his chair back from the table. “I don't know how the rest of you can live with yourselves,” he adds angrily. Then he stomps out of the room and back up the stairs.

The kitchen is silent. We just sit there, stunned.

I've lost my appetite.

Chapter Two

S
o, brunch is basically a total bust. Nobody talks much after Sage's outburst. He may have left the room, but the tension hasn't. Silently, we finish our waffles. Then Dad pushes his chair back and carries his plate to the sink. I help clear the table without being asked.

“Want a ride to Dr. Mac's?” my mom asks as she wipes down a counter. “I'm due at work in an hour. I can drop you off on the way.”

Mom works at the local retirement home, Golden Age. The old people over there love her, because she's always so upbeat. She'll have to fake it today, though. I can tell she's pretty upset about Sage.

“Thanks, but I think I'll go for a walk,” I tell her. “I'll bike over later.”

I need some time in the woods. That's where I go to relax, to think.

“OK.” She smiles. “Oh, if you go to the creek, try to find some crayfish for the raccoon. And the turtles would love some—”

“Mushrooms,” I say. “I know. I'll bring a basket.”

I get a basket and my jacket. I grab my camera, too. On my way out the door, Poe flaps and caws for attention. “Not this time, pal,” I tell him. I want to take some pictures, and he scares off the wildlife by cawing at the worst moments. To make up for not bringing him along, I offer Poe a couple kernels of popcorn, one of his favorite treats. He knows I'm buying him off, but his stomach gets the better of him, and he gobbles them down.

“Bye, Mom,” I say. Dad's already back in the shop, and Jayvee's playing in the sunroom. Sage is up in his room, of course.

Mom gives me a quick hug. “Bye, honey.” She brushes back a strand of my brown hair, just like hers only without the gray, and looks into my eyes. Then she says, “Why don't you see if Sage wants to go along? He could use some fresh air.”

I want to tell Mom not to worry about him, but how can I? I'm worried, too. “Good idea,” I say.

I kiss Mom on the cheek and take the stairs two at a time to Sage's room. I poke my head in, but he's focused on the computer screen. He doesn't hear me clear my throat, or maybe he does and decides to ignore me.

I don't stick around to find out.

I leave through the back door and set out on the path behind our house. There's a whole network of trails through the nature preserve that surrounds our cabin, so I can take a different walk every day of the week. This time, I head toward the creek. There's something about the sparkling clear water splashing over the mossy stones that helps to clear my head. When I'm upset, I go sit by the water and listen to it, and I always leave feeling better.

I'm never bored in the woods, because the woods are always changing, depending on the season, the weather, and even the time of day. Right now, all the leaves are turning orange and gold and brown. The fallen ones rustle beneath my feet as I walk along, and I can smell their earthy scent. I pick up a few of the prettiest ones and put them in my basket. I'll press them between wax paper to make decorations for our windows.

Sage and I camped out here last summer, watching the stars shine through the pine boughs as we stayed up talking. We traded stories about school, and he told me what things were like when he was my age. Like how he declared himself a “pacifist” in sixth grade and got teased mercilessly. A bully named Steven Bauer made it hard for Sage to stick to his principles, but Sage never took the bait. I was proud of my big brother for that.

I wonder if Sage would be able to put up with someone like Steven Bauer today. Sage seems so angry and obsessed lately. If we camped out now, he would probably just lecture me for hours.

I take a deep yoga-breath and let it out.
Think calm. Think peaceful.
I grab my camera and look up at the trees through the viewfinder. Their tall trunks rise into the sky majestically. I know they're just trees, but somehow they look old and wise.

I try to imagine how the shot will look in black and white. That's the type of film I usually use. It's the best way to capture the lights and darks of the forest. You can really see the details of something when you don't have color to distract you. You see what's true. Of course, that might just be me being “black and white” again!

Somehow I don't feel like clicking the shutter just now. I let the camera drop to my side and stand still for a moment, to soak it all in.

It's so quiet, I can hear a woodpecker drumming away on a dead tree and two chickadees calling to each other.

Suddenly I hear another sound, a crashing noise coming from my right. I look over just in time to see a young deer leaping through the underbrush. Its white tail flashes as it bounds away, faster than I could ever run. I must have scared the animal when I moved. I wish I could call out to it, tell it that it's safe here in the nature preserve.

And I would have loved to snap the deer's picture, but it was moving way too fast for that.

I walk down to the creek now and stoop to take a closer look at a tiny fern growing out of a rock. Mom and I are trying to learn to identify the different types, but I can't remember what this one is called. I take out my camera again and focus on the fern.
Click.
I'll look it up in our field guide when I get my pictures back.

As I straighten up, I hear something else. A whimpering sound, very faint. I know that sound.

It's an animal in pain.

I listen carefully to figure out which direction it's coming from, then tuck my camera into my basket and start to run.

I come into a clearing just beyond the creek, near an old apple tree that still blooms sometimes in the spring. The whimpering sound is louder here, but I can't tell what it is.

Then I look down near the base of the tree, and I gasp.

There's a wolf lying there.

There are no wolves in these woods. I take a closer look. It's a dog, but the shape of his head and his thick, shaggy coat make him look like a wolf.

This dog is in trouble. His beautiful coat—shades of cream, tan, and gray tipped with brown—is dull and matted. And he's so thin I can practically count every rib. I can see the way his panting makes his chest rise.

At least he's still alive.

I approach him carefully, trying to see if he's wearing a collar.

“Are you OK, boy? What happened?”

He watches me closely and curls his upper lip, but he's too exhausted to growl, much less snap at me. He can barely lift his head. I can't figure it out. Why is he just lying there?

Then I take one step closer, and I know.

My stomach flips over. My knees turn to Jell-O. Suddenly I can't catch my breath.

The dog's front leg is caught in a trap.

Chapter Three

I
can't move. I just stand there, staring at the dog. “Oh!” is all I can say. “Oh, no!”

He looks up at me. His brown eyes are dull.

I pull it together. “Wait here, boy,” I tell the dog. “I'll be right back.” I want to stroke his fur, to comfort him, but I know better than to touch an animal in distress.

I turn and start running. It isn't easy, because my eyes are filled with tears, but I thread my way through the trees and take a shortcut back to the house.

I make it back in record time and burst into Dad's carpentry shop. He looks up, startled.

“Brenna?” he asks. He puts down the piece of wood he's holding, turns off the saw, and comes toward me, taking off his safety goggles. “What is it, honey?”

“It's a dog!” I say. “His foot is in a trap. I think he's”—I take a huge, sobbing breath—“dying.”

Dad doesn't waste any time. He steps to the door of his shop. “Jayvee!” he yells. Jayvee is playing out back. “Tell Sage to call Dr. Mac's. We're bringing in an emergency patient. Then call Mrs. Piper and ask if you can go play with Jason for a while.” He turns back to me. “Let's see,” he says. “We'll need a chain cutter to get the trap off. And a first-aid kit, and probably a litter to transport the poor guy...Gloves... Something to muzzle him with.”

He's thinking out loud. He walks through the shop, grabbing things and handing them to me. Then we head over to the critter barn to get some more supplies. Sage meets us there.

“What's up?” he asks. “I called Dr. Mac. She'll be ready when we get there.”

“Dog in a trap,” Dad says.

Sage curses.

Dad doesn't even blink at the swear word. “Come with us,” Dad says. “We may need help carrying the animal.”

Our neighbor, Mrs. Piper, comes to pick up Jayvee, and we take off. As we head back down the path into the woods, I look at Sage, trotting next to me. His mouth is a tight line and his eyes are dark and intense. I barely recognize him. He's not saying a word, but he doesn't have to. I know what he's thinking. He is furious.

So am I. How could someone hurt an innocent animal that way? I picture the dog running along, nose to the ground and tail wagging, happy and free. Then I imagine the sickening snap of the trap, the metal jaw springing closed and clamping around his leg, and the fear the dog must have felt when he realized he was caught. Ugh. I shake my head to clear the image away and concentrate on leading Dad and Sage to the dog.

When we come into the clearing, the dog doesn't even move. His eyes are open and he's still panting, but he has no energy left to react. Sage squats down and shakes his head in disgust.

Dad moves slowly, gently. He talks to the dog in a low voice as he pulls on his gloves. Quickly, Dad wraps a soft piece of gauze around the dog's muzzle. That will keep the dog from biting. Then Dad reaches for the chain cutter and slices right through the chain that holds the trap to an anchor buried in the dirt.

“We'll take that off at Dr. Mac's,” Dad says, sighing at the mess the trap has made of the dog's foot.

I don't look too closely, but what I do see turns my stomach. The wound around the trap is raw, and I think I can see bone.

“Let's lift him onto the litter,” Dad says to Sage.

The litter is a piece of canvas slung between two wooden rods. Dad and Sage get in position, one on either side of the dog. I stand by. “On my count,” Dad says. “One, two, three.” They lift, I move the litter beneath the dog, and we're ready to go.

Dad and Sage carry the litter and I walk behind, carrying the chain cutter and first-aid kit. We're moving more slowly now, since they have to be careful not to jostle the dog. It seems to take hours to get back to the house, even though it's really only minutes.

I open the gate of Dad's pickup, and Dad and Sage ease the litter into the truck bed. I hop in next to the litter while the two of them get into the front seats. I'm not usually allowed to ride in back, but this time Dad doesn't try to stop me. He starts up the truck and takes off. We've barely spoken a word.

I study the dog lying next to me. His eyes are glazed, and he's panting harder than ever. I check the second hand of my watch and try to count his respirations, his breaths. Dr. Mac will need that information. But the road is bumpy and I can't concentrate. And I know better than to reach over and take his pulse, even though he's muzzled. I don't want to make him any more stressed than he is.