Prater bent down and stared, mouth open. He was still in shock. I pulled off my shirt. Piecing Jack’s skin back, I wound the jersey around Jack’s neck. Then I carried Jack like a baby in my arms down the mountain, Prater at my side.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He started mumbling; he was breaking down. But then I remembered it was only this morning the coyote killed his horse.
“Just help me,” I said and he nodded in return.
When we broke through the trees to his yard, Prater ran ahead, yelling. His dad stomped out onto the porch, already angry at whatever it was. His face changed after Prater shouted a few words to him. He ran around the side of the house, hauled up in his truck, and lurched to a stop beside me.
“Get in!” he yelled, throwing open the passenger door.
Prater helped me with Jack and plopped on the seat beside me, slamming the door shut. Mr. Prater wheeled the truck around and sped through town, past Puchalski’s, past my street, past Ray’s house and Tysko’s. I would have gone back in time to any of those places just to change tonight.
Streetlights lit up Jack’s face in flashes.
Please, God, please, I prayed.
Mr. Prater jerked the truck to a stop in front of the veterinarian’s office.
“Stay here!” he yelled and jumped out. He ran to a small house behind the office and banged on the door. A porch light came on. I heard Mr. Prater’s voice, charged with urgency. Both men ran back to the truck.
“Let’s get Jack into my office,” Dr. Hart said. His face was concerned and his voice gentle. He tried to take Jack.
I shook my head. “I’ll carry him.”
Dr. Hart nodded and ushered us into his office.
After I laid Jack on the table, Dr. Hart took over. He spoke to Mr. Prater and I heard him, I heard his voice, but the words didn’t make any sense.
Finally he looked at me and said, “Why don’t you boys wait in the other room?”
I shook my head.
Mr. Prater stepped forward. “Boys,” he said, then turned to me. “Let’s go call your dad.”
I fastened my eyes on Jack. The white sheet under him was now streaked with blood. Jack’s eyes and ears were pale, his lips almost white. I touched his head. “I’ll be back,” I said to him, fighting off tears.
In the waiting room, I collapsed on the couch. Mr. Prater called Dad. My arms were smeared with Jack’s blood. My chest was stained brownish red. I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes. I heard Prater and his dad murmuring, but I couldn’t pull myself up. My body was too heavy and the dark room pressed in on me.
Suddenly a car crunched through the gravel outside and screeched to a stop. I opened my eyes. Dad burst inside, his face wild. He took one look at me and his voice cracked.
“Joshua.” It came out as a sob. He covered the room in a few steps and crushed me to him. “Joshua, Joshua, Joshua.” He rocked me on the couch.
My chest shuddered as I fought back my own tears.
After a while, Dr. Hart came out. I jumped to my feet. His white coat was flecked with blood.
“Well?” Mr. Prater said.
Dr. Hart glanced at him and then turned to me. “Fifteen stitches. He’ll probably have a scar.”
“A scar? You mean he’s okay?” My eyes watered and my heart leaped. “Jack’s okay?” I shouted. Dr. Hart nodded and I heard him talk about rabies and antibiotics and keeping him overnight, but I couldn’t concentrate—my heart and soul were too busy celebrating.
“I want to see him,” I interrupted. Without waiting, I burst through the door to the treatment room.
Jack’s neck was shaved and golden stitches laced his skin together. Blankets and hot water bottles surrounded him. He lay still on a rug in the corner.
I knelt on the ground beside him and lightly stroked the top of his head. He opened his eyes and without moving his head, he looked at me. His lips and ears were still pale, but his amber eyes radiated strength and life, and I saw for my own self that God had answered my prayer.
Dad walked in and crouched beside me. “This dog’s a hero,” he said, his voice husky. He put his arm around my shoulders. “So are you.”
I didn’t want him to think I was crying, so I looked down before any tears slipped out.
He squeezed my shoulders. “If Dr. Hart says it’s okay, Jack’s coming home with us tomorrow. To stay.”