10

Rescue

Hannie’s father barrelled closer, limping slightly. Bog’s blood pounded.

“His knee! Get his knee!” Hannie yelled from beside the glowing box. “He hurt it at work before he got so—Bog, watch out!”

Bog let the rain hat slide off his head. He dropped one shoulder and twisted so it collided with the man’s chest. The blow vibrated through Bog’s body and he stepped back, although he refused to flinch. He saw surprise in the man’s eyes, just before Bog jerked his fist up into the man’s chin, the movement ripping the sleeve off his raincoat at the shoulder. The man gurgled as his head flipped up. Bog then kicked the man’s weak knee. The man let out an ear-splitting yell and then collapsed backward onto the floor. Bog heaved a breath and yanked the torn sleeve from his arm, grateful to have it off.

Hannie scrambled to her father, her hands and knees slipping on the dusty wooden floor. “Dad?” she called, a catch in her voice.

He didn’t move. Bog wondered if Hannie would cry, but she began clawing at the side of her father’s shorts.

“What are you doing?” Bog’s every muscle was taut, ready for the man to rise.

Hannie dug in her father’s pocket until she smiled triumphantly, withdrawing a wad of useless paper wrapped in a tight roll.

“What good is that?” Bog snorted.

“Money.” Hannie trilled like a songbird announcing the sunrise. “For Small.”

“Oh.” She was quick-witted, for a human.

Then a muscled arm snaked from behind Hannie and wrapped around her middle.

“Steal from your own kin?” Her father’s twisted face appeared over her shoulder. “I always knew you were no good!”

“Catch, Bog!” Hannie threw the money roll.

Bog snagged it in mid-air and shoved it deep into the pocket of his rain pants.

“Why you worthless brat!” her father bellowed, squeezing her in his hold.

Hannie squealed, struggling to free herself.

Bog stumbled backward, trying to ignore the urge to rip the man’s arm off Hannie. Rescue a human? Ridiculous. Bog ducked through the doorway and onto the creaky wooden porch, letting the door swing shut.

“Bog! Don’t leave me!” Hannie cried from inside the house.

He headed down the porch steps. Even if her father was a vile creature who didn’t care for his young, it wasn’t Bog’s concern. He couldn’t owe Hannie a gnark.

A crash from the house made Bog spin around.

“Hannie!” He howled into the night and then wished he hadn’t.

Bog found himself racing back to the house. He banged the door open so hard that it lodged itself in the wall.

Hannie trembled behind the box, her pink rucksack still strapped to her shoulders. Hannie’s father stood by the table and chairs, glowering.

“I told you to get out,” her father bellowed at Bog. His neck was knotted cords of muscle. His face a sweaty, gleaming mass.

Hannie’s eyes darted between them.

“Leave her alone.” Bog stretched to his full height, growling.

Hannie’s father picked up a chair and threw it at Bog’s head.

Bog swatted the chair, forcing it off to the side. It smashed into the corner of the wall and broke apart. Before Bog could attack, Hannie’s father was in his face, smashing a bottle over his nose. Mucus filled Bog’s nostrils until he could smell nothing. He snorted in the phlegm, ignored the flowering pain, and focused only on his target.

Bog charged into the man with his full weight. He struck a blow to the man’s face with his head. His hands searched for a grip. The man’s skin was slick with sweat, slippery and smooth. Bog latched onto one leg and arm while the man was still dazed from the blow. He lifted the man into the air, spinning as he grappled with the weight, his tail jammed into his pants, unable to help him balance. He swung closer to the large front window and heaved the man through it. The glass shattered into the night as the man tumbled onto the porch.

Somewhere outside, a dog began to bark.

Hannie raced outside to where her father lay. Bog followed. Her father blinked and tried to lift his head. His nose was bleeding. Blood dribbled from small cuts on his arms and legs.

“You mean, mean man!” Hannie shrieked. “You’re not my dad anymore. I’m leaving. I’m going to the Sleeping Giant with Bog. And even after we find the Nose Stone, I’m not coming back. Not ever!”

“No!” Bog roared. He’d rescued her for this?

Lights popped on in the next house, illuminating the grass and street.

Bog squinted. More lights from other houses. The sound of voices and footsteps. Where was Small?

He stumbled down the stairs and onto the grass. Hannie pursued him like a wolf to its prey.

“Bog, wait! I’m coming, too. Don’t leave!”

“No!” Bog spun around, wondering which way to run.

A long wail pierced the night. Painfully loud, even from a distance.

Hannie gasped. “The police are coming.”

“Small!” Bog called, lurching onto the road. The lights from the windows hurt his eyes. His ears throbbed with the wailing noise. His nose ached more than he thought possible.

He staggered away from the source of the sound. Lights hit him from behind. He glanced back. His eyes watered at the flashing red-and-white beams from an approaching car.

“Bog!” Hannie was still calling, following.

“Can’t see.” Bog swiped at the tears, stumbling forward. The sounds and the lights confused him. His nose throbbed. He spun sideways away from the car and loped toward a murky passage between two houses.

“Please, Small,” Bog pleaded to his absent friend. “Don’t let me be caught like this.”

“Run! This way, Bog!” Small’s voice. Finally.

Bog turned, not sure where Small was or when he might smack into a tree or building. His eyes still streamed. His head pulsed. He jogged after Small’s scent the best he could with his injured, stuffy nose, stumbling over roads and grasses, smashing through bushes, straining to hear the padding of Small’s feet over the wail of the car. He tore the rest of the raincoat from his back and scuttled faster in the clumsy pants.

Moments later, he caught a whiff of the forest—the scent of pine and balsam, of decaying leaves and new growth, of squirrels and mice. The wailing was farther away. Bog’s ears slowly stopped ringing.

Bog welcomed the darkness, shadow-slipping with Small among the rocks and trees until all human sounds and scents were indistinct, except for Hannie’s. He glanced back to see her trailing, her rucksack slung over one shoulder.

Finally, Small halted. “You all right?” He wasn’t even short of breath after the run.

Bog nodded, crumpling against the trunk of a birch, wiping his eyes and nose. He felt his nose for damage. It was swollen and tender.

“Sorry about that.” Small leaned over to examine Bog’s nose. “I never expected it would get rough. I was trying to keep an eye on you, but I couldn’t stay close without being seen.”

Bog shrugged Small away. “I’m fine.” He wrenched off the rain pants. The roll of money fell between him and Small. Bog picked it up and handed it over. “At least we got this.”

“Really? The plan worked?” Small tossed the money in the air and then caught it again, just as Hannie stumbled through the undergrowth, breathing hard.

“Sort of.” Bog inhaled a wad of phlegm, tasting blood.

Hannie fell to her knees at Bog’s feet, scrapes all over her arms and legs. “Oh, Bog, thank you, thank you, thank you for rescuing me. No one has ever helped with my dad before. You’re a hero. I’m so glad I’m coming with you.”

Bog stepped back. “You’re not.” After what he’d endured, any gnark he might have owed her had been paid.

“But you can’t send me back. My dad’s awful mad now. I’ll do anything. Really. I can be good. I helped get the money, right? Please? I’ll leave you alone. I’ll never talk to you. I’ll never touch you.” Hannie wiped a hand across her watery eyes. “Please, Bog, I don’t want to go back.”

Bog shuddered and glanced at Small.

“I’m not sure what happened,” Small tilted his head to one side, “but I bet the story is a good one.”

“It was…not what I expected.” Bog couldn’t admit how he’d saved Hannie. “And I got nothing about the Troll Hunter’s whereabouts.”

“Uh-huh.” Small nodded thoughtfully. “Well, we’ll find the Troll Hunter eventually, and the money will come in handy. As for Hannie, we can’t really risk taking her back right now. We could leave her here for them to find…” he said as Hannie wailed, “…but she might be useful again.” Small watched Bog. “It’s up to you.”

“Please, Bog?” Hannie dropped to her knees, her hands clasped together. Her clothes were filthy. She stank like a human. But she’d helped more than once.

Bog heaved to his feet. Why had he saved her? Maybe it was a flaw he’d inherited from Jeddal and Kasha. After all, they’d tolerated him. Maybe they would have saved Hannie, too.

“We’ll have to find a stream where you can wash,” he said, finally.

“Oh, thank you, Bog!” Hannie gushed. “I’ll never forget this. I—” She glanced at his face and abruptly stopped. “Sorry, I’ll be quiet. Really, I will.”