Animal bites are dangerous in two ways.
The actual bite causes damage plus it can result in a severe infection.
After Sadie is gone, it takes all my strength to turn around and leave.
I jog into the thicker part of the pinelands, hiding behind trees as I go. A few men are still yelling in the distance. They’ve obviously joined forces and don’t seem to care if they’re quiet or not. If I can stay hidden, maybe they’ll get bored and go away. Maybe they’ll think I’m long gone.
Until the sun sets, I’m a walking beacon. When my foot sinks into another mud puddle, I scoop some into my hands and rub it on my face. Even though it cools down my scorched face, I can’t help but cringe at the slimy mud. It will protect my skin and help me blend in more.
My feet squish in the silty ground with an identity crisis between being full-on mud or solid dirt. I check behind me and notice I’m leaving tracks. Luckily, with each step, the footprints flood with mud and water. As if I was never there.
For a while, nothing happens. Just one wet foot in front of another.
Snap.
The sound happens behind me. Too close.
I don’t even turn around to see who or what it is.
I just run.
It might have been a rabbit or a raccoon. But it doesn’t matter. My nerves are so on edge they kick in and send me careening through the thick grass, sharp sticks, and over holes.
A pounding noise holds my attention. It feels like it’s on my heels. If I look back, that extra second might cost me. Then barking. Over and over. The sounds grow closer and closer. I can outrun an old man with a gun but not a mean dog on a hunt of a lifetime.
My breath quickens—in and out—I speed up. As fast as my legs can roll under me. I keep all my focus on the woods. Now inching closer and closer. My lungs sear in pain and I think I pulled a hamstring but I keep on. Only a few yards now.
I dart left and right, leaping over palmettos and punches of grass like I’m doing hurdles. Even when my foot slides on a slippery patch, I regain control and keep the pace.
Something hard bites onto the back of my boot. I’m running so fast, I lose control and trip. When I roll over on my back, I’m face to face with some kind of wolf dog. A mix between the beloved gray wolf and a Siberian husky. The dog grabs hold of my shoe and shakes it back and forth, like it’s a freakin’ squirrel.
Luckily, the leather holds against the strong grip of his teeth.
A man’s head appears over the tall grass. He grabs me by the hair and drags me to one side, throwing me up against a tree. My head slams against a root.
The man stands over me. “Gotcha! See if you get away again.” His voice is sharp, loud. He’s not here to play. He’s crazed, his eyes wide with anger.
Suddenly, the wolf dog is in my face, showing his bared teeth. Breath smells of meat. Little droplets of foam hang from his black lips. The thing is either hot or plain rabid.
“Easy, Spike. Leave some for me.” The man’s gruff tone makes me think he smokes or strains his voice enough to damage his vocal chords.
The man turns his baseball cap backward and spits a chunk of tobacco. “You hurt my boy.”
“I didn’t mean to.” My hands shake as the image of that poor kid pops in my head. I stare down at my hands and flip them over. They are still stained. “I swear.”
“Doesn’t do him no good, does it?” The man shrugs. The guy pulls his dog off me. “Get up.”
I slowly stand. “Listen, if you let me go, I swear I won’t tell a soul about anything that’s happened here.” I make it to my feet and keep my hands to my side.
The guy eyes me. “Shut up and don’t move.”
The radio on his hip blurts out static followed by Uncle Bob’s voice, “You got her?”
The man grins and holds down the button. “Nope. She got away.”
“I want her alive. Got good use for her.” Uncle Bob’s clicks off and then returns. “Let me know when you find her.”
“Will do, boss.” The man tucks his radio in his pant pocket and ties his dog to a tree.
“You didn’t tell him.” I’m confused and not sure what’s going on. “You don’t want him to kill me?”
He shrugs. “Nope.”
I tilt my head. Is it possible this guy might actually let me go? Maybe he’s going to take my bogus deal. For a second, I allow hope to return. That is, until he begins loading his gun.
One bullet at a time.
I remain calm with a shred of hope. “So, what are you going to do?”
He laughs as he loads in the last bullet and pops the gun cartridge shut. “Gonna kill you myself. For what you did to my boy.”
He raises the gun and points it at my forehead. “Eye for an eye.”
Before he can squeeze the trigger, I pull the knife out of my belt and throw it.
The sharp blade tucks into his upper thigh, causing him to drop to the ground. He drops the gun and writhes in the grass.
I stand still as the dog pulls at the leash. Barking. Growling. He kinda reminds me of Bear, Dad’s dog that stayed at the ranger station with him and Les. The same dog that took a bullet and died. I haven’t forgotten him and I miss him every day.
I remain crouched over as the man grabs his radio.
“I found her! But the little wench knifed me. I’m over at the Bear’s Den.” He sneers. “She ain’t going nowhere. Spike will see to that.” The guy sits up, holding his leg. The dog yanks and thrashes at the leash, waiting for the release. He reaches over and works to untie Spike’s rope. “I dare you to run.”
I take a step back, wondering if he’s right, and kick something. When I glance over, the gun sits in a clump of weeds. I slowly bend down and brush the gun with my fingers.
“Get her, Spike.” He frees the dog and it comes bounding toward me.
I pick up the gun and point the weapon at the dog. I don’t know if I can kill something else. Mean dog or not. The weapon quivers as my hand shakes.
The man struggles to stand, now afraid for his dog’s life. “Attack! Spike. Attack!”
Spike races toward me and launches himself in the air.
I have the perfect shot, but I can’t muster up enough will to fire.
The large dog’s front paws hit my chest, pushing me to the ground. His heavy body lands on top of mine, knocking the wind from me. I can barely catch a breath before his jaws snap in my face. I grab the dog’s neck with both hands and hold his mouth away. His weight presses down on my arms that threaten to crumple.
I can smell his breath. Rancid. Hot. Smells of beef jerky.
We roll around on the ground and he catches my forearm in his jaws.
I yelp out in pain as the man laughs in the background. “Nobody messes with Spike.”
I pull my fist back and punch the dog square in the nose.
It yelps once but attacks again. Pain is not a problem.
A rustling noise breaks out behind me and I hear the man yell at someone, “Hey!”
Then a gun shot.
The dog goes limp and collapses on my chest.
I sit up and push the carcass off me. My chest heaves with adrenaline mixed with hysteria. My arm throbs from the bite. I push through the pain and stand as a figure steps out of the shadows.
I squint. The bright sun hangs directly above me, distorting my vision.
The shadow walks toward me.
My heart skips.
I would recognize that walk anywhere.
“Mo?”