Megan
My baton met Father Emmanuel’s head with a solid and satisfying WHACK!
The bastard’s head rolled on his shoulders and he collapsed in a pile of false piety on the farmland. As much as I wanted to beat the man to death right then and there, my fear for Brigit took me to my knees beside her. Her eyes were closed, her bloody body still.
“Brigit!” I screamed. “Brigit!”
“Is she all right?” Juliette cried, running up to us.
“I don’t know!”
Brigit made no response. I put a hand on her chest. Her heart still beat, though the pulse was slow and weak. Her chest rose only barely with her shallow breaths.
I pushed the button on my shoulder-mounted radio. “I need backup by the silo! Now! Officer down!”
The dog might weigh nearly a hundred pounds, but in that instant she felt like a feather as I scooped her up in my arms and took off running with her.
A beam of light bounced across the field as Summer rushed toward me.
“I’ve got to get Brigit to the ambulance!” I shouted. “Emmanuel’s on the ground behind me.”
“I’ll get the bastard!” She took off running again.
My lungs burned as I ran as fast as my legs would take me to the cruiser in the park’s lot. I propped Brigit’s lower half on my thigh as I wrestled the key chain from my pocket and unlocked the cruiser. I yanked her door open, put my arm back under her, and slid her into her enclosure.
I jumped into my seat, started the car, and took off without buckling my belt, my tires squealing in the night. SQUEEEEE!
The heavy chain stretched across the entrance to the park wasn’t going to stop me. I floored the gas pedal and drove right through it. The chain gave way, the ends clanking against the sides of the squad car. Clank-klunk!
Seconds later, I approached the top of the hill where the ambulance waited. I jabbed the button to roll down my window. Seth, Frankie, and another firefighter were standing by the road. Seth held the hose, while Frankie was using a tool to tamp down the flames. As my cruiser careened to a screeching stop, Seth looked over at me.
“Seth!” I screamed. “Brigit was shot! Help her!”
Seth’s face flashed with alarm. He handed the hose to the other firefighter and ran to my car, jerking the back door open. I jumped out as he pulled Brigit from her enclosure and ran with her to the open doors of the ambulance.
“She’s been shot!” I yelled to the paramedics inside. “My dog’s been shot!”
They helped Seth lift her into the bay and laid her on a gurney. The white sheets instantly stained red as blood flowed from the open wound in her chest. My partner, my best friend, my Brigit lay there, motionless and unresponsive, as one of the paramedics forced her eyelids open and shined a penlight into her eyes.
“No response,” he said. “If she’s going to have any chance at all, we’ve got to get her to an emergency vet. Stat.”
I grabbed a bar and pulled myself into the ambulance.
Seth backed away. “I’ll be there as soon as I can!”
The paramedic slammed the door closed and hollered to the driver. “Go!”
“Where?” he asked.
While one paramedic continued to examine Brigit, the other used his phone to search for the closest emergency animal hospital. “Get to I-20 and head east,” he instructed.
I knelt next to the gurney, my hand cupping Brigit’s chin. “Fight, girl!” I told her. “You can make it!”
Tears tried to blind me, but I blinked them away. I watched her chest, thankful each time it rose with a breath. Thank you, God! I also begged the Almighty to spare her life. Please, God! Don’t take her from me! She doesn’t deserve to die!
The paramedic called the animal hospital to let them know we were on our way. “We’ve got a police K-9 who’s been shot in the chest. She’s unresponsive but still breathing.”
But as the ambulance raced toward the clinic, its siren screaming through the night, Brigit’s breaths grew farther apart and became so shallow they were virtually imperceptible.
The second paramedic put a stethoscope to her chest and listened. “We’re losing her!”
Oh, no! Please, God! No!
He rolled her onto her back, put the ball of his hands to her chest, and began compressions.
Terror gripped my mind. Stay with me, Brigit! Please! Rage took a turn, too. If that bastard killed Brigit, I thought, then I hope I killed him! That whack I’d delivered had been solid. I’d held nothing back.
The ambulance pulled up to the doors of the clinic. The paramedics flung their doors open and rushed around to open the bay. As the doors swung open, I could see two people in scrubs rush out of the animal hospital and run toward us.
They lowered the gurney and whisked Brigit away, leaving me standing in the back of the ambulance. The paramedic who’d worked on her helped me down, put a hand on my shoulder, and gave it a squeeze. “I hope your partner pulls through.”
Tears blinded me and he became a blur. “Thanks for everything you’ve done,” I whispered, my throat tight with emotion.
They packed up the ambulance and drove off. Though I was terrified of what I might learn inside, I forced my feet to move and walked into the clinic.
The woman at the front desk acknowledged me with a nod. “They’ve got your dog in surgery. We’ll give you an update as soon as we know anything. In the meantime, you can wash up and take a seat.”
Wash up?
I glanced down to see that my shirt was drenched in Brigit’s blood. My hands were covered in her blood, too. I shuffled zombielike to the bathroom off the foyer. In the mirror, I noticed more of Brigit’s blood smeared across my chin. As much blood as I had on me, how much could be left in her veins? Would it be enough to keep her alive?
I turned on the water and watched it turn pink as it took Brigit’s blood from my hands. I grabbed a paper towel, wet it, and wiped my chin. I grabbed additional towels and pressed them to my uniform, blotting what blood I could. An odd sense of guilt rippled through me as I placed the towels bearing Brigit’s once life-sustaining blood in the trash can.
I returned to the waiting area and sat to wait for what felt like an eternity. At some point, Seth came in and took both the seat next to me and my hand. I was glad he didn’t offer any platitudes to try to lift me up. We’d both seen how bad she’d looked. We both knew the chances of her surviving were slim to none.
A half hour later, a veterinarian in scrubs and a surgical mask stepped into the lobby. I rose reflexively, my mouth falling open, too afraid to let the question on my lips come out.
“We removed the bullet,” he said, “but it came very close to her heart. She’s stable now, but I won’t lie to you. It was touch and go for a while in there.”
I nodded and bit my lip to keep from bursting into sobs. When I could compose myself, I asked, “Can we see her?”
“Sure.”
He led me and Seth to Brigit’s recovery room. She lay on a gurney with metal bars on each side to prevent her from falling off the bed. A tube ran from an IV drip into her front paw, and wires ran from her chest to a heart monitor that displayed her heart rhythm on a screen and emitted a soft beep with each beat. Her chest had been shaved bare and a wide, white gauze bandage was wrapped around her. Her fur was damp with acrid-smelling antiseptic, tinges of blood still visible around her sides.
I cupped her jaw loosely, running my thumb over her ear. She’d always liked to have her ears rubbed.
“I’m here, girl,” I told her. “You’re a good girl. A good, good girl. You’re going to be okay.” Of course I didn’t know whether she was going to be okay or not, but just in case she could hear me I wanted to sound reassuring. I pressed my lips lightly to her snout. “I love you, Briggie.”