He bounded out to the edge of the clearing before turning back, eyes pinning at me, letting out a cry.
My head lifted, listening, but I heard nothing. That said, of course, he had much better hearing than I did.
As a whole, the dogs didn’t alert me to little bullshit – animals whining in the woods or something. They did, however, alarm me when they smelled foxes too close by, when the animals were at risk. Or if they heard something out of place. Like the partying or such.
On a sigh, figuring sleep would be elusive for another night, I grabbed a flashlight and a gun, then came back out, finding Captain nearly shaking in his eagerness to get going.
“Alright, bud. Let’s go,” I agreed as I caught up to him. At the words, he sped into the tree line, running faster than I had ever seen him before.
Within fifteen minutes, I could feel the sweat start to slick my skin under my shirt even with the chill in the early spring air. That was the pace he was setting, his ears perked up, his tongue hanging out.
Maybe I should have guessed.
But, really, there was no reason to think it, to assume she was anything other than in a motel room, or back in her own place, safe, recovering, maybe the sting of her pangs eased by prescribed pharmaceuticals.
Certainly, there was absolutely no reason whatsoever to imagine she might be back in the woods.
Hell, I figured she would avoid any dense collection of trees for a good, long while, maybe only heading back in after some therapy, after she removed the natural fear she would feel about the forest after what had happened to her within one.
I heard nothing.
Not even when something renewed Cap’s vigor, a sound, a smell, something, making him charge faster, scraping his sides against low hanging branches, unfazed by the pain, the little trickle of blood he would normally stop to lap up.
But then, suddenly, mingled with the sounds of my and Captain’s ragged breathing, his paws, my feet on the dry ground, the wind in the trees, the intermittent chirping of crickets or hoots of an owl, I heard it.
Low, quiet crying.
I still didn’t think it was her.
My first thoughts were of anger.
At the world, at the evils it held that had two innocent women crying in my woods in the same week.
Captain disappeared behind a circle of trees, and I couldn’t hear his feet anymore.
I tore through a second later, seeing his bright body clearly in the glow of the moonlight, head ducked down, licking, whimpering.
I raised the flashlight, catching feet.
One wore a filthy yellow flip-flop, the other bare, bloodied from – I imagined – the other, discarded flip-flop. The light ran up light purple medical scrubs, over shapely legs, butt, a few inches of exposed back.
The woman was curled up on her side on the ground, knees tucked to chest, hands covering her face.
There was a tug of familiarity at her blonde hair, something quickly pushed away. A ton of women had blonde hair. It didn’t mean anything.
And, I thought with a bit of a head shake, Cap had taken up as the savior for all women in need, apparently.
But then his snout nudged at her hands, wanting to lick the salty tears on her face.
And then I realized.
He wasn’t just any woman’s savior. He was this woman’s savior.
The bruises on her face looked darker than they had when I had dropped her almost a day ago.
Her eyes were shut, but swollen, puffy from crying.
Dropping down to a crouch, my hands moved out, lifting her shirt, looking for new injuries. In my head, the only reason she might be back in the woods was if the person who had taken her in the first place had suddenly found her, tried to finish the job.
But there was nothing.
No new injuries save for her feet from her shitty shoes.
Even with my hands running over her, she didn’t shrink away, didn’t fight, didn’t even open her eyes.
Stomach tightening, I tucked the gun into my back pocket, stuffed the flashlight under my arm, and reached out, arms going under her back and knees, pulling her up as carefully as I could, not wanting the stitches to pull.
Getting to my feet, I held her close to my chest, looking down at Captain.
“Lead us home, bud,” I demanded as her head turned into my shirt.
She still didn’t open her eyes, but tears left trails down her cheeks, slow, but insistent, the entire walk back to the cabin, enough to soak through the chest of my shirt.
It took twice as long to get back home, and by the time we did, the fire had banked itself, lending a deep chill to the house.
Flustered, and I couldn’t recall a single time that word applied to me, I placed her down on the couch, pulling down a heavy blanket, then setting to getting it roaring again.