by MJ Duncan
Thirty-Seven
George had a keen ear for the sound of garage door opening, so when Joss made her way into an otherwise empty mudroom after returning home, she figured Maeve was still out on the walk she had texted about. She checked the time on her phone as she toed off her shoes and kicked them into her cubby, and arched a brow in surprise when she realized that a full hour had passed since Maeve texted her.
Maeve’s walks around the lake never took more than forty minutes.
“Maybe her Muse is harder to find than usual,” she muttered to herself as she shrugged out of her coat and hung it on a hook above the shoe cubbies. She slipped her phone into her back pocket as she padded through the attached laundry room and made her way to the kitchen for a snack.
The slow cooker Maeve was so fond of was plugged in on the counter beside the stove, filling the house with the delicious scent of simmering tomatoes and spices. Joss lifted the lid on the earthenware pot to see what Maeve was cooking, and her stomach growled when she saw Maeve’s homemade chili bubbling away.
“Lucky me,” Joss said, smiling as she gave the pot’s contents a quick stir. She rinsed the spoon off and left it in the sink, and grabbed an apple from the bowl on the middle of the island to stave off the rumble of hunger in her belly while not spoiling her appetite for later.
She stared out the back windows as she ate, watching the way the fat, gray clouds spread at a snail’s pace across the slowly darkening sky. The weatherman had predicted flurries later that evening—the first of the season that might stick—and she hoped he was right. She had always loved watching it snow, there was something so relaxing about the way the flakes of varying heft tumbled gracefully through the air, and she could think of no better place to do so now than on the sofa in front of the fire with Maeve snuggled in her arms.
She pushed off the counter she had been leaning against and wandered closer to the windows, hoping to see something that would hint at them getting not just flurries, but some measurable snow. A small smile tugged at her lips as she imagined building forts and getting into snowball fights with Maeve’s nieces and nephews, and she laughed softly to herself as she pictured George rampaging through it all, knocking kids down and snatching snowballs out of the air.
It was almost hard to believe that only a year ago she was living alone in a sparse one-bedroom condo, with no real friends actively involved in her life, working herself to death eighteen hours a day, six days a week. Of course, during the busy seasons her hours at Atramentum were not much better, but the rest of her life was the complete opposite of what she had left behind in Los Angeles.
Her gaze drifted over the naked trees that framed the perimeter of the lake as she chewed, and she had just finished swallowing when her eyes landed on something unusual in the yard. From this distance it was hard to discern what, exactly, she was looking at, and she squinted as she tried to make sense of the small, still shadow on the back lawn.
Did something blow off the patio?
The wind stirred, and the clouds parted just enough to let the sun shine through, and Joss felt like she had been punched soundly in the chest when she realized what she was looking at.
It was not random debris.
God, how she wished it was.
“No.”
She dropped the apple she had been eating and ripped the sliding glass door open. She took off through the door at a sprint, leaping from the back patio to the grass beyond. Her socks were instantly soaked by the grass that was still damp from the rain showers that had passed through the night before, but the wet and the cold did not register with her as she ran, heart hammering in her throat, stomach twisting like she was going to be sick at any moment.
What?
How?
She ran faster, unaware of the tears that were streaming down her face as she got close enough to make out the details distance had hidden from her before. Soft hair usually the color of sun-kissed straw was now matted and muddy. A black coat smeared with mud and dirt, jeans dark with what she prayed was just damp and not blood. And beyond that, black fur and a blaze of white stained pink with blood that was just as motionless, just as sickening.
“No. God, no.”
Joss dropped to her knees and slid those final few yards across the grass to Maeve’s side, her hands hovering above the still form of her lover, wanting to comfort, needing to feel that she was alive, but afraid to touch, terrified to do anything that might make things worse. Her eyes darted over Maeve’s body, analyzing, assessing, noting the way her left eye was black and swollen and the way her right arm was bent at an unnatural angle beneath her. Her glasses were laying on the grass beside her, and Joss’ hands shook as she picked them up, telling herself Maeve would need them to see when she woke up.
Oh, God, baby, what happened to you?
She slid the glasses into place and carefully brushed Maeve’s hair from her forehead. Maeve’s skin was cool but with an underlying warmth that told Joss she had not been out here for too long, and Joss shook her head as she trailed her trembling fingers along Maeve’s cheek to the hollow beneath her jaw to check for a pulse.
Please let me find it.
“Oh, baby…” Joss murmured as she surveyed Maeve’s body as she pressed her fingers against Maeve’s carotid artery, trying to figure out what had happened. Her heart skipped a beat when she finally found Maeve’s pulse—it was weaker than she would have liked for it to be, but it was there—and she blew out the breath she was unaware she had been holding as her eyes raked over the unusual array of thick, dark hairs that were stuck to the fabric of Maeve’s coat.
George shouldn't shedding this time of year...
Joss looked up at George, finally giving the dog her full attention. Whatever happened to the two of them, George seemed to have taken the brunt of it. George was bleeding freely from her side, and Joss had to turn away to keep from being sick when she saw the ragged gash torn across her ribs. It was then that she saw the prints pressed into the wet earth between Maeve and George, and she was unable to keep the apple she had just eaten down as she spun and emptied her stomach on the ground behind her.
Bear.
The tracks came from the lake and disappeared toward the driveway, and it was not hard at all for her to put two-and-two together.
“Oh George,” she breathed, wiping her hand across her mouth as she turned back to her brave, loyal friend, who she just knew had done her best to protect Maeve.
George whimpered, and Joss shook her head as she knelt at her side. She took off the sweatshirt she was wearing and pressed it against the dog’s side as she pulled her phone from the back pocket of her jeans. She leaned down to press a kiss to George’s cheek as she dialed 9-1-1, and despite knowing that she needed to be strong and take care of her girls, it was impossible for her to stem the tears that spilled down her cheeks as the call rang through.
“It’ll be okay,” she promised George. It had to be okay. They had to be okay. The call was answered on the second ring, and she did not let the woman finish her standard greeting as she shouted, “There’s been a bear attack. I need an ambulance at 2 North Star Drive right now.”
The energetic clattering of keyboard keys accompanied a terse, “Can you describe what happened, please?”
“I just found my girlfriend and our dog in the yard. She’s unconscious, the dog is bleeding heavily, and there’s a bear print in the grass between them, which I’m assuming means it was a bear that got them. They need help!”
“Ma’am, I am sending an ambulance to you now. However, I am afraid we cannot transport animals.”
“You WHAT?” Joss shouted, her voice cracking. “George is bleeding! She needs help!”
“I understand that but, unfortunately it’s against regulations for EMTs to transport animals. I can put in a call to animal control, or—”
“My hundred and twenty-five pound Great Dane was attacked by a fucking bear and you won’t help her?”
“Like I said, ma’am,” t
he operator said in an annoyingly composed tone, “I can call animal control and they can transport the animal to the closest emergency clinic, or you can provide your own transportation.”
Joss blew out a frustrated breath and shook her head. She did not have a choice. She could not transport George herself, even if she wanted to. The dog was too big for her to pick up. “Fine. Send them too.”
More clattering keys. “I’m afraid there may be a bit of a delay with animal control, they are on a call dealing with a trapped raccoon at the moment.”
“You have got to be fucking kidding me! They can’t leave the damn raccoon and come help?” Joss repeated indignantly. “Fuck it. I’ll get her to the stupid clinic.”
How she was going to pull that off, however, was the real question.
“I apologize ma’am, but—”
“Your apologies mean shit right now when my dog is bleeding to death on my back lawn,” Joss interrupted. “The ambulance is on the way?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Great. Tell them to drive around the side of the house. They won’t be able to miss us. I need to help my dog now.” She hung up on the woman and immediately dialed Brock. He was the strongest man she knew, and if anyone could help, it would be him. And he drove a SUV, which would be needed to get George to the vet. He picked up on the third ring, laughter ringing out behind him, and Joss choked out a broken, “Brock.”
“Joss. What’s wrong?”
“Maeve and George were attacked by a bear and the ambulance won’t take George. I need help getting her to a vet.”
“Where are you?” She heard frantic snapping, and a hushed, “Get your shit. We’re leaving NOW. Fuck the cheesecake, Joss needs help!”
“We’re in the backyard.” Joss glanced over at Maeve, who was still unconscious. She had never felt so torn. Her heart ached for her to hold Maeve, to stroke her hair and watch over her, but she felt compelled to stay by George, who was conscious and staring at her with the saddest eyes, whimpering in pain as blood continued to spread across the sweatshirt Joss had pressed against her side.
“We’re on our way. Five minutes, tops. I will run every red light on the way if I have to.”
Joss closed her eyes and pressed another kiss to George’s cheek. “Thank you. Please hurry.”
“Like the devil’s riding my ass with a pitchfork,” Brock promised before hanging up.
“It’ll be okay,” Joss promised George, petting her head softly as she watched Maeve, wanting nothing more than for her to wake up and tell her what the hell she was supposed to do because she had no idea what she was doing.
The next five minutes were the longest of Joss’ life. The sweatshirt she was holding against George’s side had become soaked with blood, and the dog’s normally vibrant eyes became dulled as pain and exhaustion threatened to pull her under. Joss continued to soothe her as best she could, murmuring soft words of reassurance, stroking her head, kissing her cheek, trying to keep her awake because she was terrified that if George fell asleep, she would never wake up.
Maeve began to stir just as the sound of sirens finally, finally shattered the otherwise silent mountain air, and Joss sucked in a sharp breath as she watched Maeve’s legs shift in discomfort, a low moan spilling from her lips as consciousness brought with it the unfortunate awareness of pain.
“Maeve, sweetie, don’t move,” Joss called, wanting to rush to her side but afraid to leave George. She forced a tight, strained smiled as the one eye Maeve was able to open found her. “The ambulance is on the way. Just try and stay still, okay?”
“George?” Maeve asked, her voice rough and panicked. She tried to move her broken arm and cried out in pain.
“You’ve got to stay still, baby, okay? I’ve got her,” Joss promised, her voice so tight she could barely get the words out, and she hoped to God it was true because if they lost her… She shook her head. “Brock and Andrew are on their way to take her to the vet.”
“We need to take care of…”
“We can’t,” Joss said, her voice cracking as the weight of the situation squeezed her chest. God, she was so fucking scared. What was taking everyone so long? “We can’t, sweetie. You need to get to the hospital, and the ambulance won’t take her. Can you tell me what happened?”
Maeve squeezed her eyes shut and gave a small nod. “We were coming out of the woods, and there was a black bear at the bird feeder. We startled it, I think. I grabbed George’s collar and started to lead her slowly toward the house. We didn’t turn our backs on it because I read somewhere that that was bad, and just when I thought we were safe, that it was going to let us go and escape into the woods, a cub came out of the woods just there.” She pointed over her feet. “Pretty sure it was a momma bear, because it roared and started chasing us away from the cub.”
Shit. Joss swallowed hard and glanced warily toward the woods. With the exception of the rare mountain lion that wandered into town, there was nothing in the woods around Sky that was more dangerous as a mother bear intent on protecting her cub.
“George jumped in front of me and started growling at it,” Maeve continued, her voice choked with tears. “It took this big swipe at her.” She made a small swiping motion with her uninjured arm. “And she just…flew. It charged at me next and just crashed into me like a linebacker or something, and I don’t remember what happened next.”
The sirens grew closer, and Joss looked up to see the ambulance driving around the side of the house with Brock’s black Explorer hot on its heels. Reinforcements had arrived.
George whimpered and made like she was going to crawl to Maeve’s side.
“No no no, sweet girl,” Joss murmured, holding George still. “You gotta stay still.” She looked back and Maeve. “She’ll be okay.” Please let her be okay.
“Joss!”
Joss looked up at Brock, who was running toward her with a large blanket under his arm. Andrew had stopped to pop open the hatch of the SUV, but even with that delay, he only was four or five steps behind him, looking as freaked out as Joss felt. “Help.”
“Bet your ass,” Brock said as he knelt beside Joss and George. He looked up at Maeve and smiled. “Hey, beautiful.”
“Don’t let her die,” Maeve replied, her tone flat and serious.
“I will do my best.” Brock spread the blanket on the ground behind George and looked up at Andrew. “Ready?”
Andrew nodded. They had clearly worked out a plan on the way over, because they wasted no time getting down to business, sliding the blanket under George as carefully as they could, both offering continuous soft words of encouragement and apology as they worked. Joss continued to hold her sweatshirt to George’s side as she watched the paramedics tended to Maeve. One was securing a C-collar, while the other had begun splinting her arm, and all the while Maeve stared past them, her jaw set against the pain of having her injured arm manipulated, her one good eye boring into Joss, pleading for her to not let George die.
Joss had never felt so useless in her life as she watched the four men in their backyard take care of the two most important women in her life.
“Joss,” Brock called, snapping her back to the present. “We’re going to lift her now. We’ll try and keep her as still as possible, but I’m going to need you to climb into the back of my car and help us slide her in. Can you do that?”
Joss looked at Maeve, who was watching them with watery eyes full of fear, and nodded. “Yeah.”
The cry that George let out when they grabbed the ends of the blanket and lifted her into the air broke what was left of Joss’ heart into a million pieces, and she sprinted, vision blurred by tears to Brock’s car. She clambered through the open hatch, and by the time she turned around, Brock and Andrew were at the tailgate.
“We’re going to lay her down as gently as we can, and I’m going to need you to pull the end of that blanket toward you,” Brock instructed, his tone calm and confident, like he had done this very thing a million times before.
Andrew braced George’s hind end as Brock scampered around the side of the car and climbed in beside Joss.
“Here we go,” Brock said, grabbing the blanket with Joss and helping her guide George into place. Once the dog was completely in the car, Andrew slammed the hatch shut and sprinted to the driver’s door. Brock touched Joss’ hand and smiled reassuringly. “We’ve got her, Jay. Go take care of Maeve. I’ll call you as soon as we know anything.”
Joss nodded, grateful that he was there to take charge. She leaned down and pressed one last kiss to George’s cheek. “I love you,” she whispered against George’s soft fur.
“I won’t let anything happen to her,” Brock promised as he placed one large hands on the sweatshirt on George’s side and the other on her head to calm her. “Now go. Maeve needs you, and we need to get George to the vet. I called them on our way over, they’re expecting us. It’ll be okay.”
Joss swallowed hard and reached for the door handle, her eyes never leaving George as she slipped out of the car. Andrew cranked the ignition as her feet hit the dirt, and as soon as the door was closed, the car was in motion, driving slowly toward the driveway where they would hopefully pick up speed en route and the only vet in town.
Joss scrubbed the tears from her face and took a deep breath to keep them from returning as she turned to Maeve. Maeve’s arm was splinted, and the paramedics were easing a yellow backboard beneath her in preparation for transit. Joss hated the fact that she had, for all intents and purposes, just handed her injured child off to friends to take care of, but she was simultaneously grateful for their friends rushing to help and leaving her free to focus on Maeve.
She hurried back to Maeve, her wet socks flopping uselessly in front of her toes as she ran. She wormed her way to Maeve’s side as the paramedics began strapping her to the board and took her uninjured hand.
