Say That Again

by Sasson, Gemini

  Then he remembered a dog named Halo ... and the lengths to which that one dog had gone to protect those she loved.

  With a trembling hand, he wiped away his tears and followed the sheriff to his car.

  chapter 32: Echo

  They say that love conquers all. That it defies reason. Chases away fear. Makes anything possible.

  It is, without question, the most powerful force in the universe — as it was that day when I saw the bear crashing through the brush and launching itself at Hannah.

  I didn’t stop to calculate the risks to myself or assess the situation. I simply acted. My only thought was that I had to save Hannah.

  Or die trying.

  Hackles raised, I hurtled myself forward, swallowing ground with fluid ease, my body a stone shot from a sling.

  In the periphery of my vision, I saw the two cubs skitter off through the tall grass, hop over a fallen log, then turn to watch behind safe cover.

  The mama bear, a beast more terrifying then any bull or boar or ram I’d ever seen, stood on her hind legs to tower above Hannah. The bear’s jaws gaped wide. Her lips pulled back, revealing a jagged row of yellow teeth. She stretched her neck to bellow. The ground shook in the wake of her throaty roar. Claws outstretched, she swaggered forward.

  Hannah’s eyelids fluttered. Then her head lolled sideways. She crumpled to the ground, as if her bones had suddenly been yanked from her body.

  The bear went down on all fours, turning its great maw sideways as it dove toward Hannah.

  My feet left the ground. I sailed through the air, arcing high and long. And didn’t stop until my paws slammed into the bear’s shoulder. The jolt of the impact jarred me to my teeth. I bounced off, landing on my side a few feet from Hannah.

  The collision was just enough to knock the bear off balance. But more than that, it diverted her focus from Hannah. Like it or not, I had that bear’s full attention. I also had about two seconds to come up with a plan.

  Hannah still lay motionless, her knees drawn up, head tucked to her chest like a turtle drawn into its shell. I leaped to my feet, placing myself between Hannah and the bear. My head was still ringing from the impact, but I readied myself for battle.

  The bear shook her withers, letting out a yowl of rage. Then with a snort, she swung her head to level me with a murderous gaze. Steam billowed from her black nostrils.

  A low growl rose from my belly. I bared my teeth and placed one paw forward. I was no coward. I would not run.

  For a fleeting moment, as she took the first stride toward me, I reconsidered that. She was five times my size, maybe ten. She could crush my head in her jaws. But brute strength is not everything. Cunning and quickness are their own advantage.

  I rushed at her, barking frenetically. Which angered her greatly. As was my intention.

  She bounded at me, swiping a paw at my head. I jerked back, spun on my hind feet, then ducked in low for a bite. My teeth barely grazed her leg. Huffing, she flicked her paw at me. I felt the slice of a claw across my muzzle — and then the burn of cold air as blood welled to fill the tear in my flesh.

  I dodged another swipe, then lunged again and again and again, my jaws snapping, pulling fur, spittle flying. That dark mass filled my vision, a mountain of muscle beneath sleek hair, black as blackest night.

  Time raced by in a blur of madness. As much as I could, I tried to draw her away from Hannah, barking as I backed up, nipping at her hindquarters, her feet, her belly, steering clear of her head so I would not feel the vise of her jaws compressing my skull. But I felt her swat pummeling my ribs, her claws cutting into skin.

  How long we went at it, I’m not sure. But at some point we stood apart, staring at each other, both of us heaving for air.

  And then one of the cubs ambled across our path. It paused to gaze at me with soft brown eyes above a golden muzzle. Small round ears twitched in curiosity. Then, as if bored of the drama, it rubbed the topside of its head against its mother’s chest, and bounced back in the direction of its sibling, still half-hidden behind the log. They both turned and went off into the woods, not bothering to look back for their mother.

  She huffed twice more, gave me one last disdainful glance, and loped away after them.

  I swear she had a limp now.

  I watched until they were long gone. Stood guard. Alert. And enormously grateful that our brawl had not gone on one minute more. Because I don’t know that I would have lasted.

  Hannah stirred. She pried one eye open to look around.

  “Are they gone now?”

  I went to her, lay down beside her, and licked her face. I think so.

  She touched a finger to my nose, then drew it back for me to see. “You’re bleeding.”

  I’m okay.

  “No, you’re not. We need to get help.”

  I’ll be fine.

  Her arm curled around my neck. “Did I do the right thing — pretending to be dead?”

  You did.

  “You were brave, Echo.”

  Only because I had to be.

  —o00o—

  Our progress was agonizingly slow. Not because of Hannah. Because of me.

  She was the one urging me on now. Patting her leg. Offering words of encouragement.

  “We’re getting closer. I know we are. We have to be. Soon, we’ll get to the road and someone will find us. I know it.”

  I wasn’t so sure. At this rate, we wouldn’t reach the road by nightfall. And anything could happen between now and then.

  The surge of adrenaline that had flooded my veins during the fight quickly wore off. In its place, I felt nothing but intense, bone-deep weariness. I didn’t remember getting half the cuts or scrapes I now bore. When I first pounced on the mama bear and fell to the ground, I must have jammed my hip. Now I was dragging that leg, reluctant to put weight on it. Every time I flexed a joint or stretched a limb, it felt like my cuts were pulling open wider. My ribs ached to draw in deep breaths. Pain filled my head. And my mouth pooled with blood from a missing tooth.

  Yet despite it all, I continued on. If not for Hannah, I would have dropped right there on the road, wretched and battered, too broken in spirit to go on.

  Clouds so low they scraped the treetops rolled in. Wind buffeted our faces, prying icy fingers beneath my thick coat. Hannah kept her sock-mittens tucked beneath her armpits. Our only blessing was that the trail was smoother than the deer path we’d been following. My thirst, however, was draining me. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I could have drunk a lake dry.

  We crested a small rise and found ourselves looking over the answer to our prayers. It was a brook, glittering with fast-flowing water.

  We could have waded across it, but for one problem. Although the water wasn’t nearly as deep as the river we’d had to cross by way of the fallen log, it had carved deep into the earth. Given my current state, jumping across was out of the question.

  The trail led right up to it. Except that where once there had been a bridge there was now nothing, except for a few bits of framework jutting out into the rocky ravine.

  Before I could even search for another way across, Hannah was jogging down the hill toward it. She reached the remnants of the bridge, leaned out to look over the front of it, then to the side.

  I was only halfway there when she shouted, “This way!”

  She motioned to me and went between the base of the old bridge and the rocky wall of the creek bed. Grasping a sapling rooted nearby, she stepped down onto a stone. But it was loose. Even under her slight weight, it wobbled. And then ... a tiny squeal escaped her throat as rock and earth gave way. Her hand ripped free of the sapling. Her body plummeted.

  I half-ran, half-hobbled to where she had disappeared to gaze over the edge. At the bottom, a few feet from the narrow span of water, sat Hannah, one leg extended before her, the other tucked beneath her bottom. She rolled over onto her side, looked up at me ... and burst into tears.

  My whimpers rose to a whine as I franticly
searched for a safer way down. I paced the ledge, ten feet one way, ten another. Back and forth, back and forth, each time going farther, until I saw a place where the roots of a huge pine tree partially hid a broadening crack between a boulder and the dirt where the runoff from uphill ran. The channel was dry now, but suffocatingly narrow.

  Into the shadowy crevice I plunged, drawn onward by Hannah’s yowling sobs. Twice I had to wiggle my way through, the rock pressed so close, but somehow I made it to the bottom.

  I ran along the water-slicked stones, my paws slipping with each stride, not even thinking to stop and drink. When I reached Hannah, she calmed visibly, but she was clutching her ankle. It hurt. Badly.

  I didn’t know what to do except to be there for her.

  Once her tears stopped flowing, Hannah carefully removed her boot and sock. Her ankle was ten shades of purple, the bone surrounded by puffy flesh. Her forehead puckered in concentration, she wiggled her toes. When she tried to point them, she gasped in pain.

  “Ow, ow, ow!” She bit her lip until the pain passed. Shaking her head, she looked at me. “I can’t walk, Echo.” Then, fresh tears sprang anew.

  The warmth of my body being the only thing I had to offer, I huddled next to her. Snowflakes swirled around us, melting as they met the earth. Hours slipped vaguely by as we listened to the wind whispering through the little valley and rustling the tree limbs far above. Daylight faded. At least down here, out of the wind, it was a little warmer. But not nearly warm enough.

  I drank my fill from the stream, trying to fool my belly into believing it was full, but the water was ice cold and tasted of dirt.

  As I lay next to Hannah, the world around us darkening, the taste on my tongue brought back memories of the day that Ed stuffed me in the sack and tossed me from the bridge. After that, I had vowed to give my loyalty to no human being ever again.

  Yet now, here, I could not leave Hannah’s side. Her life meant more to me than my own.

  That night was the longest of my life. I was almost certain it would be my last. Above, stars winked between broken clouds. Hannah’s breathing slowed, became fainter. Once she finally drifted off to sleep, she didn’t stir.

  When the first light of morning came, I stared at her for an eternity, until I detected the barest movement of her chest. I licked her face vigorously, trying to rouse her. It wasn’t until I shoved my nose at her bad ankle that she showed any sign of life.

  Her breath caught. Eyelashes fluttering, she gazed at me dully. Her lips were blue, split, and bleeding at the corners.

  “C-c-cold ... Hur-hurt ...” She let her eyes go shut again. Her lips parted. At first, nothing but a puff of air came out, then she looked at me one more time, only for a moment. “Go, Echo. G-g-get ... help.”

  Her life depended on me.

  One last kiss upon her cheek and I went, although every bone in my body, every sinew, every vessel screamed at me to lie down beside her and stay until we both ceased to breathe.

  My heart, though ... my heart echoed Hannah’s words: ‘Go. Get help.’

  One thing a dog never, ever does is let his person down.

  chapter 33: Hunter

  Two nights had now gone by since Hannah and Echo disappeared. And with every hour that passed, Hunter’s hope diminished even more. When Sheriff Nate showed up at Heck’s to tell him they’d found Hannah’s backpack in a stream almost twelve miles from the Appletons’ farm, it was nearly altogether extinguished.

  The morning had been silent, full of sadness and tension. He and Jenn sat alone in their living room. They hadn’t said a word to each other since coffee, three hours ago. Neither of them dared give breath to what was inside of them. The hurt was too great.

  Lise was upstairs with Maura, who was taking this as hard as anyone. Half of Faderville had been looking for Hannah and her dog. That morning, Hunter had even seen a segment on the national news. The search had been expanded, the number of volunteers doubled just within the past day. But all they had to show for it was a backpack with a box of soggy crackers and some extra clothes inside.

  Jenn sniffled into her tissue and blew her nose for the thousandth time. Outside, another patrol car came up the driveway and parked outside. Twisting around to look over the back of the couch through the window, she watched as the officer got out and spoke to Brad and the sheriff. Brad nodded, glanced her way, then took the officer aside.

  Breath held to keep the tears from bursting forth again, Jenn turned back around and hid her eyes behind her hands.

  Hunter wanted to reach out, to hold her, but there was still so much unspoken between them that he didn’t want to explore just yet. When Hannah had fallen in the river, she was quickly found. Then, there had been hope.

  This time, though, it was different. In so many ways. And Hunter couldn’t help but wonder if had they handled things with Heck differently, then maybe Hannah would never have run away. He blamed himself and that blame would sit with him forever if they didn’t find —

  There was a knock at the door. It may as well have been the tolling of a death knell.

  Jenn and Hunter exchanged a glance. An officer at the door was never good. If there had been good news, someone would have phoned them from the field.

  Hunter’s heart crashed through his gut. Jenn didn’t move, even though she was closest to the door. He rose to spare her the task.

  His hand hovered over the knob. He didn’t want to know, didn’t want to hear it. But there was no avoiding it. Putting it off wasn’t going to change anything.

  He gripped the knob, felt the cold metal firm beneath his fingertips. He opened the door just enough to see Brad’s worn and aging face through the crack.

  Hunter looked down. He couldn’t bear it anymore. It was like a hundred boulders had just been piled on top of him, crushing the air from his lungs, compressing his bones into dust. He wanted this over with. So he asked, “They found her, didn’t they?”

  “Hunter ...” Brad pressed a hand on the door, forcing it open wider, and stepped inside. “Hunter, Jenn. Both of you need to come with me.”

  Bracing herself against the arm of the couch, Jenn stood. “Why?” Her voice was as rough as sand paper from days of crying.

  “Just ... come.”

  Hunter waited for Jenn. Then, with his hand lightly on her lower back, they followed Brad outside. Hunter did not feel the bitter cold or see the sun break through sullen clouds. He was dead inside, his body a barely functioning shell. Brad led them to the patrol car that had just arrived. He opened the back door, stepped away.

  There, in the backseat on a rumpled blanket, lay Echo, motionless, his eyes closed. Bloody gashes marked his muzzle, back, and legs, the fur around them matted. He looked like he’d been chewed up and spit out by a vicious monster.

  A great hole of nothingness opened up beneath Hunter, swallowing him whole. Why hadn’t Brad just said it — that they’d found Echo’s body? He could’ve spared them this morbid sight.

  Then Brad leaned over Echo’s still form, placed a hand upon his withers. “Hey, buddy. Wake up.”

  Wake up? Hunter stared harder. Was he ... breathing?

  Echo’s whiskers twitched. His nostrils flared ever so slightly. One eyelid was grossly swollen, but the other parted. A single golden eye pierced Hunter’s soul. Moaning, Echo stretched a paw toward Hunter.

  Tears obscured Hunter’s vision, but he knelt down, found Echo’s calloused paw, and rubbed a thumb over the top of it.

  Hunter looked up at Brad. “Where ...?”

  “I’ll explain on the way.” He nodded toward another cruiser. “Deputy Mortenson will take Echo here to Dr. Timowski’s. The paramedics looked him over, said he probably needs some antibiotics and fluids, but mostly he’s just worn out and dehydrated.”

  Jenn’s hand alighted on Hunter’s back. He met her eyes. They held the same question he had.

  “And Hannah?” he asked Brad.

  Brad grasped Hunter firmly by the arm and helped him to his feet. “
They found her.”

  A single word hung in the air: Alive?

  A smile graced Brad’s face for the first time in days. Nodding, he looked from Hunter to Jenn. “She’s a little rough around the edges, but she’s going to be all right.”

  Suddenly, Jenn was in Hunter’s arms, both of them laughing and crying at once. He rocked her and kissed her forehead, then rushed back into the house and called to Lise. She and Maura came running outside.

  Soon, they were all hugging and crying and saying how they’d never stopped hoping. Whoops sounded from the neighbors who had gathered to help the McHughs. Deputies clapped each other on the back. Several people took out their phones and called friends and family, spreading the good news. A reporter signaled his cameraman to start filming and soon he was narrating the breakthrough as he stood in front of the McHughs’ farmhouse.

  Thumping his palm on the closed door of the cruiser, Brad sent the deputy off with Echo for treatment.

  Aware of all the commotion, Heck came out of his house and stood on the porch. Hunter waved to him.

  “They found her, Heck! They found her!” Hunter yelled. He wasn’t sure from this distance, but he thought he saw Heck pump his fist. “Echo, too!”

  As Hunter got in the back of Sheriff Nate’s car, he noticed the reporter rushing toward Heck’s house. He regretted everything they’d put Heck through. As soon as he could, he’d find some way to make it all up to him.

  Maura piled into the back next to her mother and clutched her arm. Putting his right arm around them both, Hunter squeezed Jenn’s knee with his left hand. Relief washed over them in waves.

  So many moments, Hunter was sure they’d tell him Hannah was dead or gravely injured. And there was always the equally terrible possibility that she had vanished forever. But in the end, thanks to all the rescue workers — but most of all because of the courage and determination of one intrepid black and white Aussie — Hannah had been found.