Carrie Jones - Need

"But the dog? He's really really hurt, Gram. And Nick… Nick is missing."

"What?"

"Nick drove me home and we heard something in the woods and then he raced off and told me to stay inside and he hasn't come back."

"And he hasn't come back? But there's a dog there now?"

"Yeah. I went out and looked for him and I heard a man in the woods and he was saying my name."

"Zara!" she interrupts. "Are the doors locked?"

I check. "Yeah. But he's missing and the dog is so hurt and…"

"First, calm down. Take a deep breath. You aren't going to be any help to Nick if you're panicking.

Okay?"

Embarrassed, I take a deep breath and say, "Okay."

I stroke the dog's head. He opens his eyes. Something about his gaze makes me feel calmer and stronger. He trusts me. I can trust me.

"Good," Betty's voice takes a hard, calm official tone. "I have just had Josie dispatch a unit to the house, okay? And I am on my way."

"Tell me what to do."

"First you've got to go wash your hands with hot water and the antibacterial soap. You don't want to cause an infection."

I gently lift the dog's head off my lap and place it on the floor. Stepping around his great bulk, I rush back into the kitchen and scrub my hands.

"Done."

"Good. Get a towel and put some water on it and get the Neosporin. It's in the bathroom cabinet."

I race back into the kitchen and wet a towel and grab the Neosporin. The oven is still on. I don't turn it off. There's no time. "Okay."

"The first tiling you're going to have to do is pull the arrow out."

"Oh, Gram. I don't know-" "You have to. You can do this, Zara. Be strong and steady. I'll be right here."

I stare at the arrow and touch it with my finger. The dog moans softly but doesn't open his eyes.

"I have to put the phone down," I say.

"Go ahead and put it down, honey."

I put it on the oriental carpet on the stairs that are next to the front door. Then I wrap my hands around the arrow. It's thin and hard, cold against my hands. I give a tiny tug. It doesn't move. It doesn't move at all, but the dog shudders and makes a little moan. I swear, my heart is breaking.

Something acidic moves up into my throat.

"You can do this," I tell myself.

I tighten my grip and pull slowly, trying to apply even, smooth force. The arrow fights against me and the dog shivers again, moaning in such a horribly sad way that tears start to tumble down my face. It must hurt so much. I must be hurting him so much.

"Almost there," I say. "Almost done, doggy. You're a brave, brave doggy."

There's this horrible sucking nose and the arrow squinches out, bringing with it a burst of blood. The dog gives a massive shudder and stops moving.

"Doggy!"

He doesn't move. Blood pulses out of his wound.

I throw the arrow out of the way and grab the phone, shoving one hand against the hole.

"I did it but now he's bleeding. He's bleeding a lot. I'm so sorry, puppy."

"That's okay," Gram answers. "Is it squirting?"

"No," I stare at the horrible red blood. "It's slowing down."

"Good, you don't have to apply a tourniquet then. Just apply gentle pressure with a bandage. Do you have a bandage?"

'I think so," I rummage through the first-aid kit, smearing blood all over the tape and the aspirin and the scissors with the funky ends. "Yep. I found it."

"Okay, Zara. Don't worry. The worst is over. I'm going to tell you what to do. When the bleeding slows down, you have to clean the wound with water. If there's any dirt or anything left in there, you've got to dip those tweezers in alcohol. They are in the first-aid kit. Okay?"

She's talking super fast, but I think I'm following her.

"Okay."

"Then you cut away any fur that's near that wound so it doesn't mess with it. Shaving it is better, but that might be too much. Then you put on some Neosporin and bandage it. Okay?"

"Okay."

"You've done a good job, Zara. I'm on my way. The police might get there first, okay?"

"Okay," I swallow hard. I wish she could come home and help me. I wish I wasn't alone. "Thanks. Do you think Nick will be okay?"

"Don't you worry about him, Zara. He's a special breed, that one. And the police will be there soon."

"Thanks, Gram," I say, pushing on the dog's wound.

"You're welcome, honey. Good job. I like it when you call me Gram."

She hangs up and the world is suddenly way too quiet. Special breed? Is that what she said?

I lean down and kiss the dog's cheek, by his jowls. "Are you thinking she means what I'm thinking?"

He moans.

"Looks like it's you and me, guy," I tell him. "But you sleep it off, okay? Do you think you like mashed potatoes?"

The dog doesn't respond. Of course he doesn't. I snuggle against him.

The dog and I are alone. But the thing is, I saved him-with Grandma Betty's help, of course. But I saved him. Me.

I do everything I can for the dog. I clean his wound and heft sections of his heavy body up so I can wrap him in a blanket. I bandage him and stroke his head while he softly groans in his sleep.

"Poor puppy," I say, even though he obviously isn't a puppy. He may not even be a dog. "Do you think Nick's okay?"

The dog huffs out a sleepy breath. I shiver because there's a draft by the door and I ease the dog's head off my leg, placing it on a soft pillow I'd yanked off the couch. He's so huge.

"Are you a werewolf?" I whisper, ashamed to be even asking it.

He blinks open one eye and stares at me.

"I'm sorry I woke you." I lean down and kiss him on the top of his muzzle. "You feeling okay?"

Checking his bandage, I pull back the blanket a little.

"I think you've stopped bleeding. That's good. I'm going to go check outside. I'll be right back. I'm. really worried about this Nick guy. Don't get jealous, though. I'm also really worried about you."

The dog tries to lift his head but he's too tired, I guess, too worn out from his injury. I settle him with my hand. "You rest, sweetie."

He is so cute, with all that shaggy hair and those big canine shoulders and his jowly jowls. Maybe we can keep him. Betty's house would be a lot less lonely with a dog around all the time. And aren't all Maine people supposed to have dogs? I think that's in the stereotype book along with junked-out trucks in the front yard and a front porch held up with cinder blocks and lobster traps.

I lift up a jowl to check out his teeth. They're clean and white and huge. The dog opens his eye and stares at me reproachfully.

I let go of his jowl. "Sorry. Way too invasive, I know."

He wags his tail, just once.

"Thanks for leading me home," I say. I wish he could understand me.

He wags his tail again.

"I'll be right back."

Standing up for real, I check that the front door is locked in case any serial killers want to stop by and then I peek out the window. The snow covers everything, absolutely everything. Nick's car still sits there.

The wheels are buried under. I swallow and pick up the phone book, bring it back into the kitchen, tiptoeing by the now-snoring dog. His jowls shake when he blows out the air.

"You'll be okay."

I find Nick's number in the phone book under "Anna and Mark Colt" and call. There's no answer.

I call Gram back but I can't get through. I just go right to her voice mail I call the dispatcher, who says she's on her way home.

"Good," I say and then remember to be polite.

"Busy night?"

"You're telling me," she says hurriedly as another line rings in the background.

"Any sign of Jay?" I ask.

"The Dahlberg boy?" Josie sighs. "Nope. You sit tight, Zara honey. The deputy was all the way out on Deer Isle but he's coming your way and Betty is too."