Headlights(125)

A hawk will do anything to protect its territory, Hannah had said.

Won’t we all?

Protect.

I drive through the night, and I send out that signal. I can’t accept that she’s not there. That she took the Witchwalker somewhere too far for me to reach them.

Daphne’s voice ringing in my ears again. Don’t ever let go.

I won’t. But …

Where is she? Hannah—

Pressure. A chill.

The radio turns to static. The night feels a little darker, a little …

VOOM.

Coyotes yip, as the static gets louder. No music, just sound. Just that crackling in-between.

The coyotes get louder, as I spot them, over on the side of the highway in the field. Not ghosts. Real. Alive. They’re in a frenzy, yipping and calling, and …

A yelp. A scream. Something calling for help.

I slow, squint, and stop the car. And that terrible sound— Blood on the snow.

I swear, push myself up out of the car, and shine my light over. To see the coyote pack, blood on two of their faces. And a dog in the middle, trying to fight back. I swear again. Run-limp around to the other side of the car and reach in for my gun.

I lift it, the terrible screams of the dog growing, the static louder and louder from inside the car. I shoot at the ground near the pack. I have to do it twice before they run off, before I can get to the dog and assess the situation.

Maybe forty pounds, some kind of yellow Lab–pit mix, maybe. She’s whimpering, whining. Her leg is bloody where they got her. It’s freezing, getting colder by the minute. She’s not getting up. I hope it’s shock. Fuck, it’s hard to tell, but— I don’t have time. She’s not big. I can do this. I can squat down. I let out a groan as I do, as I feel the wound in my leg reopen, have to stop for a second and try again, the pain making me dizzy.

She’s scared of me already. Whimpering and now thrashing against me. In shock from what happened to her.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry.” I push through the pain that I know is going to fuck me up for so much longer, and I get my arms underneath her. She fights me for a second, and then she lets me pick her up, still crying.

I get her in the back seat of my car, and I get in as fast as I can to drive. She doesn’t stop whining, yelping, all the way. The pain is terrible. My pain, hers. The volume of the static. I get the heat on and try to warm her up.

I repeat over and over, It’s okay. Shh, shh, you’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna make sure you’re— There. An emergency vet I’ve passed a million times. Somehow I get myself and the dog out of the car and into the facility.

I call out, “Help!” when we step into the bright fluorescent light from the night.

Someone comes right away, rushes her to the back, and I collapse into a chair, blood soaking my bandages, my jeans. They rush the dog to emergency surgery. I tell them what happened, how I found her. Someone calls paramedics for me.

The paramedics come. They tell me I’ll have to go back to the hospital, and I tell them I’m not leaving her. They field dress my wounds and make me promise to go when I’m done here, and let someone else drive the dog and me home. I nod, agree, don’t listen to anything they say. As they’re speaking, I feel something in my jacket pocket. I reach in and pull out my badge.

How—?

I sigh, run my hand over my face.

Tillman pulling me into that stupid hug.

Putting my badge back in my pocket.



* * *



An hour passes, and I sleep in the waiting room chair. Someone comes out and wakes me.

“She’s out of surgery, and I’m so sorry, we had to take the leg.”

“Is she—”

“She’s gonna be okay. She’s just a tripod girl now, but we think her recovery should be pretty smooth.”

I exhale, maybe want to cry.

“So you said you found her,” the vet says. “She’s not microchipped. Are you planning to—”

“Yes,” I say. “Yeah.”

She smiles a little. “Do you have a name in mind? For our records? We can give her one if you want, just for the system.”

Music plays in the waiting room, softly. I didn’t notice it before now. Dancing to this song, with Rose. With Marianne. I clear my throat.

“Dolly,” I say. “That’s her name.”



* * *



They send us out an hour or so later with medicines and instructions, and she’s loopy from the drugs, but she can walk on her own. I lift her into the back seat of the car and get slowly back in.

I talk to her, on the way back. “We’re gonna go to the house, and we’re gonna pack up some things. And then we’re gonna get on the road, and you and I are gonna heal up, and we’re gonna find a place of our own, okay? I’m … uh, Daniel. And your name is Dolly now, I hope that’s okay with you. And…” I don’t know. Don’t know what I’m doing. I look back in the rearview mirror, and she’s panting, holding her head up. Seemingly … listening. Or watching. So I keep talking. She’s not whining at least.

The radio starts to static again. And I feel something in the night. A little pressure. A vibration. My eyes scan the night, everything. Search for the Witchwalker.