Page 7 of Wanted

I defy the pounding of my heart by hitting the gas, tearing down the dirt road to the entrance of the Sanctuary. The land stretches wide, patches of green sprouting between expanses of shrinking snow. I scan the horizon for the dog between towering pines and the trunks of leafless trees. My fingers grow red and numb from the cold.

I cut left through the trees, meeting back up with the designated trail. Gravel pops beneath the tires.

“Ashe!”

My breath feels hot against my lips, floating in white clouds behind me. Ten minutes of searching turns into a half an hour. By the time I circle back around to the pond, an excited bark appears from behind a pine tree.

“Fucking finally,” I mumble. As I crawl the ATV along the trail, the sight of the eager dog following mollifies me.

If only she understood English, I’d berate her for disappearing.

As I return the ATV to the shed, she spots her food and dashes up the stairs to the abandoned bowl. The pack dances in front of the glass door in greeting of our return.

Ashe finishes her breakfast, turning to deliver a slobbery kiss to the back of my hand before waiting patiently for me to let her back inside where it’s warm.

This is why I only ever want to live with dogs. If I worry this much when one of them is hurt or missing, how would I react if the thing missing or injured is a person I loved?

2

Frankie

I rip open the zipper of my coat with a harsh exhale and fan the thick material away from my chest.

“Shit,” I mumble.

I went from cold to burning in what feels like seconds. One minute, I was lying somewhat comfortably on a pile of brush, only to feel like someone suddenly lit a fire beneath my coat. Sweat beads across my forehead despite the cool temperatures.

Incalculable hours have passed since I threw myself out of the car, and the reason becomes fuzzy as time passes. The only thing I know for certain is I trudged through ankle-deep snow until I couldn’t, and after not coming across a single building, road, or person, I found a pile of brush leaning against a tree. The shape of a structure served to protect me from the elements.

Eventually, darkness fell across the forest, tempting my eyelids to do the same, and after fighting sleep for most of the night, I wake up sometime later in the same position with the sun shining through the branches.

I can deduce it’s the next day but have no idea how much time has actually passed. I don’t have a phone on me, and the one time I had a wristwatch, it was stolen. I feel like I could count the seconds by the throb in my broken arm still cradled against my chest.

My stomach rumbles. A near constant reminder that I don’t have any food, and I’m not going to find any by lying on this tangle of branches and brush.

When I ran yesterday, there was nothing to see for what felt like miles. I’m still surrounded by the remnants of a snowy winter and tall pine trees.

Staying put would be smart if I thought someone might actually be looking for me, but nobody knows I’m out here. If Dillon hasn’t already found me, I’m certain he continued to his destination, probably grateful for the blessed silence my quick escape provided him.

But if I walk, I might lose my measly shelter. What if I’m heading farther into a forest rather than toward a town? I try to remember the last place we passed yesterday, but I come up empty. It had to have been more than thirty miles back in the other direction. The memory of the car ride feels just beyond my grasp.

I could return to the highway and flag someone down. The dangers of hitchhiking don’t apply to someone who grew up the way I did. When the scary people live in your own home, it doesn’t leave much material for the imagination.

The snap of a twig out of sight rockets my heart rate. I temper my breathing, quieting my exhale as I listen.

Something shifts, crackling across the snow and buried debris on the forest floor. The heavy grunted exhale of an animal follows.

Listen, I didn’t throw myself out of a moving car just to get eaten by Winnie the Pooh. I wrap my cold fingers around a stick, squeezing until the bark bites into my skin.

“Hey!” I shout in an attempt to scare the bear away. My voice rings in my ears. We might not have grizzlies here, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still become bear food. Especially for a hungry black bear just leaving hibernation.

The next shout gets caught in my throat as a white head of fur appears around the opening of my shelter. The fluffy creature begins to crawl inside.

“Oh no, you don’t! Get out of here. Shoo!” I yell, waving my one good arm toward the dog.

It doesn’t listen. Of course it doesn’t. I grunt and press myself farther inside as the curious animal forces its way inside my shelter.

“You’re going to break it,” I huff as a rapid pulse zips around my veins.

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