In the Sound

“Fuck!”

I pressed my fingers a little harder, dipping the rag into the mushy mound of red flesh. After the rag was padding the puncture, I wound a ratty cloth that I’d torn from my shirt around him. He whimpered a little as I did. For a moment I expected him to scramble to his feet and scamper away from me. But he stayed very still, and that was more than I could have said for my shaky hands.

After knotting the cloth, I edged away from him. My scraggly fingers stressing through greasy hair. I sighed, more to myself than to him.

“No doubt this’ll fester, be infected before the week’s out.”

He was quiet, eyeing me through glossy bulbs. He knew as well as I did. This meant death.

“Fuck,” I whispered again. My breath becoming ragged. Desperate. I slipped my hands underneath my thighs and heaved myself to a wonky stand. “Up. We’ve gotta get you help.”

A hush lingered between us.

“Up, Kit.” I repeated, patting my sweaty palm against my thigh.

Kit didn’t need another word. He blinked at me slowly, and then just as I did, heaved himself to his feet. He whimpered a little, his bandaged paw pressing shakily into the mud. I bounced on my heels, dropping until we were eye height.

Tree tops whistled above us. Humming birds calling to each other through sweet melodies. I waited for a hungry groan to interrupt the sound of this peace. But it never came.

Kit shuffled towards me, wet nose gently sniffing around my neck. I drew my fingers through his shaggy fur and ruffled it, bringing his ears closer to my lips. “Good boy. Not far okay? We just have to get to the Greene’s. Remember the Greene’s? They helped you when ya got in that fight.”
I didn’t wait for him to reply, no matter how badly I wanted him to.

Just to hear any sort of reply, from anyone. I missed words. I missed the voices of people other than my own.

But I was thankful for Kit. He’d been my only company for a few weeks now, maybe even since the new world took over. He never left, not like everyone else did. He was the dependable kind. An old K-9 with whirls of dark caramel and grey woven throughout his coat. When he was close enough I could see that the tops of his ears reached to just above my hips.

Fingers still entwined in his fur, I tugged until he was set into a gentle pace. We trudged along in silence, peeking through the trees and hoping to see the outline of the barn. Every now and again Kit would accidentally nudge his paw against a stray twig and let out a soft whine. I wasn’t sure how long we walked for. Minutes. Hours. Definitely not days.

The soft padding of our feet on the forest floor was almost hypnotic. Leaves crunching. Trees swaying overhead. Right hand resting on the knife tucked tightly into my belt. Streams of sunlight peering over us every couple of footsteps, making me squint my eyes.

Through half shut slits, I could spot a sea of outstretched fields. Our pace slowed ever so quietly as we neared the opening of the forest line. The rickety fences of the Greene farm pouring into my sight. My heart was thumping so loudly against my chest I didn’t even hear Kit’s low grumble.

I felt a little hazy from excitement, or maybe it was from relief. My palms felt clammy, my lips felt dry. My feet shifted forward, pressing in to take another step.

But before I could, I was frozen. Frozen in the sound of crunching leaves behind me. Frozen in the sound of a clicking pistol, pointed to the back of my skull.