The car tires hummed along the familiar stretch, her eyes scanning the roadside before she even reached the spot. She told herself it was only curiosity, and that she’d not really get involved. Yet her chest tightened, dread coiling like a spring as the ditch came into view.
There he was. The same dog, in exactly the same place, hunched miserably over the bundle. His fur looked dustier now, his body thinner in the dimming light. And still—still—that ragged blanket lay pinned beneath his chest as if stitched onto his skin.
Tina slowed, rolling her window halfway down. The dog’s head jerked up at the sound, ears flattened, throat letting out a guttural growl. Then, just as quickly, the sound broke into a whine, long and quivering, like he couldn’t decide between warning and pleading.
Her stomach lurched. This didn’t seem like something random. He hadn’t moved or wandered off. All day, the animal must have remained crouched over that bundle like a sentinel. She killed the engine and sat there, heart thudding, unwilling to admit what her instincts were screaming.
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