Harvey’s door opened and I held my breath but he staggered out without his gun, blood running down his face. Brooklyn ignored him, working his way toward Cheyenne around the other side. After a glance at Brooklyn and another at me, Harvey began to run for the street.
Oh, no, you’re not disappearing again. I was not putting Cheyenne through more days of being terrified about where Harvey was. I tried to run after him, but even with the crooked, hurt-ribs way Harvey was moving, he was faster than me.
I looked down at Eb, trotting at my side, ears half-cocked as if he wasn’t sure what the game was. He’d been originally owned by a college student who gave him no discipline and lots of unfortunate tricks. But maybe one of those could save us now.
I pointed at Harvey and said in a happy, let’s-play tone, “Ebony! Tag! Tag him!”
Ebony woofed and leaped forward. As I called, “Tag! Tag!” he chased down Harvey. Harvey spun at the sound of paws closing behind him and raised an arm in front of his throat, his other hand ready to intercept a head aimed to bite.
But Eb didn’t attack. Instead, he leaped forward off his hind legs and planted both front paws high on Harvey’s shoulders, stiff-legged with all his weight behind them. “Tag” meant “knock him over.” His past owner’s idea of a joke on his buddies.
Harvey bowled over backward hard. His ass and shoulders hit the concrete and I saw his head bounce.
Good. See how you like a concussion.
I called Eb urgently. “Eb, come! Come!” His usual follow-up to “tag” was a thorough face-licking and I didn’t want him in Harvey’s reach.
Eb lollopped back to me, ears up and tail waving happily. “Good boy,” I told him, hustling forward. “Good job.”
When I reached Harvey, he’d rolled over face down and was groaning, scrabbling to get up. I planted my cane in the middle of his neck, right at the base of his skull, and leaned on it heavily. He cursed, but collapsed flat and froze, his face pressed against the pavement.
“Don’t move,” I said through gritted teeth. I wanted to hit and hurt, smash his skull, break his spine. I leaned down a bit harder. “I don’t know if I can pop your skull off your neck like this, but I’m willing to try.”
“Fuck you.” His voice came garbled. “F-fuck. You took my woman. Gonna die.”
“Move an inch and if this fails, I’ll let the dog rip your throat out.”
“Fuck you, motherfucker.” But he didn’t move.
Suddenly, an alarm sounded from the shelter, wailing loudly. Fire?
Brooklyn panted up to me, his arm around Cheyenne. “Something’s smoking.”
“Shit!” I looked over my shoulder at my pride and joy, full of vulnerable animals. Then down at Harvey. “Cheyenne, are you okay?”
She grinned at me with blood on her teeth. “My arm hurts, but I have his gun.” Sure enough, in her hand, she held the pistol, her casual grip seeming competent. Teach your kids to use guns and you may regret treating them like crap.
“Point it at Harvey,” I told her. “Shoot him if he moves. Brooklyn, get Eb and take care of Cheyenne.”
“What?” Brooklyn stared at me, his face pale. “Where are you going?”
I knew what I was doing was crazy, but I couldn’t help myself. The siren wailed in my ears. The dogs barked hysterically in the back. I rushed toward the damaged window as fast as I could, my leg trying to trip me as I climbed over the damaged wall. Inside, I could smell smoke, and something along the wall sparked in bright flickers.
Fire extinguisher! We had a dozen, all through the facility, and overhead sprinklers too. Why aren’t they going off?
Even as I had that thought, the sprinklers let loose with a torrent of water. I stumbled, slipping on the wet floor, and found the nearest extinguisher.
The sparks of light beside the broken window seemed smaller. Drop the cane. Pull the pin. Aim at the base—where? There. Squeeze. Sweep. Foam shot from the extinguisher, hitting the wall. I adjusted my aim, sweeping back and forth. Water soaked my hair and ran down my face. I kept going till the extinguisher ran dry, my chest heaving with my breaths.
When no foam left the hose anymore, I dropped the extinguisher, squinting. I didn’t see flames. The air was thick with moisture and tinged with smoke, but not unbreathable. Outside, I heard a siren approaching.
Time to get out.
Ya think?
The recklessness of what I’d done made me stagger, but as I looked at the spot where flames had flickered and saw only foam and black char, while the dogs went nuts in the back, I couldn’t be sorry. The siren hit a crescendo outside and stopped, although I could hear another farther away. As I turned, scooped up my cane, and tried to walk, a firefighter in full gear burst through the broken window opening and rushed to my side.
He grabbed my arm. “This way. Get out!” His muffled voice sounded pissed off. I let him support me on one side and deployed the cane on the other as he hustled me toward the back, away from the damage.
