Page 101 of Last Light

I can barely stand to look at him.

When we’re packed and Travis is giving the house one final walkthrough to make sure there’s nothing else we need to bring, I give the dog a quick, hard hug, bury my face in his fur for a minute, and then let him go. I climb into the passenger seat of the car.

I’m not going to cry.

It’s a dog. We haven’t even named him. We knew we’d have to leave him.

I sit in my seat and pray that Travis will return soon so we can get out of here before I start bawling.

Travis is still in the house, and the dog is sitting next to the vehicle, staring up at me expectantly.

When I don’t move, the dog walks over and puts his front paws up on the floor of the passenger side. I think he’s just lifting himself up for a pet, so I reach down and stroke his head, his ears.

He wags a few times and hops right into the Jeep with me.

I make a muffled whimper as he climbs over my feet. There’s a pile of folded towels and a blanket next to my feet since that’s the only place we could fit them, and the dog flops down right on top of them.

He pants up at me happily, looking very pleased with himself.

I sit stiffly, almost shaking with emotion.

I can’t push the dog out.

I simply can’t.

I really don’t think I’m capable of it.

It’s another minute before Travis comes out, wearing his jeans and the black T-shirt we found at that empty house. He checks to make sure the door is locked—we’ve already decided to take the key with us in case we need to return for supplies sometime in the future—and then heads for the Jeep.

“Dog must’ve run off,” he says as he approaches. “Can’t find him. Wanted to say goodb—” He breaks off as he slides into the driver’s side and sees the dog on top of the towels.

He grows still, staring down at the dog’s lolling tongue and barely wagging tail.

His silence goes on so long I shift in my seat. “I didn’t put him here. He got up on his own.”

Travis takes a deep breath, his eyes moving from the dog to my face.

I don’t move a muscle. I feel a tear beading beneath my left eye and finally have to brush it away with my fingertips before it falls.

Travis’s mouth twists. “Damnit. Damn it all. He’s gonna have to sit right there. No other place for him. I’ll go get some dog food.”

I make a little sobbing sound as a couple more tears squeeze out. I pet the dog as Travis goes back into the house and returns with a bag of dog food.

“This is all we can bring, so the dog’ll have to be on rations too.” He leans over to squeeze the bag in next to the pile of towels. “And you’re not gonna have much foot room.”

“I don’t care.” I scratch the dog’s ears as he sniffs at the dog food and gives a more confident wag. He seems to know that the bag of dog food means he’s definitely coming with us.

Travis shakes his head at the dog but reaches over to give him a quick pet. “Damn it, dog. You and her both.”

“Him and me what?” I asked, intrigued by the vague statement.

He shakes his head at me the way he did at the dog. “You and him both. Gonna ruin me.”

I swipe away one more stray tear. “We don’t mean to ruin you.”

“I know you don’t. Just makes it worse.” He murmurs the words, almost as if he’s talking to himself. He’s looking out onto the sloping dirt drive.

I’m not sure exactly what he means, but it doesn’t seem like a bad thing. His tone and expression are fond.

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