Page 86 of Last Light

“You’re all hot and tired. I coulda helped you.” He’s still scowling. He really is in a bad mood about being forced to lie around and rest his ankle.

“I didn’t need help. I’m perfectly capable of doing some work. And I’d rather you get your ankle better.”

“It’s fine.”

I step over to pick up the ice and look at the ankle. It’s still swollen and ugly. “Do you need some ibuprofen?”

He grunts.

I think he probably means the grunt to be a no, but I pretend it’s a yes and go get him some pills.

I find some corn bread mix in the cellar—just add water—and I bake it to eat with our chili for lunch. I dig around and also find some bottles of Coke. We’ve got ice now, so we split a bottle, and nothing has ever tasted as good as that Coke does.

I’m washing the dishes after lunch when I glance out back. I’ve been checking every half hour or so, and I jerk in surprise when I see something out by the dog dish.

“Travis,” I hiss. “The dog! The dog!”

Travis has been sitting at the table, grumbling about not being able to help clean up, but he jumps up and joins me by the window.

The dog looks like a mutt, but it’s at least partly Australian shepherd. It’s scarily skinny with long, matted hair. It gobbles up the food I put out in no time.

“Where’s that jerky?” I ask, speaking in a whisper as if the dog could hear us inside the house. “I want to see if I can get it to come inside.”

“It’s gonna be half-wild by now. Might not be friendly.”

“I know that, but I want to try.”

Travis is already handing me a piece of his jerky, which he left on the counter with the rest of our food supplies. I take it and step outside.

“Hey, buddy,” I say in my sweetest voice, crouching down near the back door.

The dog has been licking his empty bowl, but he jerks his head up at my appearance. He backs off with a low growl.

“It’s okay, buddy. We’re real nice. We’ve got more food for you if you want it.” I tear a small piece of the jerky off and toss it to the dog.

The animal sniffs it suspiciously and then gulps it down.

“See. Yummy. I’ve got some more if you’ll come closer.” I toss another piece, this one not as far away from me.

The dog inches up slowly, his eyes focused on me. Then he lunges for the jerky. I put down another piece, this one just a foot away from me.

He comes to get that one too.

Now I take a piece and extend it in my hand. “You want this one too? You can have it. We’re really nice. We’ll treat you good.”

It takes a minute before the dog decides the food is worth the risk, but he eventually steps over and takes the food out of my hand.

I stroke his dirty head, and his long tail gives a little wag. “Good boy. You’re such a good boy. You did so good to stay alive for so long.”

The dog wags some more—tentative, hopeful swipes of his tail—and it almost makes me cry.

I give him the rest of the jerky, then glance back to see that Travis is coming to join me with another piece of jerky in his hand.

The dog backs away and growls at the sight of Travis, but he eventually comes back to get the food. He lets Travis pet him too.

“Poor fella,” Travis murmurs, scratching the dog’s ears. “You musta had a real bad time of it out here on your own. I’m real sorry your owner died.”

“Do you think he’ll come inside?” I ask softly. “I’d like to clean him up some and see if some of these cuts on him need doctoring.”

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