Page 11 of Mountain Defender

At least, it is now.

But I’m not going to let my weakness control me, so I push past the discomfort and instability, forcing myself to keep up with the two dogs through sheer strength of will. I catch my foot on a divot in the ground a few times, but I keep my pace steady. Whether or not someone else is watching, I refuse to let myself fall.

We make two rounds of the yard immediately around the house, the dogs sniffing madly while I call out, “Rory! Ror. Are you out here?”

Still, nothing.

The weight in my stomach gets even heavier.

And as the dogs start running towards the treeline, I wonder if I made a mistake. Maybe I should have gone into the house first instead of trying to track her. Her dogs could just be on a morning romp, with no awareness of where Rory is at all. They?—

Just at the edge of the trees, Elmore lets out a sharp bark.

Then he lunges into the woods, Toby following close after him.

It’s even tricker keeping my pace quick and steady with all the sticks and branches and rocks to navigate. But I channel everything I learned during my training in the Army—how to move without being noticed, how to stay aware of my surroundings while still moving quickly—and I manage to keep pace with them.

As I run, adrenaline and sweat chase away the chill of the morning. Every fifteen seconds or so, I call out Rory’s name again.

About two hundred yards into the woods, Elmore comes to an abrupt stop, causing Toby to nearly barrel right over him. A second later, Elmore veers right, this time moving more slowly as he snuffles along the ground.

But did he pick up the scent of Rory? Or a rabbit? A squirrel? Am I out here on a fruitless goose chase while Rory is someplace else, still in trouble?

“Rory!” I call out again, worry making my voice rough. “Ror! Are you out here?”

A moment later, two things happen quickly.

Elmore lets out a sharp yip and makes a quick left, speeding towards a thick cluster of trees.

Then I hear a low groan.

It’s soft. Edged with pain.

“Rory!” I shout. “Ror!”

As I approach the group of maples, there’s a light rustling. A beat later, another groan.

Rory?

My heart ratchets up to double speed, skipping in uneven bursts.

Elmore reaches the trees a few feet ahead of me and shoves his nose in a pile of moldering leaves.

The leaves move. Not from his nose. But something else.

Just as I get there, Rory emerges from the pile, sitting up slowly and blinking in confusion. Leaves and bits of twigs are caught in her hair. Her face is ghostly pale and her lips are a purplish blue.

“Rory,” I gasp as I crash to my knees beside her. “What happened? Why?—”

But the sight of her face steals my words.

There’s a huge goose egg on her forehead, already turning a lurid blue. Thin scratches mar her cheeks, pink and angry, but no longer bleeding. As she looks at me, her eyes are dazed.

“Ror. What happened?” I hate to touch her without permission, but she’s just staring at me without speaking. I can’t tell how much she understands. Or how badly she’s hurt from injuries I can’t yet see.

Her forehead scrunches up. In a tiny voice, she asks, “Gage? What?—”

Then she lifts her chin and I see them.

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