“Should I call out for him?” Owen asks. “You just want me to stand here?”
“You can call for him. But yeah, just stay here near the kennels. When Rex comes back, he’ll go to where he’s the most familiar, and that’s his bed.”
“How am I supposed to let you know if I find him?” Owen says, holding up his phone. “These things don’t work.”
He’s got a point. Cell service has been terrible during this storm. Wi-Fi is intermittent, but it only works if you’re here on the property, connected to it.
“I’ll come back every hour, on the hour,” I say, glancing at my watch. It’s 1:07a.m. “Everyone meet back here at two. Let’s go.”
Max, the crazy youngest brother he is, dons one of Dad’s old cowboy hats and jumps on his four wheeler to prowl around the property again. Leo takes his truck, heading east of the farm, and Ethan and I ride together down the lone driveway to the county road. We turn west.
“He probably didn’t get far,” Ethan says. “Drive slow.”
“Slow is all I can go,” I say, foot hovering over the brake pedal. Leaves and debris cover the county road. The wind has died down a bit, but the rain falls heavily, with no signs of letting up. Ethan watches out his window and I look out mine, checking the mirrors, wishing, hoping to spot Rex out here.
Alive and safe.
“I can’t believe this happened.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Ethan says. “I bet a ton of animals escaped during this storm. It’s just what they do.”
“That’s whatpetsdo. Rex isn’t a pet. He’s a retired hero, and he deserves the best.” My jaw clenches as I try to relax my breathing. I’ve never been so angry in my life, and the worst part is I’m only angry at myself. I did this. I messed up. I put Rex in a situation where he got out and now he’s missing.
Some stupid upbeat song plays on the radio. I reach over and shut it off. This is not the time for music. Rain splatters everywhere and I roll my driver side window down to get a better view. Everything outside my window is just a dark emptiness. We live on a county road on the outskirts of town, in the middle of nowhere, Texas. There are just farms and cows out here.
The cows have all sheltered in barns, but their shadows are way too big to mistake for Rex anyhow. There are no Rex-shaped shadows out there.
“What the hell,” Ethan says. I look forward, slowing to a stop. A giant downed tree is blocking the entire road. Pieces of bark and branches lay scattered around, making a huge mess.
“There’s a chainsaw at home,” I say, glancing back. We’ve only been gone for ten minutes. I cup my hands to my mouth. “REX!”
No answer.
“Let’s go get it,” Ethan says. “It’ll take the county ages to get out here and move it, and there might be more blocking the roads. Might as well move it now.”
I nod. “You head back and get the chainsaw. I’ll wait here.”
“In the rain?” Ethan asks.
I shrug. “I’m already soaked.”
He nods and jogs to the truck. I climb over the tree trunk, shining my flashlight into the distance. Another tree blocks half of the road up ahead. A few more have fallen over, or cracked in half from the wind, landing on the side of the road. I wipe rainwater from my brow and call for Rex again.
What will Charlotte think of me? Any ounce of respect she had for me and the mission will be ruined. Hell, not just her—what will the entire gala think? The donors, and Doctor Magana, who all gave money to help my foundation rescue other retired working dogs. I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone took their donations back.
K9 Rex, my one example that aggressive retired dogs can be adopted into a loving home, is missing. I am a failure.
Ethan returns and we get to work. Cutting the tree branch into smaller sections makes them easier to move, and after half an hour of back-breaking work, the massive pine tree is clearedfrom the road. We drive forward and clean up the second one, too.
Rex is still nowhere to be found.
“It’s been a couple hours,” Ethan says, taking off his work gloves. “He could have gone far. Let’s keep moving.”
I don’t say anything. I just get in the truck. Rex is a good dog. He doesn’t deserve this. I should have checked on him sooner.
“New rule,” I say, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “All dogs come inside any time there’s a storm. We’ll get travel crates for the garage and someone will stay up with them, making sure they aren’t freaking out or trying to break free. We should also come up with an evacuation plan if there’s a hurricane or forest fire or something. We need to have a plan for any possible scenario.”
“I’ll work on it,” Ethan says with a nod. “Emergency plans. That’s a good idea.”
