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I get a sour look but then a shrug.
“Just find these assholes, Parker,” he barks, pressing his finger to his earpiece and moving away from me, dealing with a dozen things at once.
Moose doesn’t even look up at me, he knows which way to go and it’s in the opposite direction.
I’ve given him a sniff of one of the wanted felons’ clothing from the scene.
Some handlers give their K9 a long leash, and in some situations, I would too. But tonight I want things close and tight.
It’s dark and we’re going after known and armed criminals.
I need Moose close to me, and me to him.
A team.
Like my dad and I used to be.
The memory distracts me, and the ache in my shoulder makes me grip his leash a little tighter causing me to stumble.
I loosen my grip on Moose for a second, and he’s off.
I call him back but he’s not having it.
Something in the way he looked at me back in the truck stops me short again, it’s like I’m looking into my dad’s eyes the night I was shot.
C’mon, Parker. Don’t pussy out now. You’ve got a job to do.
Growling at my own moment of indecision, my own apprehension, I hustle to keep up with Moose who I can hear running up ahead around an alley.
This is not going to plan, and if there was anyone else with us they’d have me stand down until I could wrangle my K9.
I can hear the chopper still, moving away from us, the light in the sky giving me no visual down here.
My own heart pounds in my ears and I think of Naomi too, at home, worrying about us both.
Jesus, Parker. Pull it together.
My own instincts kick in, and although I’m trying to catch up to my partner Moose, I feel my hand reaching for my gun as I suddenly slow down once I reach the alleyway.
Cocking my head, I want to call out to Moose, but something isn’t right.
My eyes strain to see anything in the dark and I swallow hard. Knowing somehow that I’m not just being watched, but I’m also being surrounded, outnumbered.
The sound of a gun cocking sees me aiming my flashlight and my gun towards the direction of the sound.
I announce myself as police, wondering where the hell Moose got to before I see the flash.
It happens in slow motion, the same as the last time.
Except this time, tonight it’s Moose who leaps out in front of the bullet, not me.
He’s doing what I did for my partner all those years ago. The most honorable thing anyone could do for their best friend.
My finger’s off the trigger. I won’t fire with Moose anywhere near my line of sight.
But it doesn’t matter now.
I hear him yelp midair and then drop like a stone.
Another round sings past my ear, then the hot stinging tells me I’m hit too.
Kevlar is an amazing thing. Hurts like hell but still convinces you that you’re dying, knocking the wind out of me, I slump to the ground.
Trying to say Moose’s name as I struggle to move towards him.
My first breath in is the radio, notifying my position and that there are two officers down.
In seconds, the wedge of white light from the chopper is over us both, dust and trash blowing in every direction from the alley.
The wail of sirens and the shouts of my comrades as they secure the alley, ordering the suspects to the ground.
I never see the shooter, and frankly, I don’t care anymore. Seeing Moose drop and lying so still, I even struggle to have a single thought.
By the time I reach him, my hands under him I can feel the warmth of his fur matted with something wet. Fresh blood.
I can feel him breathing at least. He’s alive.
“Ah Moose,” I gasp, pressing my face into his fur.
“Hang on buddy, we’ll get you out of here.”
I feel hands on me, other cops asking me where I’m hit. Trying to help me, but it’s Moose I’m worried about.
“I need evac to veterinary care,” I growl, ignoring my own injury.
I lift my boy up into my arms and push past everyone. Reaching the nearest patrol car, I lay him on the front seat, tightening his harness to put pressure on his wound and I take the driver’s side.
Punching the gas and weaving through the wall of cop cars as they swarm the alley.
I radio dispatch, requesting immediate assistance at the only clinic I know will be open to treat Moose.
It’s minutes away and I only hope he can hold on until I get him the help he needs.
By the time I reach the emergency vet, there’s a team waiting, snatching Moose up from the patrol car and whisking him away before I can even say a word.
Someone stops me, pointing out I need medical attention myself, and then I feel it.
