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West. The noise was coming from the west.
Delaney trained her beam into the forest and tore inside, going as quickly as she could without running into tree trunks. Branches and sticks tore at her jeans, her boots sticking in the mud as she clomped her way toward the whining sound, which was growing louder and closer.
What happened next was a complete departure from everything she’d been trained to do, her entire military career. She got excited and lost her cool, rushing toward the sound of what she knew to be Wyatt, trapped somewhere, hurt or scared or both, and she tripped in the darkness, on either a tree root or a rock, face-planting in the mud, flashlight flying from her hand on impact.
When she lifted her head from the ground, her gaze connected with the circular beam of light that shone to the bottom of a muddy ravine. She crawled on her belly, collected the flashlight and peered down. There, at the bottom, yelping in the pale glow, was Wyatt. The sides of the pit were steep.
Delaney let out a great sigh. This explained everything. Wyatt had obviously spent the day digging a new escape tunnel out of Sunny’s place, only to be caught in a storm and trapped in a ditch too slick to climb out of. The good news was he didn’t appear to be hurt. The bad news was, Delaney had to get him out. She trained her flashlight all around the outer rim of the ditch and determined it to be a calculated risk. The ravine looked shallow enough to scale, boost Wyatt out, then climb out herself. If she got stuck, she could probably grab on to one of the roots or secure footing on a jutting rock.
Wyatt was barking frantically now that he’d seen Delaney. She tried to calm him with a soothing tone as she took her steps into the ravine with the edges of her boots, to keep steady and upright. Once she made it to the bottom, the pittie waggled up to her and pushed against her legs. “Okay, boy. I’m going to boost you up first. I’ll come after.”
The dog made a growling-whining sound from the back of his throat that sounded a lot like agreement.
“Okay. C’mon.” Delaney laced her fingers together, just like she would to boost a fellow marine. Rather than wait for Wyatt to step into her palms, Delaney braced her hands under his bottom and shoved him upward. The flashlight lay on the ground, lighting up the opposite side, so she couldn’t really see what was happening, but she felt the pittie scramble, as if he clawed at the side of the ravine with his paws to get to the top.
After a moment, the weight left Delaney’s hands and Wyatt woofed from over her head. She grabbed the flashlight from the ground and shone it upward, revealing that the dog had, indeed, found his way out of the pit. “Okay, buddy,” she said. “My turn.” Delaney tucked the flashlight in her coat pocket and felt around for a good hold. Eventually her fingers lit on an exposed root, which she grabbed greedily. Delaney felt the root separate from the side of the ground, like a rope, but hold fast to wherever it was attached. She planted her feet and rappelled up the side of the ravine, using the upper body strength she had cultivated for the past twenty years to keep her steady when her boots slid against the muddy wall. Back when Delaney had enlisted in the marines, women didn’t have to do pull-ups, a seventy-second flexed arm hang instead being the goal to earn max points toward a first class PFT. Delaney had done pull-ups anyway, working her way up to fifteen by the time she was done with basic training.
Despite being variously teased, hated and admired, Delaney knew without a doubt that she was having the last laugh. She grappled toward the top of the ravine, Wyatt’s face in the bouncing beam of her flashlight, when her feet slipped and she slid back to the bottom, landing on her ass in the mud. Wyatt woofed and made a scrambling sound. Delaney groaned and shone the light upward, saw that he was trying to scramble back down in her direction.
“No, boy! Wyatt! Stay!” Delaney held up her free hand, like she could ward him off. Wyatt’s paws were sliding and he was tossing his head. Knowing the pittie would come rushing back down to square one if she didn’t haul ass, Delaney quickly regrouped, grabbed the root for a second time and rappelled up the side of the pit as fast as her legs would go. Her arms were on fire but she held steady, calling out, “Stay, Wyatt! I’m almost there!” until she finally reached the edge. A determined nudge from Wyatt’s muzzle was her reward.
Delaney pulled herself over the rim, then squatted there a second, catching her breath, before she patted Wyatt’s muddy fur. “I’m here, boy,” she said. “C’mon. Let’s go home and get dry.”
The pit bull followed along, no leash needed, as Delaney hoofed it back along the makeshift trail. The light from the shop, which Delaney could see from the partially raised bay door, was like a beacon in the night.
Once they reached the shop, Delaney ducked under the door as Wyatt raced inside. The pittie dove into his bed, circling three times before he sank down with a huff. Delaney grabbed two shop rags from the shelves and rubbed them both, one in each hand, over his fur, drying him, brushing off mud and calming his nerves. “You’re going to need a bath tomorrow. You’re seriously filthy.”
Wyatt huffed, but allowed Delaney to use six shop rags on his wet body before he laid his grateful head down and, curled into a tight ball, sighed with satisfaction.
“Well, good for you,” Delaney murmured, not a trace of sarcasm in her voice. “You made it. Now sleep off the night, safe in your dreams, whatever they may be.” She grabbed a blanket from the shelves and draped it over the dog’s slumbering body.
Once he was breathing hard and steady, Delaney texted Sunny.
He’s here. He’s safe. Go to bed.
Delaney grabbed the chain and lowered the bay door, clicking it in place to lock. She went to snap off the light, ready to hit the shower, then climb back into her warm bed, when she suddenly became aware of the oddly vacant feeling to the workshop. She blinked, thinking she must be exhausted or dreaming. But no. She was here and now, with a safe but shivering dog snoozing at her feet and her body covered in rain and mud.
But Dad’s Indian Four was gone.
