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First published 2022 by Emily Bunney
www.emilybunney.com
Dedicated to all the men, women and four-legged heroes from
all over the world who
risk their safety to ensure ours.
Chapter 1
Brandon
I pull my dusty pickup onto the side of the road just as I see the city limits sign for a place called Crescent Bay. I’ve been driving around the Pacific Northwest for the last few months, planning to make my way down to the Mexico border with no real idea of what to do next. I thought my wanderings would help me process the massive changes that have happened in the last year. I’ve gone from being a highly decorated Sergeant First Class in the Army Military Working Dogs division to a medically discharged, scarred, directionless nomad. Thinking about Bella, my explosives detection dog, automatically causes the scar tissue on my arm and chest to ache and itch, so I push the thoughts to the back of my mind and pull out my phone. Twilight is drawing in and suddenly I’m dog tired.
I bring up the hotel booking app and see there’s a cheap but well-rated motel a few miles into town, so I make a quick reservation and pull my truck out into the light evening traffic. As I follow the GPS directions to the motel, my eyes keep flicking toward the Pacific. I grew up in landlocked Utah, but I’ve always been drawn to the ocean. I enjoy the calming effect it has on me and the way it feels so enormous it can absorb all my pain into its inky depths.
The GPS on my phone announces my arrival at the Bay Motel in a chirpy robotic voice. As I pull into the parking lot, I shake off the ghosts of my past and try to concentrate on the present. It’s something my therapist had me work on a lot during rehab, but I still struggle not to get sucked into regret and introspection. I guess that’s why I’ve been wandering ever since rehab ended — I’m a grumpy son of bitch and I don’t want to infect anyone with my melancholy, so I find it best to avoid personal relationships and keep moving. I can’t actually remember the last time I had more than a passing conversation with a stranger and even though I generally prefer that, I sometimes crave company. Once or twice, I’ve given in to it and had a hollow one night stand in some nameless town, but as soon as it was over, I wanted to get out of there. I could see the pitying looks in their eyes when they noticed the scars I bear. Some of them even thought they could ‘fix me’ after our brief tryst.
But I never stuck around long enough for them to try.
Nowhere I’ve stopped on my road trip has held my interest for more than a few days, and I doubt Crescent Bay will be any different. The motel sits just off Main Street. It looks like every other town I’ve stopped in — a mixture of chains and independent stores line the street and several eateries have tables set up so diners can enjoy the pleasant California evening while they eat their fish or burgers.
I check into my room and am pleasantly surprised that the photos and ratings on the app are fairly accurate. Plenty of places I’ve stopped have been little better than bunking down in the desert with my head in the dirt.
I throw my duffle on the bed and check out the bathroom which is small and clean. Slowly I feel the tension in my shoulders relax. I have a home, at least for tonight. My stomach grumbles, and I realize I haven’t eaten since the breakfast burrito I picked up as I crossed the California/Oregon border.
After a quick shower, I head out onto Main Street to find something to eat, my hands shoved deep in my pockets, and my head down. This seems like a friendly place so I need to try and avoid catching anyone’s eye in case they feel like striking up a conversation with the out-of-towner. I just want to fill my stomach and drink a beer in quiet solitude.
That shouldn’t be too much to ask.
Most of the eateries I walk past look a little too family-orientated for my liking, but as I turn the corner I spot what looks like a dive bar with a neon sign above the door signaling that they serve HOT FOOD OPEN LATE. Perfect.
I push in through the door, expecting a dingy little hole-in-the-wall, but actually the place is deceptively big inside. A long mahogany bar runs the entire length of the back wall, covered in mirrors and hundreds of liquor bottles. The other walls are lined with cozy booths which all appear to be full of diners and drinkers. There’s a dance floor and a small stage in the far corner, and an assortment of mismatched chairs, tables and hightops fill the rest of the room. Judging by the size of the place and how full it is on a Thursday night, I’d guess this is the only bar of its type in this little town. Most of the patrons seem to be in their mid-twenties and early thirties, so even though I feel like the oldest guy in the room, I still slide onto a stool at the bar and signal the bartender.
“Beer please, whatever you have on tap is fine,” I mutter, keeping my head down so I don’t invite the friendly looking woman in her forties to engage me in conversation.
“Sure thing.” Thankfully, she takes the hint, pours my beer, and takes my cash without any further comment other than to tell me to enjoy.
As I take the first swallow of the only beer I’ll allow myself tonight, I feel the sting that comes with being such an asshole to someone who’s just trying to be friendly. I remember back to the happy-go-lucky guy I used to be.
In those early days, I was happy. I loved the camaraderie of my fellow soldiers, and when I got the assignment to the dog unit, I knew I had found my calling. Training and working with these amazing animals gave me more satisfaction than I’d felt anywhere else in my life. The military working dogs showed a level of intelligence and bravery I’d never expected to see — from the explosive and drug detection dogs to the sentry and protection dogs. During my time overseas, I’d seen dogs defend their handlers until their dying breath and vice versa and I was always humbled by the love and commitment that developed with that bond.
Suddenly, I feel the edges of my peripheral vision begin to close in as images of Bella fill my mind. Training her from that rambunctious puppy who still needed to grow into her paws and ears, to the skillful brave explosives dog she became. Bella was my best friend and my most trusted companion. I knew she’d always have my back, and she saved my ass more times than I could count. Suddenly, the happy memories disappear, replaced with images of her bloody, broken body lying next to me in the rubble after the air strike hit the building we were searching. Her whimpers of pain still echo in my dreams as she tries to drag herself toward me, forever my protector…
“Can I get you a menu?” The bartender's voice drags me back from the brink of a full blown memory clusterfuck. I quickly swipe my hand across my eyes and feel them come back damp with unshed tears.
Shit, that’s so embarrassing. I glance up at her, hoping she didn’t notice, but the kindly look on her face tells me everything I need to know.
“Just a burger and fries, please,” I reply in a gravelly, choked up voice.
“Sure thing, honey.” She reaches over and covers my hand with hers. The contact feels comforting but alien all at the same time. “Thank you for your service,” she says so quietly that only I can hear. As she leaves to place my dinner order, I wonder how she knows I was in the military, and then I notice the dog tags I still wear are hanging outside my T-shirt.
Damn, I’m usually so careful to keep them tucked beneath my clothes, but I must have forgotten. As I pull out the neck of my shirt and drop them in, I run my thumb over the extra tags that hang from the chain — the ones that belonged to Bella. The sting of her loss stillhasn’t subsided. No matter how far I drive, I just can’t shake it.
Just keep moving, I tell myself as I open the Maps app on my phone, looking to plot my escape route from this town and the pain I feel every time I stand still too long.
I have an old Army buddy who lives in Arizona. Maybe I can crash with him for a few days. I’m plotting the quickest route from here to there when I sense a presence next to me, and the sweet smell of jasmine and honeysuckle drift into my vicinity.
