by Katie Wismer
I’m also the last person who has any right to demand anything of him right now.
“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” I cut in before Johanna can ask any more questions. She’s probably not even aware of it, but Johanna has always lacked a filter when it comes to grilling people. Left to her own devices, she’d push and push until you were flattened against the wall, all of your secrets scattered across the floor.
With a humph, Jo pushes herself back into her seat and glances out the window, clearly not satisfied.
Sam visibly relaxes once she’s no longer breathing down his neck, but there’s something different about his demeanor, as if that slight admission drained something from him.
“What does it say?” He nods at the phone in my hands.
I latch onto the change of subject. “Stay on this road for another eight miles or so, then we’re gonna take a right.”
“What exactly is the plan once we get there?” Jo asks. “Pop in, ask the civilized gentlemen in there if they happen to have a dog named Squirt, and then go on our merry way?”
“Your sarcasm really isn’t helpful right now,” I snap.
“Sorry.” She holds up her palms in surrender. “It’s how I deal with stress. But seriously, what’s the plan?”
I look to Sam. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Getting there had been my main priority, blinding me to everything else.
“I’m not sure,” he admits. “I have no idea how these things are run. Best case scenario, they keep the dogs in some kind of kennel thing, we sneak in, and grab Squirt if we see her.”
“And the worst case scenario?”
He shrugs. “If she’s with whoever bought her—maybe try to bribe him to get her back? I don’t know, Mare. I’m sorry, I just don’t know. I think we’re gonna have to play it by ear.”
Those were possibly the least comforting words I could hear right now. But it looks like they’re the only ones I’m going to get.
✦✦✦
The exit pulls off to a ghost town. Empty streets, flickering streetlights, broken windows. We drive for what feels like a long time, and I keep looking out the window for signs of life, but none appear. Eventually, the GPS directs us to a warehouse at the end of a gravel road, its windows boarded up with stained planks of wood and its walls covered in multicolored graffiti. Trash blows across the ground in the wind.
“Well,” Jo says from the backseat, her voice lowered despite being completely alone in the middle of nowhere. “This is about as sketchy as sketchy gets.”
Sam drives around to the back of the warehouse, maneuvering through the weeds and avoiding patches of broken glass on the ground. There are a few cars parked back here, but not enough to transport the amount of people I assumed would be here tonight.
“Does this look right to you?” I ask.
Sam shrugs and parks under the only working streetlamp, glancing around. “Maybe they’re afraid a bunch of cars parked around a seemingly abandoned warehouse will draw too much attention?”
Seems reasonable enough, but then does that mean we’re walking into a warehouse full of sadistic people, or just a few? With only a few, if Squirt really is here, it’ll be a lot easier to find her. But on the other hand, with a lot of people, it’ll be easier to slip in and out unnoticed. I glance at my phone. It’s just past ten, so the fights may or may not have started already. Navigating the entire way here really drained my phone, though, and I’m down to seven-percent battery.
The gravel crunches underfoot as we make our way to the backdoor. Sam pulls out his phone to use as a flashlight and leads the way while Johanna pulls her sweatshirt tightly around her body. She and I walk with our hands clasped together and follow closely behind Sam. He tugs on the door, but it doesn’t budge. A part of me wants to bang on it until someone opens, but we can’t draw attention to ourselves. Not before we get what we came here for. Cupping his hands around his eyes, Sam leans against one of the windows with wooden planks crisscrossing its surface and peers inside.
“I don’t like this,” Jo whispers, looking around at the dark lot.
“Shh.” Sam’s back stiffens. “Do you hear that?”
We freeze, and the wind howls around us. Crickets chirp somewhere in the distance. And then I hear it—a faint hint of clapping, cheering, shouts.
“Can you see anything?” I ask.
Sam shakes his head. “It’s dark as hell in there. They must be in the basement.”
“Should we try a different door?” Jo suggests.
Sam yanks on the handle once more before heading around to the side of the building, motioning for us to follow.
The next door is also locked. We take turns pulling on it, but it doesn’t move
“How does anyone get in here?” Jo mumbles.
Sam turns his face toward the sky and narrows his eyes. A few feet up and to the right of the door there’s a window. The glass is shattered, but it hasn’t been boarded up like the others.
“Think you guys could give me a boost, and then I’ll pull you up?” Sam suggests.
The window is about seven feet off the ground—not ridiculously high, but high enough that I worry how much it’ll hurt if I fall through to the other side.
Wedging his foot in our linked hands, Sam grips the bottom of the window, kicks off the frame of the door, and hoists himself up with a grunt, the flex of his back and arm muscles visible through his shirt. Balancing himself in the window, he pauses and glances inside. Whatever he sees must be satisfactory, because he wedges his right foot on something on the other side, his left foot in the corner of the window, leans down, and extends his hands to us.
“Go ahead.” I nudge Jo forward.
She stands on her toes, reaching her hands toward him, but their fingertips only just brush.
“Here.” I link my hands and give her a boost, and pushing off the wall as she saw Sam do, Jo grips Sam’s forearms and scrambles up. They fumble awkwardly around one another once she reaches the top, trying to fit both of their bodies in the narrow window frame.
“Can you get down from here?” Sam asks her.
Jo eyes whatever she sees on the other side, nods, and then disappears from view.
“No, Paul. I’m not going to say it again. Tonight.”
My eyes go wide at the approaching voice. Footsteps crunch around the corner, coming closer.
“Hurry,” Sam whispers, reaching his hands toward me. Even on my toes, I can’t quite reach him.
“Yes, Paul. In full. Every cent. Tonight.”
The footsteps are getting closer, quickly. Much too quickly.
“Jump!” Sam urges, straining to reach lower.
I jump, and our hands brush, but I slide out of his grasp. His head whips in the direction of the voice, his eyes wide with panic. “Come on, Mare,” he whispers. “You can do it.”
Swinging my arms to help propel myself up, I jump as high as I can. Our right hands connect, but my left slips through his grasp again. My entire body jolts as I swing to the side, flashes of pain sparking up my shoulder.
“Shit,” Sam hisses through his teeth, his face creased in strain. He waves his left hand frantically. “Take my hand. Hurry.”
Finding purchase with my feet against the doorframe, I manage to position myself well enough that Sam grabs my hand and pulls me up. Just as he yanks me into his arms, both of us squatting in the window, a man talking on a cell phone rounds the corner. Sam and I are both panting, but he presses a finger to my lips as the man pauses directly beneath us.
“You have until midnight,” the man says into the phone. “Not a minute more.” Ending the call, the man shoves the phone into his pocket and slips out a cigarette in its place.
I glance inside the warehouse where Johanna is standing seven feet below us. A slash of moonlight through the window illuminates half of her face. There’s a shelf a few feet below the window that looks like it’s holding on by a single
nail. It must be the way she climbed down. Sam and I exchange a look. If we make any noise at all, we’ll get caught before we even make it downstairs.
We’re so close, I can feel his breath on my cheek. One hand is still tightly gripping my forearm, the other braced against my hip. We stare at each other for a second, then Sam nods his head to the side, which I interpret as you first.
Still holding onto his hands for support, I slide down the wall, reaching for the shelf blindly with my feet. Suddenly, I feel Jo’s hand on my ankle, guiding me. My foot connects with the wood, and it lets out a soft groan.
We freeze. The wall is now obscuring my view, but Sam glances back at the man outside before nodding at us to continue.
Holding my breath, I plant my feet on the shelf, and slowly release Sam’s hands, letting the plank of wood take my full weight. When it doesn’t break, I grab Jo’s hands, and she helps me hop the rest of the way down.
With another glance outside, Sam slowly begins to lower himself from the window. Hands clasped around the frame, he dangles from the edge, and I guide his feet to the right place as Jo did for me. Gingerly, he tests his weight on the board before releasing the window. When the shelf holds, we all exhale. My heart beats dangerously fast in my chest.
I reach my hands out to help Sam down. As he turns to face me, the shelf makes that horrible groaning sound, louder this time. The nail yanks free from the wall, and the board breaks out from underneath him. It clatters to the ground, and Sam lands on top, his feet connecting with the wood in a loud clap.
We freeze and exchange a wide-eyed glance.
“Who’s there?” the man outside calls.
Sam points at the far corner of the warehouse where a small sliver of light is poking out. Jo and I link arms again as we maneuver through the metal beams and crumbling foundation, trying to avoid the planks of wood and loose nails scattered across the ground. Sam’s phone cuts a sliver of light through the darkness, illuminating just enough to see a few feet in front of us.
The door behind us rattles.
27
“Go!” Sam urges as we reach the other side. The light is coming from the bottom of the stairs. The basement. Bracing myself for whatever we’ll find down there, Jo and I clutch each other tighter and hurry down, Sam close behind. The stairs feed into a narrow hall with a dirty, crumbling brick wall on one side and a rusty chain-link fence on the other. The noise is noticeably louder down here. Clapping, cheers, and dog snarls seep toward us.
Sam edges around us, killing the light on his phone. The hall branches off into a few separate rooms. I try to ignore the sight of dried blood smeared on the floor, the heavy scent of sweat, sewage, and something metallic. Sam pauses at the first room. Judging by the volume of the noise, this is where everyone is. Jo and I peek around his shoulders, and sure enough, the room is wide and surrounded by studio lighting kits that cast odd shadows around the crowd.
And it really is a crowd. There are at least fifty people, if not more. They’re all clumped together in the back, surrounding what I assume to be a fight. But none of the spectators have any dogs with them.
“You think they’re holding the dogs somewhere else?” I whisper.
“Looks like it.” Sam continues down the hall, light on his feet. Cringing at the strangled barks sounding from the room, I hurry after him, Jo’s hand a vice around my wrist.
“We have to call the police again,” I whisper. “Report this. We can’t just save Squirt. All of these other dogs—”
“I agree.” Sam nods. “We should call them just before we leave here. That way they won’t show up and cause a bunch of panic before we can find Squirt, and also so we don’t get caught up in the mess trying to get out.”
Jo and I nod our agreement as we pause at the opening to the next room.
“This is it.” Sam hurries inside.
This room is smaller, with a narrow path down the middle, framed on either side by dozens and dozens of rusty cages stacked atop one another. Nearly all of the cages are full. The dogs don’t bark or growl as we enter the room. Most don’t even look up. As I get closer, it becomes clear why.
“Oh, God.” Jo lets out a soft sound and turns away, covering her eyes.
Many of the dogs are mangled, fresh blood still dripping from their wounds. Some are missing chunks of skin, of flesh. But the worst is their eyes—some are just plain missing—but they all contain this absolute sadness. Helplessness. I choke on my next breath, horror seizing my chest at the idea of Squirt being hurt like that.
“Wait there.” Sam points at the door. “I’ll find her.”
The dog closest to me lets out a low whine, and it’s the most heartbreaking sound that it’s all I can do not to unlock every single one of these cages and take my chances trying to escape with all of them.
“This doesn’t even make sense,” I whisper. “Some of these guys are so small. Why would you want a small dog in these fights? They don’t stand a chance.”
Sam gives me a pained look across the room. “Bait dogs.”
“Bait dogs?”
Sam continues down the line, peering into each cage.
My phone starts ringing, and we all jump at the sound.
“Shh!” Johanna hisses, glancing at the door behind us.
Harper’s name flashes across the screen. I quickly hit ignore, my heart racing. I can’t tell if it was really that loud, or just felt that way in the silence. “Sorry. Thought I turned the sound off.” As soon as I store it in my pocket, the phone starts vibrating again. I glance at the screen. Harper again.
“I found her!” Sam calls from the end of the line.
I take off at a sprint. By the time I reach Sam, he’s unlocked the cage, but Squirt won’t let him pick her up. Instead of her usual jumpy, friendly self, she’s cowering in the back corner.
But it’s definitely her. I’d bet my life on it.
She’s not in nearly as bad of shape as some of the other dogs, but the skin around her neck is raw and red, and there are scratches on her face. The sight sends so much rage through my system that it almost knocks me over. Instead, I kneel down so I’m at eye level and hold my arms out to her. “Hey, baby, it’s all right. It’s me. Come here, Squirt. You’re okay. You’re okay now.”
She rises to her feet uncertainly, her eyes flickering from my hands to my face. She has to recognize me. She must.
“Squirt,” I say, trying to sound cheerful. “Come here, girl.”
Her tail gives a tentative wag.
I close the rest of the distance between us and scoop her into my arms. It’s clear she’s lost some weight, and she was already quite light to begin with. I let out a low sob the second she’s in my hands.
“Let’s get the hell out of here and call the police,” Jo whispers.
Clutching Squirt tightly to my chest, I follow Sam and Jo as we make our way through the cages. It absolutely breaks my heart to leave the others here, but there’s no way I can get them all out right now.
You’re going to call the police, I remind myself.
But that still doesn’t feel good enough.
As we’re passing the first room holding the spectators and fights, my phone slips out of my back pocket. I feel it the moment it leaves my body, and hear it as it hits the floor. Luckily, it stays in once piece. Unluckily, someone is calling me again. The phone vibrates against the concrete floor, and the noise echoes in the large space.
I snatch it from the ground. When I straighten, I see several people in the room have turned around, looking straight at me. Their gazes shoot from the dog in my arms to my face. One of the men actually bares his teeth.
Shit.
“Run!” Sam grabs my arm from behind and yanks me after him. Jo sprints up the stairs first, and Sam pushes me in front of him to follow her. I’m out of breath by the time I reach the top, clutching Squirt so tightly to my chest that I worry I might be hurting her. I hear footsteps behind me. Far too many
to belong to Sam alone. The three of us dart across the dark room, no light from Sam’s phone to guide us this time.
Our progress is too slow. They’re gaining on us. The loose planks of wood slam against the ground beneath our feet.
“Stop them!” someone calls.
Panic pounds in my chest, in sync with my racing heartbeat. When we finally reach the opposite side of the room, we feel desperately along the wall for a door handle.
“Found it!” Jo whispers and yanks on it, accomplishing nothing but creating more noise.
The footsteps are so close behind us now. Beams of light reach us, momentarily blinding me. “Where do you think you’re going?” a faceless voice sneers.
Sam nudges Johanna aside, grabbing the wooden plank blocking the door, and pries it loose. He hisses in pain as he does so, but then the door is open and fresh air hits me in the face.
“Go!” Sam shouts.
Jo takes off across the parking lot, looking around wildly for the car. I remember parking beneath the one functioning streetlamp, but now it’s pitch black. The bulb must have blown while we were inside.
Sam curses, encourages us to keep running, and fishes in his pockets. Light explodes from his hand as he pulls out his phone, illuminating our path.
“There!” I point.
Jo reaches the car first, yanking at the door handle, but it’s locked. Just as I’m about to yell at Sam to unlock it, I hear a loud thump behind me.
I whip around to see a woman with a shaved head and a snake tattoo curling around her neck tackle Sam to the ground. He struggles his way out from under her and throws the keys in my direction.
“Got one!” The girl calls back to her companions. To my horror, even more followed us than I realized. At least ten.
Scurrying after the keys, I scoop them off the ground and throw them to Jo. I set Squirt down and she takes off running toward the car.
“What are you going to do?” Johanna demands when I start heading the opposite direction.
The girl kicks Sam in the ribs before he can get to his feet, and he lands on his side with a painful exhale. “What’re you punks doing here, huh?” she demands, then looks at Squirt. “Think you can steal from us and we’ll just let you get away with that?”