by Dan Walsh
“Hopefully,” Kyle said, pulling Chris to his feet, “we’ll get across that field today without getting shot at.”
Chris bent down, grabbed his gear, including his detector. “Well, at least we’ll know there won’t be any shots coming from the stone wall across that field. The Apaches pretty much leveled it.”
“Hope you’re right.”
They walked toward the rest of the guys forming up near the same drainage ditch they had fought from yesterday.
“Okay guys,” Sarge said, “you know what we gotta do here today. Pretty much complete the mission we started yesterday. Only now, after we get across this field we’ll explore all the buildings around where the shots came from. We heard from some of the locals that the Taliban have cleared out. They’re probably right, but we need to make sure. Chris, Kyle…you guys head out, clear the dirt path. We’ll be right behind you. I got sharpshooters eyeing all the borders of this field. You worry about the ground at your feet.”
Chris and Kyle walked up the dirt embankment to the edge of the poppy field. The rest of the guys started lining up behind them.
“Wish we had a tank out here,” Kyle muttered. “Remember when we had tanks to cross these fields for us?”
Chris did. Tanks could absorb these small IED’s way better than a man’s legs. “Today it’s just you and me,” Chris said. He turned on his detector and started down the path, covering the same ground as yesterday. Back and forth, back and forth. Nice and slow. Kyle was behind him, far enough back that he wouldn’t be injured if Chris stepped on a mine. The further Chris walked, the more tense he became. He tried to focus on the ground, on his job, tried to keep his tension from turning into fear.
It didn’t work.
He and Kyle were sitting ducks out here. He kept walking but looked up, just for a second. Had to be a hundred places snipers could be hiding.
“You okay, Chris?”
“I’m fine.”
“At least we know this part of the path is clear,” Kyle said. They were covering the same ground as yesterday, before the ambush started.
They kept walking, the detectors moving back and forth. Chris’s eyes focused on the metal detector’s head. He wished the newer models had come in already. These could only detect metal. The Taliban had begun making mines with metal and plastic. The new detectors came with ground-penetrating radar, supposed to be able to detect everything.
He looked around. They were now beyond the spot they had stopped at yesterday. So far so good. He’d done this so many other times before, always without incident. The poppy farmers had been working in this field just a few days ago. They didn’t have any problems. This was just another routine run, like all the others. Stay focused on that.
He glanced up again. They were halfway through the field now. “Hear anything?” he yelled back to Kyle over his shoulder.
“Not a sound.”
A moment later, Chris did hear a sound. A click. It didn’t come from his metal detector.
It was down by his left foot.
6
He was just about to shout “Mine!” when the ground erupted beneath his feet. A deafening explosion. Chris flew up and back, landed flat on his back in a patch of flowers. The impact knocked the wind out of him.
“What was that?” someone yelled.
“A mine,” Kyle yelled. “Chris is down. Medic!”
Several others yelled medic.
“Nobody else move,” Sarge said. “Chris, you all right?”
He couldn’t speak. He was fighting for breath. Footsteps nearby.
“Kyle, stay put,” Sarge yelled.
“I’m staying in his footprints. I gotta help him.”
Chris was looking straight up into the sky. His left leg felt on fire. His right leg throbbed. He tried moving them. He could, but just barely. Kyle bent over him.
“Oh, man, Chris. I’m so sorry.” He rested his hand on Chris’s shoulder, looked down at Chris’s legs, then back at his face.
Chris finally found his voice. “How bad is it?”
“Don’t worry about it. Medic’s on his way. We’ll get you patched up.”
It had to be bad. Kyle started applying a tourniquet to his left leg. He heard the Sarge yell, “You two, follow the medic with a litter. Footprints only. The rest of you men, back outta here slowly. Retrace your steps back to the ditch.”
Soon the medic arrived, a corporal named Sam. Everybody liked Sam. He set his pack beside Chris, started pulling out rolls of bandages. Kyle helped him. Chris’s pants were already ripped by the blast. Sam ripped them some more, above his knees. “You’ll be okay, buddy. It hurt anywhere else beside your legs?”
“I don’t think so. My back hurts a little. I think from the fall.”
The medic looked over his shoulder. “Good, there’s the purple smoke in the road. They’ve already called in the chopper. We’ll get you patched up. They’ll fly you out of here in no time.”
“Did you even hear anything on the detector?” Kyle said.
“Nothing. Not a sound.”
“Plastic mines,” Sam said. “I been hearing about ‘em. They figured out how to make ‘em now with no metal at all.”
“Then these things are useless,” Kyle said, pointing to his metal detector. “They shouldn’t send us out here anymore till we get those new ones.”
“After this,” Sam said, “maybe they won’t.” He started wrapping Chris’s left foot, carefully. He’d already given Chris some morphine.
Kyle looked at him. “Course, what do you care, right? You just got a permanent ticket home.”
He was smiling, but Chris could tell he was upset. He tried hard not to look at what Sam was doing down by his legs. The other two soldiers arrived with the litter. Kyle moved out of the way. They told Chris how sorry they were. Kyle told them about the mines being totally plastic.
Sam looked up at them. “He’s as good as I can make him here. Let’s get him on the litter, so he’s ready to go as soon as the chopper comes.”
They carefully lifted Chris onto the litter. He was aching all over now, not just his legs. He tried not to groan out loud, but he couldn’t help it.
Kyle walked out in front of them. “I’ll lead the way. You guys walk in my steps.” He looked at Chris. “You’ll be all right. We’ll get you back to the road in a sec.”
They began walking back through the dirt path in the middle of the poppy field. Chris started to feel dizzy, like the sky was moving, so he closed his eyes. He must’ve passed out. The next thing he knew, he was in the road. Four guys were holding the corners of the litter, one of them was Kyle.
Off in the distance, he heard a helicopter coming.
He must have been moving in and out of consciousness. Chris didn’t remember the copter landing, but he did remember being lifted onto it, seeing Kyle’s face, as they slid him inside. He looked so sad. Kyle said something, but Chris couldn’t hear it. So much noise. Dust and sand everywhere. Guys started strapping his litter down.
“We gotta get an IV in him,” one of the medics said. He looked at Kyle. “We’re about to pull out. You need to back away.”
Kyle obeyed. “I’ll check in on you, man” he yelled, as the chopper began to lift off the ground. “You’re gonna be okay, Chris. You’re gonna make it.”
They were in the air. Chris looked up at the metal roof. It was vibrating, or was it him? Was he trembling? He glanced at the IV hanging from somewhere, then at the tube running down into his arm. He didn’t even know they’d put it in.
He was thirsty. Felt someone tugging at his thigh. He didn’t feel too much pain now. The meds must be working.
“Tourniquet’s good,” the medic said, looking at Chris. “That’s good. That’ll help.”
Chris nodded but didn’t know what he meant. He faded out for a few minutes. When he came to, the helicopter was banking heavily. He felt his weight shifting toward his feet. Suddenly, the green foil blanket they had wrapped him in came loose and started flappi
ng in the wind. One of the medics fought with it and finally wrestled it back under the strap.
“We’re almost there,” he said. “We’ll have you on the ground in a minute or two.”
Chris felt weak, like he was going to pass out again. “How am I doing?”
“You’re doing fine.”
“Am I gonna make it?”
The medic nodded his head. “Definitely. Your vitals are pretty strong, considering.” He looked down at Chris’s legs, and his confident expression changed.
“How about the leg? Am I…am I gonna lose it?”
The medic looked out the window, as if he didn’t hear.
“Please tell me. I gotta know.”
“The right one’s fine. Just cut up pretty good. And you’ve got some pretty good shrapnel wounds on your hands and arms.”
“What about the left?”
He glanced at it, made a face. “I’ll have to let the surgeon get back to you on that.”
Part II
The Present
7
Kim
Humane Society
Summerville, Florida
Kim Harper got up from her desk and moved around. She’d been staring at the computer screen too long, working on a new training brochure. She needed to be around the animals again. “I’m going to walk through the A-kennel,” she announced to Roger Hannon, her boss. They shared the same office space, one of the many challenges of working in a small, non-profit organization.
Roger banged away at the keyboard. He was developing a fundraising event planned for that weekend. He didn’t seem to hear her.
She walked passed his desk. “Hey Rog, in case anyone stops in to see me, I’m going to check things out in the A-kennel. Marsha called me a little while ago, asked me to look in on a few of the dogs they just brought down there.”
He swiveled in his chair. “Sure Kim, anyone shows up, I’ll let ‘em know.” Then swiveled back.
Kim was the Animal Behavior Manager and dog trainer for the facility. Besides all the private and group training classes that involved, she was also responsible for a team that evaluated each dog that came in and assessed its ability to interact successfully with humans and other dogs.
She headed down the carpeted hallway past the copy room and the other administrative offices, then out through the door leading into the main part of the facility. Instantly, the muffled sound of barking dogs filled the room. It came from the double set of doors on her left. She was just about to open the door when she noticed Marsha standing at the other end of the room, holding the door open to the main lobby for the adoption area. She waved at Kim, a concerned look on her face. Then again, Marsha wore that look half the time.
Kim headed her way. “What’s the matter?”
Marsha waited till she got closer then let the lobby door close by itself. “I just called you. Roger said you were headed this way.”
“I was going to check on those dogs you called me about earlier.”
“They can wait.” She looked through the glass panel in the upper half of the door toward the lobby. “See that Hispanic woman there sitting in the waiting area?”
Kim looked where she pointed. “The one holding that nervous-looking retriever mix?” Kim said.
“That’s her.”
“That’s not one of ours.” Kim would’ve known if they had a dog that nice getting ready to be adopted.
“No, she came into the adoption area by mistake. She’s here to surrender the dog. I was just about to send her over to Intake, but then we started talking. We weren’t even talking a few minutes before she starts crying. And I don’t mean a few tears. I thought she was going to start sobbing if I pressed any further.”
That wasn’t unusual behavior for people getting ready to give up their pet. Some people did it without an ounce of emotion. Like they were totally done with the dog and relieved to finally be free of it. But most people really struggled to let go when that moment finally arrived. Some lost it completely. “So, what’s her story,” Kim asked.
“I was thinking I should let you hear it for yourself. You’re so good with these one-on-one things. There’s some special circumstances with this situation, and I’m—”
“Good special or bad special?”
“Sad special,” Marsha said. “The dog’s not really hers. Well, it is now. She’s been watching it quite a while. But clearly, she’s not a dog person. And now…”
“I guess I can get with her,” Kim said. “Why don’t you introduce us, and I’ll take her into the counseling room?”
“Great.”
“Is the dog friendly?”
“Totally. Maybe too friendly.”
Just then, an older couple came through the front door and the dog lunged at the man, almost knocking him down. Kim noticed, though, his tail wagged the entire time.
“As you can see,” Marsha said, “he’s a little out of control.
Kim opened the door to let Marsha through, then followed right behind her. They walked past the counter on the left, where several workers sat interviewing a number of people interested in adopting dogs. The waiting area was up ahead. It was nothing more than a row of padded chairs lined up along the outside window. The woman and dog were the only ones there.
As they approached, the dog started jumping toward them, but Kim didn’t see an ounce of aggression in him. He was just a loving goofball, probably starved for attention. He almost pulled the woman off her chair. Kim came closer but didn’t acknowledge him, just the woman. This was intentional. She was sending the dog a calming signal.
“Hi, Ma’am,” Marsha said. “I’m so sorry, I’ve already forgotten your name.”
“It’s Alicia, Alicia Perez. Finley, calm down. Sit!”
The dog ignored both commands. His whole body trembled with excitement. You don’t have a clue why you’re here, do you boy? Kim thought.
“Alicia, this is Kim Harper. She’s a certified dog trainer, and—”
“I’m not here for training,” Alicia said. “I told you why I’m here.” Tears welled up in her eyes.
“I know. I remember. That’s why I got Kim. I think she can really help you through…what you’re dealing with.”
Alicia looked at Kim, who held out her hand. Alicia shook it but said, “You’re not going to try to talk me into keeping him, are you?”
“No, Ma’am. Not if you’re sure of your decision.”
“I am sure. I don’t want to be. I mean, I wish I didn’t have to do this, but I have no choice.” The tears now rolled down her cheeks. She wiped them with her hand.
“I’ll tell you what, Alicia. Is it okay if I call you Alicia?”
Alicia nodded.
“Why don’t you and—what did you say his name was?”
“Finley.”
“Why don’t you and Finley follow me to this room down the hallway? We can talk better in there without all the noise and distraction going on here in the lobby.”
“I guess I can do that.”
Kim stepped back and Alicia stood. “I just want to hear your story, that’s all. Whenever an owner surrenders a dog, we always try to get as much information as we can. It will help us better care for your dog while he’s here, and help us find the best possible home for him in the future.”
“The future? So you’re saying if I leave him here, you won’t be putting Finley to sleep? My daughter said that’s probably what’s gonna happen with an older dog like him.”
Kim reached down and patted Finley’s head, since he had calmed down and was now sitting at her side. “How old is Finley?”
“He’s almost three.”
“I don’t think you have a thing to worry about,” Kim said. “We only euthanize dogs as a last resort, when there are absolutely no other options. I can already see, that’s not going to be Finley’s story. He’s going to make somebody a wonderful forever friend.”
Alicia sighed audibly. “I’m so relieved.”
“I’m going to leave you
two,” Marsha said. “You’re obviously in good hands.”
“So,” Kim said. “If you’ll just follow me down the hall here, I want to hear all about Finley’s story.”
8
Finley
When they first came here, Finley was feeling nervous about this place. So many conflicting scents. But now that this other woman was here, he started to relax. Something about her was different. She made him feel calm.
The mother had brought him here. As a general rule, she was often tense but, on the drive over, Finley sensed her tension was much higher than usual. The odd thing was, how kindly she had talked to him the whole way here, even patted him on the head several times. She rarely took him anywhere in the car.
Chaz used to take him everywhere he went, back when he was here. But Finley hadn’t seen Chaz for so long. His scent was even starting to fade in the apartment.
Although she had been nice to him, Finley was confused. It was obvious she wasn’t happy. Several times when he looked at her, he saw tears in her eyes. She cried again just a few moments ago, talking to this new woman they just met. She and the mother had exchanged names, but Finley hadn’t heard it enough times to remember. The other woman they’d first met had just walked away. Now they were going somewhere else, following this new woman down a hallway.
“We can talk in here,” the new woman said. “If you shut the door, you can let Finley off his leash. And if he’s thirsty, there’s a bowl of water on the floor in the corner.”
The mother sat in a chair. “Maybe I should keep him on his leash. I don’t want him jumping on you.”
“That’s okay. I’m used to that.” The woman sat also. “I actually know how to make him stop.”
“I can’t even imagine that,” the mother said. “Finley not jumping on people. He’s never mean when he does it. He just gets so excited.”