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I take it from him carefully, trying not to touch him. I clutch it against my chest. It’s safety. It’s rescue. I’m saved, but I’ve thought that before and been wrong.

The call is a blur, barely registering. There’s a number on the phone for emergencies, but it’s some emergency center in Alaska. Nowhere close. They still talk to me, though. Say calm, soothing things I can barely hear, even with the volume turned all the way up and the phone pressed against my ear, as I try to explain brokenly, haltingly, who I am and where I am.

Eventually they say people are coming. They tell me to stay by the lake, to make a signal so they can see me.

But I can’t stay here. If we’re going to be rescued, we’re going to be rescued together. Bo and me.

THE WALK BACKtakes a long time. My leg drags. I pause to rest here and there, and melt snow in my mouth for water. I’m not cold, at least. The movement keeps me warm, the pain keeps me alert.

Bo is in front of the cabin, his chin resting on his paws. He lifts it weakly when I approach and whuffs softly in my direction. I sink down and scrub his head and ears.

“Good boy,” I say. “Come on, good boy. We’re going home.”

But he won’t get up. Can’t get up. He tries and falls and tries again, and finally lies in the pink-tinged snow with his eyes full of failure and apology.

“It’s okay,” I tell him. I rub his side, stroke his nose. “Shh, it’s okay.” Tears well in my eyes. I have to move him. I have to get him to where help can come. I can’t leave him here.

I put him on the litter. He’s almost too big for the platform of sticks and planks. I put a blanket over them and another over him to keep him warm, and I hold tight to the harness. I have to walk backward to drag him.

Even with the path we’ve worn over the weeks, it’s slow, the litter catching on rocks and roots and chunks of snow, Bo whimpering with every jolt. I talk to him the whole time, nonsense words. But he’s so heavy, and I’m so tired. I can only make it a few steps before I have to let him down and rest.

We’re only a couple hundred yards from the cabin when my leg gives out. I drop the litter and collapse on the ground. Bo lets out a strangled whine. He’s drooling, blood mixing with the drool, and his whole body trembles.

I crawl over to him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I say, stroking his neck. He moans. I look behind me. We’ve hardly made any progress at all. “Hold on,” I say. “Help’s coming, you just have to hold on a little while.”

I force myself to my feet. I lock my leg, hip, knee, and ankle, and bend over to grab the litter. I heave. The litter lifts six inches off the ground.

My fingers slip.

The litter falls back to the ground, and I drop down beside it, tears choking me. Getup, I tell myself, but it’s no use. I’m not strong enough. Bo is too heavy.

His ears are flat against his head, his eyes so narrow they’re almost closed. He pants, his breath heavy and uneven, and every few seconds his whole body shivers. He doesn’t seem to notice when I put my hand on his ruff.

I can’t leave him like this. I can’t get him to the lake. Maybe when they come, they’ll be able to come help me get him, and take both of us—

I shut my eyes and bury my face against Bo’s fur. Bo isn’t going to live long enough for that.

I can’t save him. I can’t keep him alive.

All I can do is sit beside him while he shudders and whimpers in pain.

He seems to go still. I lift my head. He’s looking at me, his mouth open. Blood tinges his teeth red; his tongue lolls out. His side rises with a wheeze, and then collapses. He lets out a slow, pleading whine.

I can’t let him stay like this, in this much pain. I don’t leave the animals I hunt in pain like this. Raph didn’t die in pain like this, awake and aware. I have to do something.

I have to. I can’t. I have to.

I stroke his face. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I know it hurts. I’ll make it stop. I’ll make it stop.”

I get to my knees and move around to the other side of the litter. I touch Bo’s cheek again. He whines and licks my hand, but it’s all he can do.

I pull the rifle around to the front of my body. One bullet left. I can’t.

Bo looks at me steadily.

I have to.

I aim the rifle between his eyes. He doesn’t flinch out of the way, only pants.