Page 54

The pistol is on the nightstand, still in the holster he fashioned me with last week.
Yanking it free, I run back to the kitchen, and hear another shot. Through the open door I see Sam lying on the ground, the giant dog still above him. Thor and Misty each have mouthfuls of brown fur and are tugging at the weight of it.
Blood. That's all I see. It’s everywhere. The face of the beast is missing. A mix of blood, tissue and bone hang in pieces. Sam’s in a slowly spreading pool, with ice crystals starting to firm the edges as it filters through the frozen grass. A heavy metallic smell hangs in the air that grows more dense as I get closer.
How much is his?
Rushing to his side, I can’t even feel the snow on my bare feet.
“Sam! Sam! Talk to me!” I can hear his heart, not as strong as normal, but he’s still alive. I wish the ambulances were running. I wish the hospitals were open.
I have to stop the bleeding and get him inside. The ground is freezing, and his jacket is in ribbons, but the cold will help slow the blood loss—even a little will help.
Running back up the steps into the kitchen, I rip open the hand towels drawer and grab a large handful. The top has a roll of duct tape. Far from a perfect situation, but my veterinarian trauma kit is lacking in major blood control supplies.
Back to his side, I peel his torn jacket back, stuffing the towels around his shoulder. I push the shotgun out of the way and another towel goes around his forearm. I just wrap it tightly right around the sleeve for the moment.
Tossing the stack of remaining towels on his chest, I know it’s time to move the beast off of him. The long guard hairs are stiff and prickle against my arms, but it’s surprisingly soft against the still warm skin.
Its smell, on the other hand, is awful. Rot, and earth, and the pungent smell of ammonia overwhelm me as I push against its large weight. Gore is spattered over the muscular shoulder, smearing across me as I manage to rock the lolling carcass back and forth enough to free Sam’s legs.
There’s so much blood. I want to break down and cry, but, instead, I run back in for a knife to peel his torn jeans back. His thigh is shredded, blood oozing out steadily. The wounds run the length of his entire leg. I’m wrapping as quickly as I can, taping the soaking towels around him, but they’re already so saturated the tape barely holds.
Sobs tear at my throat as my hands work in a flurry.
“Sam, please hold on! Please don’t die!” I beg him. I hope there is a place inside that can hear me.
Both arms and both legs. I can barely see through the tears overflowing my eyes to keep wrapping the towels around his wounds. His thighs are the worst. The back of one, the front of the other. They’re both spilling blood so fast I can barely stem it. Luckily, neither of his femoral arteries seem to have been hit or he would be dead already.
Oh, fuck. The thought chokes me up. My chest spasms as it refuses to work right.
My bloodied hands find his cheeks, my lips finding his crusted ones.
“Please, baby, wake up. Please!” His skin is so cold, I need to get him in the house now that he isn’t pouring out into the yard.
A slam startles me. Looking behind, I glimpse a black sedan parked in the driveway. A slim woman in a red ski jacket and matching wool hat hurries over to me.
“Oh, my god! Sam!” She knees down next to me, her hands resting on his chest.
“Elizabeth?” She nods. “Can you help me get him inside? I think he’s going into shock.” I notice her blue eyes are already red rimmed when they meet mine. She’s been crying, but new tears are welling.
Another nod, and she gets up to grab his uninjured shoulder. I gather the back of his jacket in my freezing slick fingers, and we tug him slowly up the steps and into the house.
“Let’s put him by the fire,” I grunt. He’s so heavy, even with both of us. Twin trails of blood follow his limp legs through the kitchen.
It’s now I realize my feet have been bare this entire time. The warm floor sends prickles into my toes as the feeling returns.
“What can I do?” Elly asks, a tremor in her voice.
“Try calling 911. And he’ll need blankets. We need to keep him warm.” My trauma bag is next to the door. Dragging it to him, I don’t even need to look where the supplies are, I’ve used it so often on field calls. I just don’t have the clotting agents and bandages on the scale that he needs right now.
Usually when a large animal is bad enough to warrant it, euthanasia is the ethical choice.
Dammit, Dani, stop thinking that.
Squinting back the dark thoughts of losing him, I pull out the iodine, gloves and a suture kit. His right thigh is the worst bleeder, so I need to start there.
“There’s no answer. I tried the police, the fire station and three different clinics. No one is answering.” Her voice is muted as she disappears down the hall, still talking, but I can’t understand the words.