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Demon’s van screamed in protest as I forced the pedal to the floor, racing through the night. The vets were just around the next corner. Only a few minutes away. A few minutes and the dog might make it. Beside me, Kinobi whimpered, blood shining in the streetlights that flooded into the van windows. Blood soaking into the seat beside me. Blood caked on the smooth fur of the dog dying next to me.

I saw the signage as I turned into the street. The big board over the offices stood in the row of terraced homes. Heaton Small Animal Practice . And the lights on the sign were off.

I pushed one leg out of the van before it had really stopped, simultaneously yanking on the handbrake and twisting the key, the engine spluttering, then stopping. Running to the doors, I banged hard. Seconds ticked by. Slowly. The dog losing blood on the passenger seat of the van with each one of those seconds. Fuck. I banged again. Harder.

Where was everyone? Why was no fucker answering? I could break in. The door was only PVC. It would cave inwards in only a few heavy kicks. But then what would I do? I had no idea how to stop the blood. How to pump more blood into the big dog’s body. Fuck! I Banged again, desperate and loud against the door, echoing out into the street and dissipating into a cloudless sky.

Something squeaked nearby.

“What the fuck are you doing? You know what time it is?” The man was angry. What little hair he had left sticking up at all angles.

“The vet! I need the vet!”

“Ring the number. They aren’t there all the time. You have to ring the number!”

“What number?”

“The one on the fucking door!”

The window overhead to my right squeaked again, pulled shut against the harsh cold of a cloudless night. And in front of me the number stood out on the glass. Big black digits, only just visible in the dull glow of the streetlight.

My fingertip slid over the phone screen. The dog’s blood smearing, the numbers not selecting. Fuck. I glanced over my shoulder, into the darkness of the van, knowing the thick shadow on the front street was dying with each stupid fucking second that I wasted. Come on. Come on. I tried again. Fuck. A two, not a four. I wiped my hand on my leg. Then my phone screen. This time, the numbers appeared as I brushed over the buttons. The phone purring against my ear as I pressed the button.

And it purred, and it purred, and it purred.

Then it clicked. The purr stopping, a whoosh of air and a sleepy voice.

“Heaton…” a hesitant woman started.

“I need a vet. The dog. Demon’s dog. It’s dying. Please hurry.”

“Demon’s dog? Never mind,” the woman was awake now. “Where are you? How far out?”

“I’m here at the doors.”

“At the practice?”

“Aye. Hurry. Please?”

“I’m on my way. What’s the problem?”

“I…I…she’s been shot,” I answered eventually. “There’s blood everywhere.”

“Ok. Listen carefully,” her voice had lowered. The sleep from it had cleared. “I’m going to be five minutes. But I need you to slow the bleeding. Get a cloth or a towel. Push it into the wound. You need to slow that bleeding to buy me some time.”

“I don’t have anything!” The tightness in my voice even surprised me. “I have nothing.”

“What are you wearing?”

“What? I don’t think…”

“A t-shirt? Or a jumper? Take it off and push it into the wound. Hold steady. I’m on my way.”

The phone disconnected. Silence descended around me like someone had dropped the sky on top of me, crushing, final.

Her words. The words of a stranger. Calm and confident. Commanding. I yanked my arms from the leather bike jacket, flinging it into the driver’s seat and pulling the white t-shirt over my head. The air assaulted my body. Icy tendrils stroking my skin, sending a shiver coursing through me. On the passenger seat, she whimpered. Light and pitiful. Demon’s first love.

I ran to her side, hearing that whimper again as I moved her to access the gunshot wound, pushing my t-shirt against it. She wriggled a little. Weak, unable to move from the extra pain, I thrust upon her, and my heart sank lower into my stomach.

Where was this vet? She said five minutes. It felt like twenty. And I was counting each fucking second in my head. Come on. Come on.

Footsteps in the darkness grew louder, hurried short steps moving towards me, the green blur of the clothes she wore becoming sharper. She moved straight to the door, fumbling with something, then pushing it open and turning around.

“You with the dog that’s been shot?” she asked, stepping towards me tentatively.

I didn’t blame her for her caution as I rose from my knees, half standing up, keeping my hands clamped to the wound in Kinobi’s abdomen.

“No. I just hang around half-naked, covered in blood in the middle of the night for fun. I thought you said five minutes?” I snapped, the dog wriggling again at the change in pressure.

The vet bit her lip and I wasn’t sure whether it was at being scolded by a half-naked, blood-soaked crazy guy or at the scene in front of her.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I relented.

“The dog. Can you bring it in?”

“Kinobi’s a she .” The vet bit her lip again, turning back towards the door she had left open.

“What about the pressure on this wound?” I asked, this time more gently. “What do I do?”

She stepped in closer, the white cotton sleeve under the green scrubs brushing my arm, peering into the van.

“Ok,” the command in her voice was back. “I’ll take over the pressure if you lift her.”

She looked at me, waiting for a sign that I understood. I nodded.

“On my count,” she continued, reaching into the car, her hand covering mine, fingers gently wriggling underneath, her palm pushing against the blood-soaked t-shirt. “Ok. I’ve got the wound. Take your hand away and get ready to lift her.”

Nodding, I shuffled back slightly to let her into the space a bit more as I reached around her, sliding my hands under the dog’s shoulders and pelvis. Kinobi whined. Quieter than before, barely audible.

“I know girl,” the vet’s voice softened, calm and gentle, and even I relaxed a little, the tiniest break in the earlier tension. “We’ve got you. You’re going to be ok. I need you to be brave for me.” She spoke to her like a toddler, and I felt the dog relax against my hands. Just a little, a little exhale of air, a little note of hope.

When she spoke to me next, the soothing was gone, the command in her tone returning. “Lift her up on three. But slowly, ok?”

“Got it,” I answered, taking a deep breath, worry filling my lungs.

“One, two, three.”

I locked my elbows, lifting slowly, Kinobi exhaling heavily as I raised her from the seat. Together we shuffled out of the van, pausing just so I could kick the door back into place, and then gliding towards the open door of the vet’s offices.

Inside, light flooded the white walls and squeaky lino floor, and the vet moved with me, stepping in unison, slow, long, urgent strides.

“Through there,” she lifted her chin and for a moment I caught the light blue of her eyes, as I followed her gaze to a door at the far end of the waiting area.

We backed into it, shrinking into the tight space the doorframe created, our bodies jostling together, her green scrubs rustling against my skin. Then, carefully, we continued.

“Far end of the corridor,” she instructed. “Back through the doors. They’ll open with a little push.”

I nodded, for a moment searching her face, looking for hope and confidence, and finding little other than freckles on young skin. Nothing that matched the control in her voice. She bit her lip, her teeth raking at one corner, the blue eyes gentle, but full of uncertainty, and it seemed to pass into me, deep into my core, dragging my heart further into the murky depths of my stomach. We were going to lose Kinobi. I could see it in her eyes. Yet we pushed through the doors at the back of the vet’s office, anyway, laying the dog gently onto the steel table that sat ominously in the middle of the room.