small and shaky.
“And I’ll… be doing what I did at the last base?”
Monroe nodded. “Exactly. Sergeant Rhames will be taking his men on an indefinite campaign into California. You’ll infiltrate a town, preparing it for Rhames and his men. They’ll lead the assault, bringing whoever they can to the Path before moving on. You’ve seen it done, so you know how it works. You leave in three days.” Monroe stuck his hand out across the desk. “Congratulations. It’s an incredible honor.”
“But James,” I said. “He’ll still be made a citizen.”
Monroe dropped his hand. “Callum…”
“You said—”
“I prayed hard on this, son. Believe me. Your brother is a fine valet. Best I ever had. But as much as I may want to, I cannot grant citizenship to someone with his… difficulties.”
“But you gave him the medicine. If he takes it—”
“Giving him that medicine was a sentimental weakness on my part. I shouldn’t have done it and I apologize.”
“But, sir—”
“Each man walks his own Path, Cal. You got where you belong and your brother will do the same in time. You have to trust in that.”
A helicopter flew by, toward Cormorant, kicking a cloud of dust into the empty lot and snapping me back to the present.
The pin lay in my hand like a bit of molten gold. My arm ached to hurl it into the dunes, but I knew I couldn’t. I needed to fix it to my collar and present myself to my new commander. To Rhames. I closed the metal in my fist and got up to go.
That’s when I saw him.
The dog was standing on a nearby dune, watching me intently, his short legs tensed, ready to flee. He looked like a Doberman but at about a quarter of the size. He was deep black with blazes of copper on his legs, chest, and muzzle. Rust-colored pips sat above each eye, giving him expressive little eyebrows. His tail had been docked into a stub, and he had enormous ears that stood straight up.
The dogcatcher was inches from my fingers. He flinched as I went for it but didn’t run. He leaned forward instead, curious, tongue out and panting. I imagined him back in Quarles’s cage, cowering amid monsters twice his size, and pulled my hand back from the dogcatcher.
“Go on,” I called. “Get out of here!”
When he didn’t move, I kicked a cloud of dirt at him. He held his ground, so I grabbed a small rock, sure a glancing blow to his side would send him running. I lifted the stone, ready to throw, but my arm went weak.
The dog crept down his hill and then up mine. His muscles were taut, ready to flee if I made another wrong move. When he reached the top of the hill, his eyes darted over me, sharp and alert, the color of amber.
“Go on,” I said again but softer this time.
Close up, I could see his ribs standing out as bold as a range of sand dunes. His short fur was filthy, matted with dried mud. I held out my hand tentatively and he sniffed at it. His nose, cool and wet, prickled the hair on my arms. He licked a patch of sweat off my forearm and then came closer. There was a barely healed wound on his side.
“You in a fight?”
He dipped his snout into my face and there was a metallic clink under his chin. I found his narrow pink collar and turned it around. There was a silver tag with two mostly scratched-off phone numbers on one side and a single word on the other.
“Why would anyone name a dog Bear?”
I turned back to the grocery store, thought for a minute, and then started toward the entrance. The grocery store was abandoned but not completely empty. I walked up and down the aisles, Bear’s claws clicking on the cracked linoleum behind me.
“Sorry,” I said, standing in front of the cleaned-out pet section. “No Alpo left.”
I spied a couple dusty water bottles left in a far corner. I took them along with the spare-change dish from the front counter, then went back outside. The second I got the dish full of water, Bear was on it, lapping hungrily and panting between gulps.
“Yeah, you’re thirsty, all right.”
While he drank I ran one hand along his side until it came to the gash. Something with claws had gone after him. I cracked open another bottle of water and knelt beside him. Bear growled when I poured water over the cut.
“Take it easy.”
Bear’s copper brows scrunched together as he eyed me, but soon enough he returned to his water, and I returned to the wound. I trickled water down his side, then swept along after it with an open palm as gently as I could, wiping away dirt and crusted blood. Long and shallow, it didn’t look quite as bad as I had feared. After refilling his water dish, I moved farther along his flank, washing off the dried mud.
Once I was done and Bear drank his fill, he turned and stepped up into my lap.
“Hey. Wait. You—”
He ignored me, spinning a few times before dropping down and laying his snout across my knee. He yawned and then the thump of his heartbeat slowed against the side of my leg. I leaned over him. His fur smelled warm and haylike. My palm fell on his side and I petted him with long, even strokes.
“Mom said when me and James got back from Phoenix, we’d go to the shelter and pick out a dog. But then we never came back.”
Bear huffed and squirmed. I looked over him at the emptiness that stretched north and east. Somewhere on the other side of all that was home.
For years I had pushed thoughts of it, along with thoughts of Mom and Dad, out of my head as fast as they came. I was afraid they would sweep me away, back to the terrified kid I was six years ago. But sitting there with my hand on Bear’s side, I felt anchored in place and I let the memories draw near. When I did, I realized how indistinct they had become, like photographs faded in the sun. Had Mom’s hair been fully blond or was there brown in it too? Who was taller, Mom or Dad? What exactly was the tattoo on Dad’s right arm, and what kind of guitar was it that he would play for us every night after dinner?
I wondered if I’d reach the day when the memories of them would fade entirely and I’d be left with just my years in the Path camp. What would it be like to look backward and see nothing but stretches of desert and the stubbly, bloated face of Benjamin Quarles? How would it be to trade the sound of Mom singing Joni Mitchell songs to the strumming of Dad’s guitar for the chop of helicopter rotors and the bay of starving dogs?
How much longer would it be before I lost them forever?
There was a rush of wind as a beat-up supply truck appeared on the highway, kicking up a trail of dust as it headed into Cormorant. Bear lifted his head.
“Well done,” I said. “You really scared them off.”
Bear jumped up and headed toward the parking lot. He rooted about in the debris by the gas station until he discovered a length of black rubber. He brought it over and dropped it between us.
“I don’t want to play,” I said.
Bear wouldn’t take no for an answer. He edged the stick of rubber toward me with his nose and barked until I tossed it away halfheartedly. Bear exploded across the parking lot and dove on top of it, tumbling over onto his side and then trapping it under his paws like a fleeing squirrel. Once it had been subdued, he took it in his jaws and proudly dropped it at my feet.
I laughed and snatched it up again. Bear leapt up onto his hind legs and danced in anticipation, his forepaws clawing at the air.
