That blasted pooch again! the duty sergeant, Paul Whitaker, snaps the receiver, and the ancient telephone emits a sharp clatter. Inspector Emily Clarke, weve got another call about a dog in the woods. Third one this morning, mind you!
What dog? Major Katherine Hale looks up from her paperwork, eyes narrowed at her colleague.
Its the third report today. Folks say a stray dog roams the edge of the forest, barking like a mad thing. It grabs peoples coats, whines, and drives everyone round the bend!
Emily furrows her brow. After fifteen years on the force she trusts her gut, and something tells her this isnt a simple nuisance.
Sam, lets have a look, she calls to the young constable at her side.
Come off it, Emily! Its just a dogmaybe rabid, maybe just spooking people, he shrugs.
Or maybe it isnt that simple.
She remembers the case from two decades ago, when her younger brother Tom vanished on his way home from school. The whole department, with K9 units and volunteers, searched for three days, only to find him too late.
Get ready, she says firmly. Well see whats going on.
Twenty minutes later their battered police Ford, its wheels kicking up dust on the broken track, grinds to a halt at the forests rim. The place sends a chill down the spine: ancient oaks with twisted, knotted trunks reach their limbs toward the sky like gnarled fingers. Fallen logs litter the ground, blackened with rot, and the underbrush hides shadows even in bright daylight. Local mushroompickers, who usually venture deep into the woods, steer clear of this patch.
Wheres this dog? Sam asks, scanning the area skeptically.
From behind a clump of trees a bark rings out. A large, muddy, shaggy dogclearly once a house petbursts onto the clearing. It freezes at the sight of them, then darts forward, tail wagging frantically.
Easy, easy, lad, Emily crouches, voice gentle. Whats the trouble?
The dog whines, clamps its teeth onto the cuff of her jacket, and tugs toward the thicket.
Emily, you dont
Im going, she says, stepping forward with resolve. He wants to show us something.
Understanding that theyve read his intention, the dog barks happily and darts ahead, never straying far from their heels.
They trudge for about twenty minutes. The forest thickens, mud sucking at their boots. Sam stumbles over roots a couple of times, curses under his breath, but keeps up.
Suddenly the dog halts and growls.
What now? Emily asks, frozen.
Ahead, among the trees, a structure loomsan old, mosscovered shed, barely visible until theyre a few steps away.
Hold right here, Emily orders, moving forward cautiously. The dog stays glued to her side.
She spots a massive padlock on the sheds door, then hears a faint knocking from within.
Sam! Get backup, now! she shouts.
Together they kick the rusted hinges open. A stale, damp smell assaults them as they peer into the darkness. When their eyes adjust, Emily exhales sharply.
In the far corner, on a crushed mattress covered in filthy rags, a teenage boy sits. Hes gaunt, cheeks sunken, eyes hollow, smeared with grime. Rough rope chafes his wrists, leaving raw, bleeding skin. He blinks at the sudden light, his gaze a mixture of animal fear and a flicker of hope. A hoarse cough rumbles from his dry throat.
Whats your name? Emily asks, pulling a knife to cut the cords.
Art Art, the boy croaks.
Art ArtSullivan? Emily blinks, recognizing him. The same lad who vanished three days ago.
He nods weakly.
Three days earlier the station had received a missingperson report for a fifteenyearold boy. His single mother, working two jobs, hadnt heard from him since school.
Sam, call for medics and reinforcements! Emily commands, helping Art to his feet. Hang on, lad. Youll be alright.
The dog, which had watched silently until now, suddenly stiffens, hair rising on its neck, a low growl escaping its throat. A crack of branches follows as someone darts through the underbrush.
Get down! Emily yells, drawing her service pistol.
The dog bolts, and they hear a scream, a crashing body, then a string of curses.
When Emily and Sam push through the thicket, the scene that greets them is chilling: a burly man in a black leather jacketone youd avoid on the streetlies facedown in a pile of last years leaves. A large dog sits on his back, its fur bristling, a guttural snarl erupting from its throat that makes even seasoned officer Hale shiver. In that instant the strays wild side awakensa protector, a hunter.
Stay calm, Jack, Emily mutters, naming the first thing that comes to mind. Weve got this.
Miraculously, the dog obeys, stepping back but never taking its eyes off the attacker.
The aftermath blurs like fog. An armed response team, ambulances, and detectives flood the site. Victor Harper, the kidnapper, confesses on the spot. Hes a professional abductor, preying on children and demanding ransomthough its unclear what he expected from a single mother on a meagre income.
A week later Emily sits in her modest kitchen, its walls papered with faded yellow wallpaper, sipping lukewarm tea from her chipped mug while scrolling through the news on her phone.
The front page of the local Gazette reads in bold type: Heroic Dog Helps Solve Kidnapper Case! Below is a photograph of Jack, now clean and wellgroomed, his eyes still sharp and attentive.
So, hero, Emily muses, scratching behind Jacks floppy ear as he lies on the sofa. Hows the new life treating you?
Jack licks her hand and rests his head on her knee.
They say coincidences never happen. Perhaps this meeting was meant for both of thema lone officer who couldnt save her brother fifteen years ago, and a wandering dog who now saves another boy.
You know, Emily says, stroking his warm, shaggy head, miracles do happen.
Jack lets out a contented sigh. Hes known that truth for a long time.
