Oi, that dog again! grumbled Sergeant Paul Irving as he slammed the receiver, the ancient handset clattering like a tin can on a rainy street. Inspector Emily Bennett, weve got another call about a pooch in the woods. Third one this morning, mind you!
What dog? asked Inspector Kerr, looking up from a stack of paperwork, eyebrows raised.
Its the third time theyve rung us. Supposedly a stray rambling around the edge of the forest, barking like a madman, latching onto peoples sleeves, whining. Its driving everyone round the bend!
Emily frowned. Fifteen years on the force had taught her to trust her gut, and right now her gut was shouting, Somethings off.
Simon, she called to her young partner, lets have a look, shall we?
Dont be daft, Emily, he replied, waving his hand. Its just a dog. Maybe rabid, maybe just a big nuisance.
Or maybe its not just a nuisance.
She recalled a case from two decades ago when her younger brother, Kurt, disappeared on his way home from school. The whole department, K9 units, volunteers they searched for three days, only to find him far too late.
Get the car, she said firmly. Were going in.
Twenty minutes later their battered patrol van, a battered old Vauxhall, coughed to a halt at the woodlands edge, kicking up a cloud of dust on the cracked track. The scene was straight out of a nightmare: gnarled trees with twisted trunks clawed at the sky, their branches like the crooked fingers of some ancient giant.
Dead wood littered the floor, and even in the bright midday, shadows lurked in the thorny brambles. Locals steered clear of this patch even the most daring mushroom pickers, who usually ventured deep into the hedgerows, gave it a wide berth.
So wheres this dog? Simon asked skeptically, scanning the undergrowth.
From somewhere behind a thicket came a low, mournful howl. Then, as if on cue, a large, shaggy dog burst onto a clearing. He was dirty, matted, but clearly once a household pet. He froze when he saw the pair, then lunged forward, tail wagging like a frantic metronome.
Easy, easy, lad, Emily said, dropping to her knees. Whats the problem?
The dog yelped, clamped his teeth on her coat sleeve and tugged toward the trees.
Emily Bennett, youre not going to
I am, she said, stepping forward with resolve. He clearly wants to show us something.
Understanding that theyd got the hint, the dog barked cheerily and bolted ahead, albeit cautiously, glancing back now and then to make sure they were still following.
They trudged for about twenty minutes. The woods grew denser, the ground turning to squelchy mud. Simon stumbled over roots a couple of times, muttering curses, but never fell behind.
Suddenly the dog halted and let out a low growl.
What now? Emily froze.
Ahead, nestled among the trees, a structure resembling an old, mosscovered shed loomed. It was so overgrown it could have been missed entirely if youd walked past it a few paces away.
Hold here, Emily ordered, edging forward with the dog never straying more than a foot from her heels.
She saw a massive, rusted padlock on the door, and then heard a faint, rhythmic thump from within.
Simon! Quick, over here! she shouted.
Together they pried the door open the hinges were rusted through. A stale, musty air slapped them in the face. When Emilys eyes adjusted to the gloom, she let out a soft curse.
In the far corner of the shed, on a sagging mattress draped with grimy rags, sat a teenage boy. He was gaunt, cheeks hollow, eyes sunken, his whole body caked in grime. Rough rope had chafed his wrists raw, drawing blood. He squinted at the sudden light, blinking as if his eyes couldnt quite believe what they were seeing. A wild, animalistic fear flickered in his gaze, tinged with a spark of hope. He tried to speak, but only a hoarse cough escaped his dry throat.
Who are you? Emily snapped, pulling a pocketknife to cut the ropes.
Art Art he croaked, barely audible.
Art Art? Emily repeated, bewildered. Art S? Art Sokolov? The lad who vanished three days ago?
He gave a weak nod.
Three days earlier, a report of a missing fifteenyearold had landed on the precinct. His mother, a single parent working two jobs, had been frantic after he failed to return home from school.
Simon, call in backup and an ambulance! Emily ordered, helping the boy to his feet. And you, lad, hang on. Well get you out of here.
The dog, whod been silently observing the whole time, suddenly tensed. His fur rose along his spine and a low snarl rumbled from his throat.
Then a snap of branches echoed someone was bolting through the underbrush.
Get down! Emily shouted at the boy, drawing her service pistol.
But the dog was already off his haunches. A scream, the crash of a body hitting the ground, and a string of curses followed.
When Emily and Simon, stumbling over roots and pushing through brambles, finally reached the source of the chaos, the sight that met them was straight out of a film noir. A burly man in a black leather jacket the sort of bloke youd rather avoid in a back alley lay facedown in a heap of last years leaves. The dog was perched on his back, fur standing on end, a guttural growl emanating from its throat that made even the hardened Detective Kerrs skin crawl. In that moment the stray turned into a snarling guardian protector and hunter rolled into one.
Calm down, Jack, Emily said, the name popping into her head like a reflex. Weve got this.
Miraculously, the dog obeyed, stepping back but never taking his eyes off the man.
The rest of the scene dissolved into a haze of sirens, flashing lights, and forensic technicians. The perpetrator, a certain Victor Samuels, confessed on the spot. Turns out he was a professional kidnapper, hunting for ransom. The only mystery left was what kind of ransom he expected from a single mother working two jobs.
A week later, Emily was perched in her modest kitchen, its walls papered with faded, buttery yellow wallpaper, sipping lukewarm tea from her beloved chipped mug while scrolling through the news on her phone.
The front page of the local Gazette blared in bold letters: Heroic Dog Helps Cracker Closed! Beneath it was a glossy photograph of Jack, now cleaned up, his coat still a little ruffled but his eyes sharp and earnest.
Well then, hero, she mused, scratching behind Jacks ear as he lounged on the sofa. How do you fancy the new gig?
Jack licked her hand and rested his head on her knee.
They say coincidences dont exist. And perhaps this odd encounter was written in the stars for both of them the lone officer who, fifteen years ago, couldnt save her brother, and the wandering dog who ended up saving another boy.
You know, Emily said, stroking the warm, shaggy head, sometimes miracles just wander in on four legs.
Jack gave a contented sigh. Hed known that for a long time.
