Bloody dog again! Officer Paul Richardson snapped the handset down, and the old rotary phone let out a mournful clatter. Sergeant Anna Smith, weve got another call about a dog in the woods. Third one this morning, mind you!
What dog? Sergeant Kate Croft looked up from her paperwork, eyebrows raised.
Its the third report today. They say a stray hound is prowling the edge of the forest, barking like mad. It grabs peoples coats, whines, and drives everyone round the bend.
Anna frowned. After fifteen years on the beat she trusted her gut, and it was telling her something wasnt right.
Serge, she called to her young partner, lets have a look.
Come off it, Sergeant! he shrugged. Its just a dogmaybe rabid, maybe just noisy.
Or maybe its more than that.
She remembered a case from twenty years ago, when her younger brother Charlie vanished on his way home from school. The whole station, K9 units and volunteers, searched for three days before they found himtoo late.
Gear up, she said firmly. Well see whats going on.
Twenty minutes later their battered Ford Transit sputtered to a halt at the forests edge, kicking up a cloud of grit on the broken track. The place was unnerving: ancient oaks with twisted, knotted trunks stretched their limbs skyward like gnarled fingers.
Dead wood lay thick on the ground, and even in bright noon the brambles cast deep shadows. Locals steered clear of this patchhardy mushroom pickers who usually ventured into the most remote woods wouldnt set foot here.
Wheres this dog of yours? Serge asked, scanning the area skeptically.
From behind a thicket a bark echoed, and a large, mudcaked, shaggy hound burst onto the clearing. It looked once domestic. Upon seeing the officers it froze, then lunged forward, tail wagging wildly.
Easy, easy, lad, Anna crouched down. Whats the trouble?
The dog whined, clamped its teeth on her jacket sleeve, and tugged toward the trees.
Anna, youre not going to
I am, she said, stepping forward. He wants to show us something.
Understanding that theyd got his drift, the dog barked happily and trotted ahead, never straying far from their heels.
They walked for about twenty minutes. The forest grew denser, the ground squelched under their boots. Serge stumbled over roots a couple of times, muttering curses, but kept up.
Suddenly the hound halted and growled.
What now? Anna froze.
Ahead, among the trees, a structure loomeda ramshackle shed, overgrown with moss and grass, almost invisible unless you were right beside it.
Stay here, Anna ordered, edging forward cautiously. The dog stayed glued to her side.
She approached the sheds massive iron door and heard a faint knock from inside.
Serge! Get a stretcher and an ambulance, quick! she shouted.
The hinges were rusted through, so they forced the door open. A stale, musty smell hit them, and as their eyes adjusted to the gloom
Lord, Anna whispered.
In a corner, on a sagging mattress covered with filthy rags, sat a teenage boy. He was gaunt, cheeks sunken, eyes hollow, his skin smeared with dirt. Rough rope choked his wrists, the fibers cut into his flesh. He blinked rapidly at the sudden light, a mix of animal terror and a flicker of hope in his gaze. He tried to speak, but only a hoarse cough escaped.
Who are you? Anna snapped, pulling a pocketknife to cut the rope.
Art Art, he croaked.
Art Art S Sutherland? she asked, a chill running down her spine. The same lad reported missing three days ago
The boy gave a weak nod.
Three days earlier the station had received a report of a missing fifteenyearold. His mother, a single parent working double shifts, had been frantic when he didnt return from school.
Serge, call the unit and the ambulance! Anna ordered, helping Art to his feet. Hang on, lad. Well get you out.
The dog, which had been silent until then, suddenly bristled, a low growl rumbling from its throat.
A sharp crack of breaking branches sounded as someone fled through the underbrush.
Get down! Anna yelled, pulling her sidearm.
The dog bolted. They heard a scream, a thud, and then a fierce curse. When Anna and Serge finally reached the source, a hulking figure in a black leather jacket lay sprawled among last years leaves, face down. The massive dog sat on his back, fur standing on end, a guttural snarl spilling from its throat that sent even seasoned Sergeant Crofts hair standing on end. In that instant the stray turned into a guardiana wolf in the heart of a mutt.
Hold on, Jack, Anna whispered, naming the dog instinctively. Weve got you.
The dog, as if understanding, eased back but never lost sight of the attacker.
Soon the scene was a blur of ambulances, forensic techs, and police detectives. The man, identified as Victor Turner, confessed on the spot. He was a career kidnapper, specialising in abductions for ransom, though it was never clear what he hoped to gain from a single mother working two jobs.
A week later Anna was in her modest kitchen, the walls papered with faded floral wallpaper, sipping lukewarm tea from her chipped mug while scrolling through the local news on her phone.
The front page of the county newspaper shouted in bold type: Heroic Dog Helps Crack Kidnapper! Below, a photograph showed Jack, no longer matted and filthy, but still alert and dignified.
Alright, hero, Anna scratched behind Jacks ears as he lay on the sofa. Hows the new life treating you?
Jack lapped at her hand and rested his head on her knee.
They say coincidences dont exist. Perhaps this meeting was meant for both of theman officer who, fifteen years ago, couldnt save her brother, and a stray dog who helped save a boy.
Sometimes miracles happen, Anna murmured, rubbing the warm, shaggy head.
Jack gave a contented sigh. Hed known the truth long before anyone else.
The lesson lingered: even the most unlikely companions can become the bridge between darkness and hope, if were willing to listen.
