Monday, March 5, 2012

Chapter Sixty-five

Funter Bay, Alaska

Deb sat with Tonka’s head in her lap and Moira against her side.  Neither dog nor child wanted to be more than an inch away from her since the shooting.
Poor dog.
One of his cropped ears had been nicked by a bullet from Rogers' gun.  “It makes you look brave old boy,” Deborah said aloud. Her clothes were spotted with his blood.
Tonka’s tail whumped slowly with the praise.  Moira’s mouth fell as she nodded in her sleep in seeming agreement.
Peering out the window, Deb watched the sun’s slow rise.
They should be here soon.
After that horrible night, Deb had walked the length of the bay to Bob’s neighbor.  She had carried Moira the entire way while Tonka walked by her side, leash in his mouth.
The neighbor, though surprised to see them at that time of night, had welcomed them in, put on a pot of coffee and listened to every word as Deb recounted the details between sobs.  The neighbor, a tall, slim woman with white hair, nodded, added more wood to the stove and finally spoke.  “Never trusted anyone in the guv’mint.  You use my phone when you feel up to it.”
With that the neighbor lady had shrugged and gone back upstairs to bed.
Deb had finished her cup of coffee, then settled Moira and Tonka together so she could get up.  It was hard to bring herself to do what she had to do. She held the handset of the corded wall phone with her thumb on the receiver, summoning her nerve.  She had sighed , then dialed.  “Yes, Officer, I want to report a break-in and shooting.”
Now she sat in Bob’s kitchen, Tonka and Moira astride, waiting to see what their fate would be.  The distant sound of a helicopter vibrated the air.

No comments:

Post a Comment