Folly Read Free

gray fur. He saw Alex, yapped hoarsely and shot away again, his black-tipped ears flapping.
    The signal was clear.
Follow me
. Hot and sweating, then cold enough to shiver, Alex broke into a shambling run, keeping her eyes on the path the dog had taken. She strained, listening for more sounds, either from the dog or perhaps another animal who had been with him.
    She tried not to think about stories of dogs howling when their owners were injured – or dead. But one of the visions she hated flitted, semi-transparent, before her. For one dreadful instant she saw that brightly lit corridor, felt the rush of whispering people … looked into an open grave. Such a small grave. And the wail she heard as a remembered echo was her own.
    Alex felt dampness on her cheeks and wiped it away. Silly, silly – how silly to get that image again. It used to be part of an aura she got before a panic attack but she was grateful she so rarely sank all the way into that dark place any more.
    Another single howl sounded, much closer this time.
    Mounds of shrouded debris made the going hard. Alex resorted to using her hands for balance, gripping anything she could find even though the icy stems slipped through her fingers. Her breath billowed in short, steamy bursts and her throat made raw noises. She couldn’t give in to panic.
    Steady, moaning yelps had replaced the dog’s howling, and when she finally saw him he sat, staring toward her, woolly ears pinned to the sides of his head.
    â€˜OK,’ she said, trying to soothe him. ‘It’s OK. Are you hurt? Poor boy. Good boy.’ As she got closer, she held a gloved hand toward the dog.
    â€˜That lumpy, cold stuff can’t feel good on your bottom,’ she said. He perched on a heap of snow with rocks and twigs sticking out. ‘Silly boy. Come on, I’ll find out where you belong.’
    He didn’t move except to twitch his ears a little away from his gray head. Soft brown eyes stared at her, implored her?
    Alex stopped walking – and talking.
    Raising his head, the little animal let out another howl.
    Red stained the snow behind him. A shocking, rusty scarlet she gradually realized was a huge patch. The more she glanced around and back, the more marking Alex could make out. And some pieces of what stuck through the snow were not rocks but tweed fabric.
    Scrambling, desperate, she scrabbled around, pushing snow out of the way, pulling at the material and hearing herself sob.
    Let it just be a discarded coat or something. Don’t let it be a person. She felt faint.
    Her right hand closed around something solid. Stiff and solid. A man’s bloodied right hand. The ring finger stuck out at a ghastly angle and must be dislocated or broken.
    She couldn’t stop to phone for help. Seconds might be all she had to help him. Lying face down, he was too heavy to move even a fraction. All she could do was brush at his face.
    Blood-tinged short, almost shaved, graying dark hair.
    â€˜Wake up,’ Alex said. ‘Please wake up. You’ll freeze to death if you stay here. Please wake up. Get up!’ She started to shake him by the shoulder but stopped, afraid she would hurt him even more.
    His thin, fine-boned face was partially visible, covered with patches of blood and mud and bits of debris. Blood even sealed his eyes shut, and she could see more dark red beneath him. Snow had covered some of the congealed blood – there was so much blood. Pulse. That was the first thing. Brown woolen material bunched around the man’s neck and she pulled it away at one side to reveal his throat.
    Rocking back on her knees, Alex barely registered that the dog was growling. A dart, like some of those kept at the pub for casual dart players, the yellow flight and brass barrel bloodied, leaned crazily from a hole and a jagged tear that must have punctured the carotid artery.
    She would never wake the man up.

TWO
    T hanks to the docs James and Tony