Part 5
“Yes.”
Fenwick held Evan’s gaze for another moment, then nodded.
“First we get them examined. Permanent ownership will take another process. Today, we get them safe.”
“That works.”
The veterinary team arrived while investigators were still labeling documents. Evan gave the senior technician what he knew about Keel’s previous episodes and his old leg injury. He did not pretend to know what had happened in the months since the contractor’s tests.
The team checked Keel first, then worked down the row. Water bowls were refilled. The crowd was moved farther back, and the shouting that had filled the yard gave way to clipped instructions and the sound of leads being uncoiled.
Fenwick returned to the platform without touching the microphone.
“These dogs are removed from the auction. They’ll leave under supervised humane care.”
A cheer began near the gate and spread through the yard. Boone’s tail struck the side of his enclosure. Otis turned toward the noise, then back to Evan with an alertness Evan had not seen in him all afternoon.
The technicians asked for quiet, and the cheering subsided into scattered applause.
Evan stood in the clear lane while deputies brought the keys. Each door would open onto a secured lead, each dog would be checked before moving. There would be no rushing twelve frightened shepherds through a crowd.
Boone’s door opened first.
The big dog hesitated at the threshold, nose working, then stepped out and went directly to Evan. He pressed his head against Evan’s thigh and stayed there while the lead was transferred.
Evan rested a hand behind his ears.
“You can breathe now.”
Otis followed. He made a small turn around Boone, sniffed Evan’s boot, and leaned along his opposite leg. The two dogs stood so close that Evan had to widen his stance to keep his balance.
Keel came more slowly. The technician supported his hindquarters while Evan crouched to meet him. When the dog’s left leg faltered, Evan slid an arm beneath his chest until he found his footing.
“Easy does it. No hurry.”
Keel rested against him, tired but looking around. His mouth had relaxed. He accepted water from a bowl held near his nose.
The other doors opened one at a time. Deputies who had earlier stood with folded arms now bent over clips and buckles under the technicians’ supervision. Dogs came out stiffly, stretched, and gravitated toward the small group around Evan before their leads were passed to waiting helpers.
Someone in the crowd began crying quietly. The older woman who had sat by the trough wiped her cheeks and stood again.
Eleven doors were open when Evan turned toward Flint.
A young deputy was struggling with the last latch. He pulled upward, then sideways, making the metal chatter.
“It’s bent.”
“Stop yanking it,” Evan said, more sharply than he intended.
The deputy froze.
Evan took a breath. “Lift the door a little. The frame’s dropped.”
The young man did. The bolt slid free.
Flint’s door swung open.
He did not come out.
Evan handed Boone’s lead to a technician and approached slowly. Flint had backed into the far corner, his body angled away from the open space. His eyes stayed on Evan, but when the deputy shifted behind him, he drew his paws closer beneath his chest.
“Give us a minute,” Evan said.
The deputy moved away.
Evan crouched outside the opening. He did not reach for the collar.
“Flint. Come on, fellow.”
The shepherd’s ears flicked. He swallowed and glanced toward the gate.
Evan had seen that look at doorways after Daniel died. A person would leave, a vehicle would start, and Flint would brace himself before anybody touched his lead. At the rehabilitation clinic, he had once waited four hours facing the door through which the stretcher had disappeared.
Evan turned his hand palm up inside the kennel.
Flint crept close enough to touch it. His nose was damp and warm. He stayed low, belly near the tray, with his back feet still tucked in the corner.
“There’s no one taking me away,” Evan said.
Behind him, Keel gave a small whine. Flint looked toward the sound, then back at Evan’s hand.
Evan waited. Dust moved in the strip of light across the threshold. His thigh began to ache from crouching, but he kept still.
When Flint made no further move, Evan unfastened the bulky outer pouch at his hip so it would not catch on the frame. He turned sideways and folded himself through the door.
A murmur rose from the watching crowd.
He sat on the tray with one knee drawn up and the other leg partly outside. There was barely room, and his shoulder pressed into the wire. Flint came into him at once.
The dog pushed his head beneath Evan’s chin and shuddered against his chest. Evan put both arms around him, careful of the tender foreleg.
“All right,” he said into the fur. “We’ll do it your way.”
Flint’s breath warmed the front of his vest. For a while, that was the only sound Evan attended to.
“I gave Daniel my word. You and I leave together.”
The shepherd shifted. His paws unfolded beneath him. Evan moved his arm enough to let him stand, then waited until Flint had turned toward the doorway.
Getting out was awkward. Evan caught a trouser cuff on the frame and had to stop, ease it free, and try again. Flint stopped with him. When Evan finally stood on the gravel, the dog stood beside his knee.
Applause broke out before the technicians could ask for quiet. This time it was soft enough that Flint only glanced toward it.
Fenwick watched from the edge of the lane.
“I haven’t seen that before,” she said.
Evan bent to pick up the end of Flint’s lead.
“He’s had enough people disappear.”
Keel approached first, moving slowly under a technician’s loose hold. He touched his nose to Flint’s cheek, then stood beside him. Otis slipped his muzzle beneath Flint’s jaw. Boone pressed his forehead to the shoulder with the old scar.
The four dogs paused together.
Evan went still. He had watched each of them recover separately, watched each learn a different routine, but the small adjustments they made now were familiar from the old training ground. Boone allowed room for Keel’s injured side. Otis settled close without crowding. Flint stopped looking toward the gate.
Fenwick came nearer.
“These four were Mercer’s unit?”
Evan nodded.
“Flint was his partner. The others worked with us. All four were at the warehouse.”
Keel lowered himself beside Flint, his head briefly resting against the other dog’s back. Otis lay close enough for their paws to overlap. Boone remained standing until Evan put a hand on his shoulder; then he sat.
“They haven’t had this since that night,” Evan said. “After the treatment, they went to separate assignments.”
A woman behind the barrier whispered something about them remembering. Evan did not turn.
At Daniel’s name, Flint lifted his head. A strained sound came from his throat, and Evan knelt beside him.
“Yes,” he said softly. “Me, too.”
Boone nudged Flint’s shoulder. Otis stretched one forepaw across Flint’s. Keel shifted closer with a tired huff.
Flint nosed the opening at Evan’s collar.
The movement drew the chain against his skin. Evan reached beneath his shirt and brought out the small metal badge he had worn for three years.
It was Daniel’s old canine-unit badge, scratched across one edge and polished smooth where Evan’s thumb had worried it. Flint touched it with his nose. Then he rested his forehead against Evan’s hand, which held the metal between them.
Fenwick stepped back without speaking.
Evan remembered Daniel setting the badge on the hood before their final shift. The department had issued a newer one, but Daniel had kept this little piece because it had been with him through his first years in the unit.
“If I don’t get back one night,” he had said, “hang on to this. You’ll know who ought to have it.”
Evan had told him to quit talking that way. Then he had put it in his pocket.
Now Flint stood with his eyes fixed on Evan’s hand.
Evan unclasped the chain. He threaded the badge’s small fastening through the ring on Flint’s leather collar, checked that it would lie safely against the strap, and closed it.
“Wear it for both of us…”
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