#14 What He Smelled Was Death
Frank limped through the forest. The sounds of pursuit faded, but they’d be back.
He sat down against a tree and tore off part of his shirt to stop the bleeding hole in his chest.
Crackling leaves froze his heart in his chest. But it was only a stray mutt.
“You scared me,” Frank said.
He dug with his hands while the mutt sat and watched with his head half-cocked. He buried the package. If he couldn’t have it, neither could they.
“You won’t tell them where, will you?” Frank asked the dog.
Then he crawled with the energy he had left. When he could crawl no more, he merely waited.
The mutt, who had been called Charlie before he had been abandoned, lay down next to the man. He smelled something he’d never smelled before, though he knew it was bad.
What he smelled was death.