A strange sound caught Preacher’s attention. He didn’t know what it was at first. A whimper, maybe? It could’ve just been a squeaky fan, but it was coming from the end of the hall. He jerked his head in that direction, and Cy gave a nod.
Preacher kept his gun drawn and pointed straight ahead as the whimper became two voices. A child was crying, and a man was yelling, but the words were muffled. Preacher gently tried the door knob. Locked. The child inside was frantic, and the man’s words were much clearer. “You called the cops, you little bitch? I should fucking shoot you in the head for ratting out your family. Maybe I’ll just take this instead.”
The child’s response was a wail of dismay. “No! Please, Nash. I’m sorry.”
There was a strange high-pitched sound, but Preacher didn’t need to hear anything else. He kicked the door in, the cheap wooden frame splintering into a million pieces. On the other side was a small boy cowering in the corner and a large bearded man holding a Pit Bull puppy by the scruff. Despite the gun Preacher was holding, the man sneered at him. “Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m the guy who’s gonna empty this clip in your skull if you don’t very gently give that puppy back to the boy.”
The man looked to be no more than mid-thirties at most, but he had a meanness in his eyes that gave Preacher pause. He knew the look of somebody who was comfortable with dying. It was the same look lifers got once they’d done enough time.
“Don’t get antsy. Just put the dog down and we can all play nice.”
The man dropped the puppy just as he swung on Preacher. He managed to dodge the wild punch but not without stumbling. The man was bolting out the open door and into the woods before Preacher could even raise his weapon again. The boy snatched the gray and white puppy up, clutching it to his chest.
The puppy appeared to be fine, but Preacher couldn’t say the same about the boy. He had a bloody nose and a black eye. He was filthy and malnourished, a steel ring locked around his tiny ankle. “Jesus,” he muttered under his breath.
There were three more puppies in a cage on the other side of the room and no other furniture, just a bucket in the corner and the open door the man had taken off through. Shit. What the fuck had he walked into?
He dropped his weapon to his side and crouched down to the boy’s level. “Hi, what’s your name?”
“Knox.”
“Hi, Knox. I’m Preacher. What’s his name?” he asked, pointing to the puppy wiggling against the boy’s dirty green t-shirt.
The boy gave him a guarded look, clutching the puppy close. “This is Donatello. That’s Rafael, Michelangelo, and Leonardo.”
A spark of recognition lit in Preacher’s brain. “After the ninja turtles. Nice.”
The boy seemed to relax after that, as if Preacher had passed some test. There was more shouting from the main room, and then Cy was standing in what used to be the doorway. Knox’s eyes went wide as saucers at Cy’s presence. He was still intimidating even in street clothes, especially with his mohawk and the skull and crossbones tattoo below his eye. Cy looked just as shocked to see the young boy. “Everything okay here?”
“I think we’re going to need a medic and a hacksaw if we have one handy?”
Cy followed the length of chain to where a metal loop was bolted into the wall. He walked to it and gripped it tight, seeming to test it, before wiggling it once or twice and then yanking hard, sending drywall raining down on the boy as the ring came free in Cy’s hand. He looked to Preacher. “Take him outside. Have Pam look him over. I’m sure they have something in the truck to get that off.”
Preacher scooped up the boy and the puppy.
“Don’t hurt them!” Knox cried over Preacher’s shoulder. “They didn’t do nothing.”
“Nobody’s going to hurt them. They’re going to get them help. Just like we’re going to get you some help, okay?” Preacher promised.
“I don’t need help. I’m fine,” the boy said, even though Preacher could still see the tracks of the boy’s tears in the dirt on his cheeks.
Pam stood by the truck as Animal Rescue worked to tranquilize the animals in an attempt to get them in the cages. Her eyes widened as she saw the boy and his puppy, but she plastered a big smile on her face almost immediately. “Who have we got here?”
“This is Knox and his puppy, Donatello,” Preacher said, setting the two down on the tailgate. “Knox, my friend, Pam, is a nurse. Would it be okay if I held Donatello while she just takes a look at you?”
Knox eyed Pam warily but handed over the squirming puppy.
“How old are you, Knox?” she asked as she looked at the boy’s bloody nose and then his teeth.
“Almost twelve.”
She nodded. “Oh, wow. That puts you in…what? Fifth grade?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t go to school.”
She gave Preacher a startled look. “Oh, no? How come?”
