“Bullet!” Rue calls out happily, kicking off her sneakers. “Buddy, you won't believe it?—”
She stops dead in the hallway. Her hand slips from mine, dropping limply to her side.
“Bullet?” she says again, her voice instantly losing its joyous edge, replaced by a tight, confused pitch.
I step around her, my eyes sweeping the dim living room.
The old beagle is lying on the faded rug near the sofa, but he isn’t sleeping. His body is completely rigid. His back legs are sprawled out awkwardly, and his chest is heaving in shallow, rapid spasms that sound like a wet, rattling wheeze.
“N-Noah,” Rue chokes out, the panic instantly swallowing the room.
I don’t answer. I drop to my knees beside the dog, my survival instincts immediately shifting from the high of the barn to a cold, clinical dread.
I place two fingers lightly against Bullet’s chest. His heart is racing at a terrifying, erratic speed, fluttering violently beneath his ribs before suddenly skipping beats. I pull his jowls back. His gums are a pale, sickly blue.
“What's wrong with him?” Rue drops to her knees beside me, her hands hovering uselessly over the dog’s body, terrified to touch him. “Noah, what's happening?”
“Rue,” I say softly, the single syllable tasting like ash in my mouth.
I look up at her. The beautiful, hopeful smile she wore just three minutes ago is entirely gone, replaced by a stark, shattering terror.
“No,” she gasps, shaking her head frantically. “No, he was fine. He ate his food today. He was fine!” Her voice breaks.
“His heart is failing,” I say it as monotone as possible, trying to anchor her in the chaos. “He’s old, baby. His body can’t go on anymore.”
“Do something!” she screams, tears spilling over her lashes. She grabs my shirt and shakes me. “You fixed the bike! Fix him! Do CPR, Noah, please!”
“I can't,” I whisper, grabbing her wrists and pulling her against my chest. “I can't fix this, Rue. Just sit with him. Hold him, honey.”
Bullet lets out a low, agonizing whine, his head lifting a fraction of an inch off the rug.
“Bullet,” Rue sobs, tearing herself out of my grip.
She pulls the dog into her lap, cradling his head against her chest, burying her face in his soft, floppy ears. She rocks him back and forth, her tears soaking into his fur. “Please don’t go. Please.”
I sit back on my heels, entirely helpless. I’ve fought fucking marshals, I’ve survived a gunshot, I’ve navigated maximum security prisons, but I can do nothing to stop the universe from taking the only thing this girl has ever had that loved her unconditionally.
I choke back my own emotion, wrapping my arm around Rue, as her cries start to rack her entire body.
“No,” she sobs. “No, no, no.”
Bullet’s wheezing slows. His erratic heartbeat stutters against Rue's arm, the frantic rhythm fading into a weak, spaced-out thud.
I hold her tighter, already knowing what’s coming.
The little beagle lets out one final, long exhale, his body going entirely slack in her arms. I squeeze my eyes shut, leaning my head against Rue’s.
And the silence that follows is the heaviest, most brutal sound I have ever heard.
Rue doesn’t scream out in agony. She just lowers her head over the dog’s lifeless body and breaks into a quiet, jagged weeping that physically tears at my insides.
I can’t find the right words. I just move behind her, wrapping my arms around her shaking shoulders, pulling her back against my chest while she holds Bullet’s lifeless body.
Whatever victory I felt is eclipsed by unshakable grief.
42
RUE
