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“The what?” Caleb says.

“There’s a pack of stray dogs. Gone feral. Locals have been spotting them for weeks. We think they came from up north of here. There was a news story, last year, about an old recluse who died. He’d been a hoarder, and one thing he hoarded was dogs.” He looks at the woman. “You remember that?”

She grunts.

He continues, “He had them all in this kennel, but after he died, while the authorities were figuring out what to do with them, they got loose. It was a real mess. The dogs were going after livestock. Then they chased a girl on a bike. The township put out a bounty, but no one could catch them. They went quiet, and people figured they’d gone deep into the woods, hunting deer and rabbits. But then a few weeks ago, folks around here started spotting dogs in the woods.”

“That must be what happened to the old man,” Noemi says. “Those dogs pulled him out of his car. Oh God.”

“Shit, yeah,” the bartender says. “I never thought of that. They’d have smelled blood, and if he was old … They did try to grab a little boy up north. Would have dragged him away, too, if his mom hadn’t beaten them off.”

I look at Henry, only to find he’s looking at me. While a giant feral dog could have killed the old man, it doesn’t explain what we saw in the forest.

But does it do any good to say more?

No, because what they’re describing is a threat. A clear danger in the forest, and all we care about is that no one goes in there.

“Yeah,” Henry says, his voice low. “Yeah. That’s … it’s awful but…”

“Someone will do something now,” the bartender says. “No more of this pissing around with bounties. A man died. They’ll call in whoever they need to catch those dogs.”

“And that’s it?” Noemi says. “We’re just going to shake our heads and sit on our asses and call it a damned shame?”

“Nothing else we can do, miss,” Henry says. “With his leg gone, he’ll have bled out long ago.”

“He’s a paramedic,” I say, pointing at Henry.

“Not a doctor, though,” Caleb says. Then he shakes his head. “Sorry. I’m just…”

“On edge,” I say. “We all are.”

“But are we sure he’s dead?” Noemi says. “No offense, sir, but there’s a chance, right? The blood vessels could clot, and he’d be passed out from blood loss.”

“He’s gone.” To my surprise, it’s the woman at the bar, though she doesn’t turn.

“Yeah,” Caleb says, sitting and tugging Noemi onto his lap, his arms going around her. “The paramedic knows what he’s talking about, Mi. It’s too late.”

She pulls away and strides from his reach. “And who decides that?” She turns to us. “Give me that flashlight, and that metal pipe or whatever it is.”

“Whoa, whoa.” Caleb gets to his feet. “If I thought we could help him, I’d already be out there. You know I would.”

“Same,” I say. “We ran into the woods trying to find him, even after seeing the blood and paw prints. There’s no trace of him and no sign he’s alive. And, apparently, there’s a pack of dangerous canines.”

“I still think we need to try,” Noemi says.

The bartender shrugs. “Up to you.”

“No, it’s not up to her,” Caleb snaps. At Noemi’s glare, he says, “Okay, it is, obviously, but the rest of us are strongly against it. If you go, I’ll go, and I really don’t want to.”

She walks to the front door and opens it. “We can’t just sit and wait for morning.”

“Yes, we can,” Henry says. “I’m sorry. I know how hard this is—”

“Do you?” she snaps. “Do you really? There is a man out there, badly injured, and we’re ignoring that.”

“He’s gone.” Again that comes from the woman at the bar, and I’ve finally had enough.

I march over to her. “Do you have something to add?”