What the Mastiff Was Hiding

Mark’s black SUV sat across the alley’s narrow opening like a steel gate. Past its dark body, afternoon glare spilled over 4th Street, and sirens wailed somewhere beyond the clinic. Officer Davis’s backup was nearly here—perhaps one block away—but the officers had no idea we were trapped behind the building.

The sound grew louder, then faded against the brick. Help was coming, but it was coming to the wrong side of the clinic. If we stayed where we were, the police would arrive just in time to find Mark had finished us.

Dr. Aris stood beside me, gripping Brutus’s torn nylon collar with both hands. Dust streaked her scrubs, and her fingers shook so badly that the fabric trembled between them.

Brutus could barely remain upright. The 305-pound Mastiff’s hind legs quivered beneath him, weakened by the venom still spreading through his body.

Dr. Aris looked from the dog to Mark. “He won’t outrun him,” she breathed. “Brutus is too sick. He can’t move fast enough.”

I watched Mark advance with the tire iron hanging at his side. The alley walls gave us nowhere to turn, while the SUV blocked the only route to the street.

She was right. Brutus had become a wounded target, and Mark knew it. The man only needed a few more steps before that metal bar could reach him.

Then I noticed the SUV’s open rear door. A blue tarp covered the compartment, beside the shovel and Maya’s abandoned pink backpack. The engine continued to idle, sending a thin veil of exhaust behind the vehicle.

An idea formed, desperate but possible. If Dr. Aris could get Brutus into the rear compartment, we might take the SUV and break through the alley mouth. I would have to pull Mark’s attention away from them.

“When I give you the word, move him,” I told her. “Take Brutus straight to the back door. Get him inside and don’t stop.”

Her face tightened. “And Mark?”

“I’ll keep him busy.” My pipe wrench was still trapped beneath the ruined clinic door, leaving me empty-handed. I had nothing but the alley, a running vehicle, and a few seconds to make them useful.

Mark reached the middle of the passage. Sunlight caught his face and showed the frantic hunger in his eyes. He stopped dragging the tire iron and wrapped both hands around it.

The bar rose over his shoulder. His attention fixed on Brutus, as though the dog were not a living creature but a locked box containing the evidence he wanted.

“Go!” I shouted.

I shoved Dr. Aris toward the SUV. She pulled hard on Brutus’s collar, and the Mastiff lurched after her with a strained groan. His paws scraped over the pavement, each step looking as if it might be his last.

But Brutus saw Mark raising the weapon. His protective instinct overcame the venom and exhaustion. With a sudden bellow, he drove himself forward, his enormous body surging toward the man who threatened Maya.

Mark planted his feet and brought the tire iron up. He was preparing to crush Brutus’s skull, so focused on the attack that he missed me moving along the left wall.

As the weapon began to descend, I threw myself behind the industrial dumpster. My boots struck its side with all the force I could summon, knocking loose the wheel lock.

The loaded container rolled out from the brick. It crossed Mark’s path at the exact moment he swung, forcing him to twist away or be pinned against the wall.

The tire iron slammed into the dumpster lid with a sharp metallic crack. The impact shook Mark’s hands open, and the weapon bounced onto the asphalt several feet away.

“Get him in!” I yelled.

Dr. Aris reached the SUV first. She hauled Brutus up through the open rear doorway, and he collapsed heavily onto the tarp beside the quicklime bag. She climbed in after him and reached back for the door.

Mark recovered before I could reach the driver’s seat. He abandoned the fallen bar and charged me, catching my gray maintenance jacket as my hand found the door handle.

“You’re not stealing my vehicle!” he shouted. His fist struck my jaw, turning the alley into a burst of white light. Copper filled my mouth as my shoulder hit the door frame.

My knees folded, but Mark seized my jacket with both hands and dragged me backward. He wanted me on the ground long enough to reach through the cab and take control of the SUV.

Then Brutus roared from inside the vehicle. The sound was deeper than any bark, a violent warning that seemed to shake the windows and the pavement beneath us.

The Mastiff thrust his upper body over the center console. His jaws snapped inches from Mark’s face, and his bulk slammed against the steering column. Mark’s courage vanished beneath that sudden, furious presence.

He released me and staggered away, throwing up his arms to shield his throat. I used the opening, dropped into the driver’s seat, and pulled the door shut before he could recover.

The electronic locks clicked down as Mark struck the window with both fists. His face twisted with rage while he screamed threats through the glass, but the SUV was already moving.

I shifted into drive and pressed the accelerator. The tires shrieked against the pavement, then caught, launching us toward the alley exit. The vehicle clipped the brick corner, shattered its side mirror, and burst onto 4th Street.

Behind me, Mark was left in the alley with the dropped tire iron and the police sirens closing in. I escaped in Mark’s SUV with Dr. Aris and Brutus, leaving Mark behind.