I returned to the bedroom window. Muffy had stopped howling and lay down on the mulch by the roses, waiting for me. She’d turned her body so I could see her back hip and the red splotch on her fur. She was bleeding. I knew I had to go to her. The question was how I could get her and not give myself away.

I’d climb out the back window.

I’d learned a lot about climbing out of windows the last few days, so I was much quicker than the first time I tried it. I even landed on my feet and plastered my body to the rear of the house. Dark rain clouds were rolling in and Joe’s yard was more shaded than mine. I could run through his backyard and most likely stay hidden. Then I’d skirt through the trees, make my way to the back of my yard and get Muffy.

The first part worked perfectly. I sprinted to the rear of Joe’s lawn and practically vaulted his three-foot fence. It helped that I hadn’t put on my shoes. While I was wearing my clothes from the night before, I figured heels were impractical running through wildlife.

I made it through the trees, directly behind the rose garden. It was a good twenty feet from the tree line. “Muffy!” I called. She turned her head to look at me, but kept her head lowered and whined.

“Muffy!”

She continued to ignore me and started digging in the dirt where I buried the gun. Did Muffy want me to dig up the gun?

As crazy as it was, it seemed like a good idea.

I bolted to Muffy and checked her backside first. Dried blood covered the wiry hair on her back left hip, but it looked old. When I tried to look more closely, she dug with her back legs, kicking dirt in my face. I let her go and started scooping dirt with my hands, thankful Muffy had a head start on me. In less than thirty seconds, I had the bag uncovered.

“Now what, Muffy?” I asked, thinking I needed to go back the way I’d come. I guessed I could push Muffy up into Joe’s bedroom window.

Muffy whined and ran into the trees. I tried to coax her toward Joe’s house, but she sat down in the shadows and whined again.

I kneeled beside her, rubbing her head. “What is it, Muffy?”

That’s when I heard the pounding on Joe’s doors. I dropped to the dirt, hidden by the shade of the trees. Two men beat at the door on the side of Joe’s house, one of them busting it in with a good kick. I clung to Muffy, shaking. I would have been in the house if she hadn’t come back and barked. After several minutes, they came back out, along with two other men. One of them held the shoes I wore the night before. They got in two cars and drove way.

What did that mean for Joe?

I sat in the dirt, stroking Muffy’s head. “You saved me, Muffy. Now I think we’ve gotta save Joe.” The only problem I saw with this plan was I didn’t know anything about saving anybody. I didn't even know where to go, let alone have a car to get there. But I did have a gun, even if I’d never shot one before.

I unwrapped it, careful to point it away from me. I couldn’t find the round spinny thing for bullets, then I remembered those were the kind of guns they used in prehistoric times. That covered most of the television shows I’d watched pre-cable. I was looking for the thing at the bottom of the gun. After a lot of fumbling and, I hate to admit, a little bit of cussing, I got it open. It appeared loaded.

Now to get to Joe. I remembered the truck parked outside of my house, the one driven by the guy who broke into my house. Weston’s Garage. It seemed like a good place to start.

Weston’s Garage was an old battered warehouse out past The Trading Post, off Highway 82 and a half-mile down a country road. I’d been there once with Daddy, back when I was about thirteen. They worked on service vehicles and tractors. Uncle Earl had asked Daddy to see if they had a part for his old combine. Back then it had been a scary place, with old farm equipment scattered around the warehouse yard like mutant lawn ornaments. Given the circumstances, I supposed it would be even scarier now.

First I had to figure out how to get there. I had no keys, no car, no driver’s license and no money. This could be a problem.

I stood up and walked toward my house. I needed shoes and I could think about my transportation issue while I got them. Lucky for me, Daniel Crocker’s friends had already opened the door.

His boys could learn a thing or two about being polite houseguests. My house was torn to bits. The intruder on Thursday had been looking for something; this time they did it just to be mean. I was gonna have to pay a cleaning service again and that made me plenty mad.

I found a pair of tennis shoes and slipped them on and I ran outside, still unsure how to get to Joe. Mildred’s old Cadillac sat parked in her driveway and an idea sprang to mind. I ran across the street, Muffy following behind, and beat on her door. I was just about to give up when Opal, the elderly neighbor next door to Mildred, poked her head out .

“Mildred’s at church, honey. She’ll be back after lunch.”

“But her car’s in the driveway.”

“Her son picked her up.” Opal came out onto the porch, leaning on her metal walker with florescent green tennis balls on the feet.

I stared longingly at the 1974 white Cadillac. It was a tank. I knew Mildred kept the keys in the ignition. I had an evil idea.

“My car’s in the shop and Mildred told me I could use hers. I plum forgot she had church this mornin’ and just wanted to thank her again for lettin’ me use it. So I’ll just take off and thank her later.” I was already moving to the driver’s door.

“Are you sure?” Opal asked, sounding confused. “Mildred don’t let nobody drive her car.”