Maya’s hands moved with surprising steadiness as she crouched by the fence, bracing one foot in the mud for balance. The storm’s first fat drops had already begun to fall. With one hand, she pressed hard against the slick, rain-darkened wood, prying the slats apart. Her other hand reached for the trembling dog’s leg, fingers gentle and slow, coaxing the limb back through the narrow gap. Just as the paw slipped free, Maya’s heel slid out from under her. She fell hard, her poncho splashing into the cold mud. For a split second, she just lay there, breath knocked out, the world wild with rain and wind.
Scrambling upright, Maya gripped the fence to steady herself, ignoring the throbbing in her knees. She shot a wary glance at the dog, bracing for a bite or a panicked lunge. But instead of attacking, the dog just stared back at her—alert, yes, but not hostile. In the flickering light from her phone, she could see its sides heaving, its eyes wide and shining. For a moment, relief flooded through her, chased quickly by a surge of fear. The storm was rolling in faster now. The windows rattled behind her, and the trees tossed outside the fence.
Maya hurried inside, lighting a few candles, her hands trembling from the cold and adrenaline. She dialed the police, desperate for help—but her phone flashed a signal error, not a single bar. Panic threatened to well up, but Maya forced herself to keep moving. She checked every corner of the room, hoping for a stronger signal, but the house was a dead zone. All she could do was watch the storm swallow the world outside, while the dog’s frantic barking grew louder, more desperate, like it was begging for rescue.