Ongoing Collection of Flash And Short Fiction

Until Your Last Breath (YA)

           Terri recognized her brother's number on the caller ID. She yanked the phone to her ear. "You can't call me here." Her eyes swept the office. Night shift had the added benefit of privacy but that meant, they watched the cameras more closely.

    Holding the phone away from her head, she covered the earpiece to muffle his yelling.

    "I know about the storm but I don't have a choice. They hired two of us for the same position and I can't afford to lose it."

     She recognized the clack of Nosey Nina's heals, headed her way. Terri pretended her brother was a chatty customer. "Thanks for the warning, sir, but frankly, it's Michigan."

     She detected Nina hovering. God, she hated the woman's snooty face. Terri turned away to end the call, hoping the moment was long enough to brace herself for the bitchiness likely to follow.

     "Just so you know," Nina said, "they record and listen in on our calls." Her
petite nose wrinkled. "So, annoying."

     Careful not to say the wrong thing, or encourage the woman to stick around, she shrugged.

     Flurries came an hour earlier than forecasted. Sleet ticked against the roof loud enough to hear from within the building.

     The shift ended at 1 A.M. By then, the snow ruled the sky, and cloaked the earth like a sinister villain.

     Just take it slow, and stay on the side roads, she thought.

    Turning the key, her rickety, semi-reliable clunker fussed like a toddler.

    "Come on. If you get me through 'till payday, I'll buy you something nice."

     Finally, the engine sputtered to life. The alternator belt squealed, startling a co-worker on the way to her vehicle.

    Terri's old-man-blue beast wreaked of burnt oil and gasoline. She was so embarrassed, but it's all she had. To be safe, she waited for everyone else to leave before throwing her car in reverse.

     "That wasn't so bad," she said, shifting gears. Her foot gently compressed the gas, but the back tire spun and slung slush.

     Finally, the car creeped forward, topping out at 17 mph. Another benefit of night shift: less traffic, and most of the signals blinked yellow.

     Her hands cramped from gripping the wheel so hard. High beams made the view worse, and her low beams were so dim she could hardly see the road ahead.

      So far, so good; one mile of dirt road, and she'd be a block from home. The potholes reminded her of a swat ram storming the underside of old Betsy. "I should've taken the long way."

     A large brown mass appeared, making her scream and yank the wheel. The vehicle made contact with something that yelped, before the car slid into a ditch.

     Frantic, she unfastened her seat belt, and scrambled toward the back passenger window.

     A shepherd-like dog, slunk away into the brush.

     She fumbled for her purse. An overhead light would've been helpful, but that burned out over a year ago.

     "Of course," she said, looking at the dark screen of her Obama-phone, "dead." She was grateful to have it, but it held a charge as well as cats water-skied.

     Oh my God. If I hit someone's dog, I'll never forgive myself. She turned on the emergency flashers and headed after it.

     She followed blood spatter and drag marks before the snow could hide them.

     Wind whistled through branches encased in ice. They crackled as they swayed, releasing drifts of accumulated snow. Terri's nose hairs were frozen stiff, her eyes watered, and her chapped lips burned.

     Moonlight peeked in making everything sparkle. Ahead lay a heap of brown fur, tips dusted white, rustling in the brisk air.

     Terri ran over to the canine lying on its side. She knelt beside what resembled a domestic dog, with dominant wolf traits. Someone said Coy-Dogs were migrating from Canada. And then there was Brian, with tales of the Michigan Dog-man. She rolled her eyes.

     With a gloved hand she brushed snow from its face, pushing its fox-like ears back. The pup's eyelid crept opened, its yellow eye rolled to meet her gaze, the pitch of its whine barely audible. At first she thought it was trees whistling again, but it was the wolf-dog, breath steam rolling from its lips.

     Tears burned Terri's chapped cheeks, and her heart felt too big for her chest. Dog, wolf, coyote, werewolf; it didn't matter. "I can't leave you to die alone."

     Numb, she unwrapped the wide, oversize scarf worn to impress her coworkers, and used it to cover the animal. Carefully, she stretched the magenta fabric around its body, tucking it around the legs, and paws. "I'm so sorry."

     A subconscious voice, flashed the creature's enormous feral claws, and said, "Are you nuts?"

     She didn't care; she laid down beside it sharing what remained of her body heat. Most likely, hypothermia had caused her to do something so stupid.

     Sirens, chatter, and the manhandling of paramedics, brought her to the edge of consciousness.
     Next she knew, a machine beeped nearby.

     Realizing she was in the hospital, Terri jolted up. "I don't have insurance. My job. I have to go." Dizziness pulled her back, her hands shook uncontrollably.

     A familiar man stood beside her. "You saved him."

     She winced as her face contorted. "I'm the one who hit him."

     The man's eyes turned stony. "That dog means the world to me. My house was ablaze when this stray dog burst in and licked our faces until we woke."

     In awe of the recollection, he sighed. "Don't worry about the bill, or a job for that matter."

     Suddenly, she recognized the man as her employer; the president of the firm.