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On hands and knees, she crept between thorny bushes rotting fence: jacket still tied around her, puppy still wriggling at her belly.

“Quiet Kazoo.” Her lips barely moved.

Emily was a quiet girl, slight lisp due to her missing front tooth.  Freckles splattered her face, arms, and back.  Her red hair wisped around her round face.  Her cheeks were plump and very kissable.  

She hunched close to the ground, hands over her ears.

The hacking drew closer.  The voices, the footsteps.

The howls.

The deep, guttural grunts.

The puppy wriggled in her jacket and she quickly clamped her hands over it’s mouth.

“Shh!” she though desperately.

Kazoo whimpered between forcibly grit teeth.

Emily?  Yeah, bright-eyed kid, super sweet.  Always sharing.  You know, perfect little girl all that, ah, junk.

The noises were closer – the crunch of stepping, the scrap of dragging.  Guttural growls.

Howling…

Kazoo whimpered, the girl slipped forward, on toes and finger-tips, knees knocking her stomach.

“Don’t see me, don’t see me, don’t see me, don’t see me, don’t see me…”

Gunshots.

So many.

So close.

So loud.

The girl curled into a ball, hands over her ears, biting her lip so hard she tasted blood.  “Don’t see me!”

Thuds.  Loose and firm.

The steady crunch of firm footsteps.

Voices.  She heard voices…

That meant nothing.  Aunt Mable was still talking when…

Ah yes, Emily.  Little miss inquisitive.  Always asking another bothersome question no one wanted to answer.  About why the dead were burned.  About why their ashes were buried. 

We always told her that it was a custom.  

The girl yelped as the puppy tumbled out of her jacket.  The six little paws hit the ground.  The little mouth opened.  The little bark echoed.

She crouched into the ground, sobbing.

Emily was a great shot.  But maybe too kindhearted for her own good.  She never could kill anything when she was with us.  But Jeff?  Well, he could and he liked her.  So we weren’t worried when they went away.  

“Hello?!”

The puppy growled and barked again, tripping around the girl.

“I swore I heard…” The barrel of a gun rattled through the bushes.  “Something was here…” It hovered over her.

“Don’t see me.” she repeated – a tiny phrase on loop.

The man – no soldier, soldier – cautiously tapped the area with his gun.

She shivered, almost hopeful – but the last one was in a uniform… rot, death, smell…

The barrel tapped her side.  Still warm.  She squeaked and stumbled away, eyes wide.

He staggered back as well, spitting out swear words.  Then his shoulders slumped and he pointed the gun in the air.

“Hey!” he called over his shoulder.  “Someone radio Sawbones, tell her we found the brat!”

Then in a softer voice.  “Hey sweetie.  Want to come out?”

She nodded timidly, wrapping her arms around the six-legged puppy.

Emily was a lot more ferocious then people realized – but she only let the five of us see that.  Jeff saw more of that than anyone, honestly.  Everyone thought she was the sweet, innocent one. 

She wasn’t. 

Like, at all.

He guided her to the trail, carefully hovering around her.  His gun stayed at the ready, but as long as she was on the path, he wasn’t watching her.

They reached the armored vehicle in decent time.  The red cross was splattered with an odd-smelling substance.

The girl looked away.

The doctor stormed out, blood streaking her combat uniform, her helmet dented and crooked, short red hair flying around her face.  “What?” she snapped.

When she saw the little girl, her eyes brightened and her voice softened.

“Recognize me?”

“Mom?!” The girl ran over, the puppy still in her arms.  “His name’s Kazoo – he saved me.”

Dr. Emily Branson nodded solemnly at the dog.  “A brave soldier already, I see.”  Then, smiling, “Just like my baby.”

Emily.  She’s something else.

We went to med-school together.  Fell in love.  Married.  Divorced.  Married someone else.  Buried them.  

Yeah, I met your dad too.  Okay fella, that Jeff.  Good for her, honestly.  Jillian… Jillian and I both cried when he died. 

Anyway, hope you don’t mind hanging out with our kids for a bit.  I guess they’re kinda your siblings, so you should get to know them.

Oh, before I forget.  Do you think you’re responsible enough for a puppy?

 

~#~#~

4. Animal born with extra limbs isn’t a portent of doom.  (Bonus: genre is horror OR comedy)