VICTOR

Victor saved my life. Picture this: 19 years old, with no army experience whatsoever, forced to fight; to murder people I’ve never even met. What have they ever done to me? Nothing. So why drag me, and thousands of others, into a pointless war involving a conflict that can easily be sorted by sitting down and talking. Years after a little dog saved Pablo's life, disaster strikes. But when the light's gone out and you're certain someone's disabled the cord, will there be Victor-y?

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11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

I’m glad I glanced up when I did. I think those next few seconds were the ones I’ll remember most for the rest of my life.

There was a tiny dog out there, probably about eight years old, with short, stumpy legs. I don’t know where he’d come from, but it looked like he’d walked quite a long way; he was panting vigorously.

That’s when I remembered.

If it had been any other dog, even one that was impossibly cute, I wouldn’t have opened the door...That was dangerous. That’s how bugs spread. But I knew I had to see this dog, the one that had saved my life almost nine years ago.

I let him in.

 

We stood in the kitchen for a moment, eyeballing each other. It was hard to believe this little dog was standing in my kitchen, while my wife went into labour in the sitting room.

All at once, I knew what I should do.

Glancing at his name tag, I knealt down. “Victor,” I said. “I need you to go get help. Go get the ambulance. The doctors. They need to help us. Please.”

He carried on staring at me.

“Victor,” I repeated. “This is serious. You have to go. Get ambulance. Please.”

I opened the door, and he ran out. I couldn’t be sure whether he had understood me or not. I had no choice but to sit there, and wait.

 

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