Jenner parked the Accent in front of the Super Target. The mall lot was almost empty; there was no sign of Maggie’s Mercedes.

He took a towel from the trunk, wrapped the dog in it, and carried him to the shelter entrance; there were lights on inside. Jenner leaned against the buzzer. The dull sound sharpened abruptly as his higher-pitch hearing returned.

A young black woman in blue surgical scrubs and short dreadlocks opened the door for him. He heard most of what she said—enough to tell she had a faint African accent.

“Dr. Jenner? Ms. Craine said you’d be coming. Let’s get him into the exam room so I can have a look at him.”

She seemed young. Her scrubs had the logo of an animal hospital in Miami, and her name tag read DR. GUBI ADE; she was a first-year veterinary resident.

She saw him looking at her tag and grinned. “Don’t worry, doctor. I’m volunteer labor here, but I’m good at what I do.”

Jenner nodded and said nothing. He laid the dog down on the metal table; the dog’s eyes were closed, and he wasn’t moving.

“What happened?”

“Someone threw a bomb into my cabin, a pipe bomb, with nails and screws. He was on the ground when it went off.”

Dr. Ade palpated the dog’s chest, her bare hands feeling through the bloody fur. She said, “When did this happen?”

“Fifteen minutes ago, maybe twenty.”

She was going so slowly. He asked, “Do you have X-ray or fluoroscopy here?”

“X-ray.” She turned to him; her expression grave but gentle. “Doctor, he’s got multiple defects in his anterior chest; some might be penetrating the chest cavity. His pulse is fast and thready—I think he’s lost a good bit of blood. Was there a lot of external bleeding at your cabin?”

“A bit. Not a lot.” Jenner wiped his eyes blearily. “But, I don’t know—I’m used to humans, and I don’t know if that was a lot for a dog. There was a cup of blood, maybe two.”

“That’s a lot for a dog.”

She stroked the dog’s head gently. “So multiple penetrating injuries of the thorax, possible barotrauma. He’s going into shock. I’m going to get some oxygen and fluids going.”

She looked at him. “I have to tell you…”

Jenner said, “I’m a physician—I understand the situation.”

She nodded. “He’s in bad shape; I’m sure you understand his chances aren’t good. We’ll shave his chest, get a better look. Take an X-ray, check for retained projectiles.”

On the stainless steel table, the dog’s legs were twitching but his eyes remained shut, his tongue lolling from his mouth onto the bare metal surface. Dr. Ade placed a funnel-shaped mask on his snout, and there was a quiet hiss of oxygen.

She looked up at Jenner. “Okay, doctor: you think you can carry him into surgery? I’ll take it from there.”

Jenner nodded and lifted the dog up in his arms. Dr. Ade pointed him toward the operating room, following him with the oxygen canister and dragging a drip stand, a bag of saline, and a drip set.