Part 2 — The Road Michael Could Not Finish

Michael Grant had left home at 9:04 the previous evening.

His wife, Hannah, had been admitted to Northwoods Regional Medical Center after her blood pressure rose and doctors decided to induce labor three weeks early. Michael had gone home briefly to collect a  hospital bag, a phone charger, and the red cap Hannah had knitted during her second trimester.

Atlas followed him into the SUV.

Michael considered leaving the  dog with a neighbor, but the neighbor’s house was dark and the storm was worsening. Atlas became distressed whenever Michael attempted to close the  vehicle door without him. 

Dogs

Michael gave in.

“Quick trip,” he said.

The phrase belonged to their routine. Grocery store. Gas station. Hardware store. Quick trip meant Atlas could come.

Snow covered County Road 12 faster than plows could clear it. Michael drove below thirty miles an hour. He had traveled eleven miles when wind moved a curtain of snow across the road.

He saw the curve too late.

The SUV struck the buried edge of a guardrail, rolled down the ravine, and landed on its roof.

Michael’s seat belt held.

The dashboard collapsed around his right leg. His phone struck the windshield and broke apart. The engine stopped, taking the heat with it.

Atlas had been secured in a rear-seat harness. The impact tore one strap loose but prevented him from being thrown from the vehicle. He crawled through the broken rear window and returned to Michael’s side. 

Autos& Vehicles

For more than an hour, the dog remained near the wreck.

Snow entered the cabin. Michael drifted between consciousness and confusion. Each time he woke, Atlas’s nose rested against his hand.

Michael eventually understood that nobody could see them from the road.

He unclipped the torn green leash from the damaged harness and pushed it through the window.

“Find someone.”

Atlas did not move.

Michael struck the side of the vehicle with his palm and raised his voice.

“Go!”

The dog backed away.

Then he climbed the ravine.

Michael could not know whether Atlas would reach a house, become lost, or freeze in the field. Sending him away felt like choosing between two dangers.

Keeping him guaranteed both would remain invisible.

The German Shepherd’s tracks later showed that he first followed the buried road east for nearly two miles. A wall of drifting snow blocked that route. 

Dogs

Atlas turned north.

He crossed a harvested field, entered a line of trees, and approached the creek. He followed its bank until he found a frozen culvert wide enough to cross.