The dog looked up at Dave’s approach, and he saw what it had been picking at, something small and bloody in the weeds near the white line. It tensed, eyes bugging out, and bared a mouthful of sharp little teeth. It launched at his car with a volley of barely audible yips, then disappeared beneath the bumper.
“Whoa!” Dave stomped the brakes, but too late.
It yelped, then crunched beneath the front driver’s side tire. A jet of blood spattered the blacktop in front of the car.
“Shit!” He pounded the dash, checked his rear-view to make sure he was still alone on the off-ramp, then put on his flashers, backed up, and killed his engine. The moment of silence that followed ticked away like the cooling of a still motor.