52. Farron
FIFTY-TWO
FARRON
MIGHTY NAMES
Day 16
The cool, harsh light of the gas station flickers above me, casting eerie shadows on the worn linoleum floor. I take another deep breath, trying to steady my hands. It's not easy, but I've got to focus. The little thing’s counting on me.
This tiny creature saved me, and I’ll do everything in my power to do the same. Kneeling down next to the rat dog, I lightly stroke its back. “It’ll all be okay, boy… Girl? What are you?” Lifting one of its hind legs, I get my answer quickly. “Okay, boy, definitely a boy. It’ll all be okay, I promise.”
His paw is swollen, and there's a deep gash running along the pad. It looks like he stepped on something sharp. I take a closer look, feeling around the wound with gentle fingers. “You're a brave one, aren't you?” I murmur, more to myself than to the dog. He whines softly but stays still, his trust in me evident despite the pain. As I evaluate his paw, it becomes clear that the poor thing has broken it.
First, I need to clean the wound. I grab a bottle of antiseptic from my kit and some gauze. “This might sting a bit, boy,” I say softly, knowing he probably doesn't understand but hoping my tone soothes him. I pour the antiseptic over the gash, watching as it bubbles and fizzles. The dog whimpers, and I stroke his head gently. “It's okay, it's okay.” I force myself to take a deep breath, hold it in for several seconds, and breathe it out, hoping to remain calm.
Next, I need to fashion a makeshift splint and bandage for the dog's injured paw. Scanning the nearly empty gas station, I search for anything that could serve the purpose. As I pace the aisles, my eyes land on a neglected magnet stand. Among the overlooked souvenirs, I spot a Colorado metal bookmark. It’s clear that when the world ends, nobody’s interested in keepsakes. I grab it, hoping it will do the trick.
Returning to the dog’s side, I lay the bookmark against his leg. To my relief, it’s the perfect size for a splint. I quickly cut a piece of gauze to the appropriate length and carefully wrap it around his paw, securing the bookmark in place with some medical tape. “There, all done,” I whisper, praying this makeshift solution will hold.
His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the anxiety inside me melts away. This little creature, despite his pain and fear, looks at me with unwavering trust. It’s a humbling and grounding feeling.
After finishing the splint, I let him rest. I find a couple of rags and arrange them into a makeshift pillow, then gently lay my jacket over him to keep him warm. Taking a minute to just breathe, I gather my thoughts and listen to the eerie silence. This gas station was the only thing visible for miles, a lonely beacon in the night.
“Okay, next on the list: scavenge what I can,” I mutter to myself. I search through the remaining shelves and corners, collecting anything useful. Among the rags, I find a box of matches and a small can of kerosene—well, isn’t that convenient? Scattered around, I also find some granola bars and a few water bottles stacked in the back of the supply room.
Ripping the top off one bottle, I take long pulls, feeling the lukewarm water slide down my throat. It’s the best thing I’ve tasted in ages. With my little haul in hand, I walk back over to the dog .
Easing down next to him, he looks up and tries to nudge my hand. I carefully pick him up and lay him on my lap. He relaxes instantly, his tiny body going limp in my hold. That immediate trust, despite everything, breaks something inside me.
Suddenly, tears pour down my cheeks, and a sob breaks free. The overwhelming relief, fear, and exhaustion all come crashing down at once. I hold him close, the tears falling onto his fur as I cry silently in the dim light of the gas station.
I cry.
I cry because I’m scared.
I cry because I don’t know if the ranch has been overrun by the dead.
I cry for the long journey ahead.
I cry because I’m still alive.
After what feels like several minutes, or maybe hours—I have no idea—I finally calm down. The little dog looks up at me, his eyes full of an unspoken promise that everything will be okay. I have to believe it is. I have a family to get back to and an apology to give. I have to get back.
Breathing out a shaky laugh, I ask the little rat, “Do you have a name?” I try thinking of my past pet names, but nothing inspires me. “Hmm… maybe we should name you something feisty since you thought taking on a couple of zombies was a good idea.”
Zombies. How is this real? The thought sends a shiver down my spine, but I push it aside, focusing on the dog.
Thinking of fierce names, I start listing a few. “Bullet? Scrappy? Hellcat? Mighty?” I look down at him, realizing none of these fit. He’s tiny but faces fear head-on.
Damn, do I want to be like this dog? The answer is yes. Absolutely. He’s fearless and selfless; his bravery is the most incredible thing anyone has ever shown me.
As I glance around, I realize we’re sitting beneath the aisle for condoms and supplements. My eyes catch on the display of Magnum condoms. How fitting.
“Alright, little guy, I think I have your name.” I try to stifle a laugh, wanting to approach this moment with the gravity it deserves. “How does Magnum sound?”
I don’t know why I’m holding my breath as if he’s going to respond, but after a moment, he tilts his head and nudges my hand with his nose. Well, that’s a yes if I ever saw one.
Informing Magnum that I’ll be searching for food, I carefully settle him back onto his makeshift bed of rags. Gas stations in the middle of nowhere are known for their eclectic inventories. Despite most essentials being stripped away, dog food is overlooked.
As I make my way to the aisle, I spot several cans of wet food, a handful of small bags of dried kibble, and even a lone bag of treats—f inally, some luck.
With gratitude for past Farron, who had the foresight to buy a Swiss Army knife, I retrieve it from my bag. The then seemingly random purchase now proves invaluable as I use its can opener to pry open one of the cans of wet food. I place the food into a collapsible bowl I had packed, initially intended for ramen packages I had stashed at the back of my cabinets. Of course, I realize now I didn’t pack the damn ramen.
Great, now I’m crying over ramen.
Shaking off the frustration, I gather myself and set the bowl before Magnum. He sniffs at it tentatively, clearly uncertain. It dawns on me that he’s likely been scavenging the streets for scraps. With his rough appearance resembling that of a junkyard dog, I doubt he’s ever experienced anything like this before .
I make a silent vow that once we reach the safety of the ranch, I’ll give him a thorough bath, tend to his wiry hair, and provide him with all the tasty and nourishing food he deserves.
While Magnum slowly eats, I grab some cereal that I threw in at the last second. Scooping up a handful, I rise to my feet and move to start checking the exits. Darkness has rapidly descended upon us, making it clear we’re not going anywhere tonight. This place has been ransacked, but thankfully, the doors and windows remain intact, meaning I can secure them.
Behind the register, I find some string and grab a handful of magnets. Tying the string around the magnets and spacing them a few inches apart, I fashion makeshift alarms for the door handles. It’s a simple but effective solution. I plan on keeping watch for most of the night, but exhaustion is creeping in, and I know I need some rest. If something or someone tries to get in, I’m hoping the noise from the alarms will wake me.
Returning to Magnum, who is finishing his dinner, I settle down next to him. It’s time to prepare for the night ahead. I reach into my backpack and pull out the blanket I’ve attached to the bottom, laying it over myself. With the utmost care, I lift Magnum and place him back on my lap.
As I stroke his back, I begin to tell him about the ranch. I describe its vastness, how he’ll have endless fields to run through. I paint a picture of the horses, the cattle, and my family. I tell him how Ma and Pa will spoil him rotten, sneaking him treats he shouldn’t have but deserves all the same. How my dad will initially grumble about me bringing in a dog we don’t need but will ultimately shower Magnum with more love than anyone.
I tell him about Holden, the best brother a person could ask for. How he selflessly put his own dreams on hold to stay at the ranch when I wanted to pursue vet school in a new city. I know I’ll never be able to repay him for that kind of sacrifice.
Then, I talk about my parents. Despite their flaws and sometimes misguided intentions, I know they always wanted the best for me and Holden. They gave us the best life possible, and for that, I am grateful.
Tears escape my eyes, tracing their path down my cheeks. I wipe them away, trying to stay strong. After a few minutes of sharing Magnum’s future with him, I notice his breathing has slowed, and he’s twitching as he falls asleep.
I pull out my knife and place it within reach, preparing for the long night ahead. Leaning down, I whisper to Magnum, “But most importantly, I’m going to love you, and I’m going to get us home safe.”
Closing my eyes for a moment, I allow myself to believe in my words. I am strong, I am a fighter, and I will get us back home.