The fluorescent lights stabbed her eyes. A gray-bearded man in scrubs, jacket half-zipped, strode forward. One look at the bundle in her arms, and his voice snapped sharp: “Trauma table. Oxygen kit. Move.”
Two techs rolled over a stainless tray. Noemi hesitated to let go until the vet’s steady hands pried her fingers loose.
Blades cut through the tarp and netting. Warm saline flushed the black oil from the pup’s matted fur. Still, it lay motionless, a monitor shrieking in uneven bursts.
“Pulse forty-two and dropping,” a tech muttered.
A mask slipped over the pup’s muzzle. Noemi stood near the sink, filthy and trembling, lips clamped tight.
The vet glanced her way. “Dr. Alvarez,” he said calmly, though strain edged his tone. “You did right bringing him. Sit, before you collapse.”
Someone pressed a mug of steaming tea into her hands. The heat scalded her raw skin, but she didn’t flinch. She couldn’t taste it anyway.
“Breath sounds shallow,” Alvarez muttered, working fast. “Wolf pup. Six, maybe seven weeks. If the oil reached his lungs…” His mouth tightened. “The odds aren’t good.”
Her stomach hollowed.
“Will he survive?” The words broke from her like a plea.
Alvarez didn’t answer at once. He slid an IV needle into a spindly leg. “We’ll try.”
“I found him tangled in a net,” she murmured. “His mother led me there.”
It sounded impossible, even to her, but Alvarez only nodded, focused on the work.
Minutes dragged into an hour. Rain hammered the windows, thunder rolling away at last.
Noemi sagged in her chair, tar flaking from her sleeves. Twice the monitor flatlined. Once, a tech whispered, “We’re losing him.”
“No,” Alvarez said firmly, pressing two fingers against the pup’s ribs. With thumb and finger, he began delicate compressions. “Not yet.”
Noemi’s breath hitched. Tears carved pale tracks down her filthy face. Please… don’t leave her alone. She leaned closer, voice breaking. “Your mother’s waiting.”
A stir. A faint flutter under Alvarez’s hand. The monitor chimed back—soft, steady blips.