I strolled casually toward the empty house, through the gate at its side and into the cramped backyard. It was dark, shadow-sandwiched between the single-story house and a six-foot-high, vertical board fence with Lyla Bristol’s big tree looming on the other side. It was so dark, at first I didn’t see the doghouse.
No one evacuates and leaves their dog behind. Right? A light cough escaped my lungs, sounding a lot like the dry grass that crunched beneath my feet. I stared at the doghouse warily. Big and solidly built, its roof slightly angled and a little higher than my waist. I squatted at a safe distance to peer inside. Empty. So I was safe from bites and hadn’t lost my remaining shreds of faith in humanity.
Slivers of light escaped between the fence’s unevenly spaced planks, but it bloc
