Hector was tired.

For days and days he had been traversing the mountains, doing nothing but trudge up and down rocky, forested hills one after another. The last three days had involved a much more rationed diet as his MREs had run low. The water filter had been broken after falling off of a 15-foot high ledge and Hector felt slightly sick from drinking the unfiltered yet supposedly “clean” mountain water.

However, despite his many setbacks, Hector was in relatively good spirits. For one thing, there had been absolutely no sign of pursuit by either Flores’ men or the police, and Hector was starting to think he was really safe, at least from the drug-lord. The police will be harder to avoid once I reach the end of the mountains, he had thought many times on his cross-country trek. He had avoided human contact as much as possible, except for a few occasions when he stopped by some of the many small towns nestled in the mountains to replenish supplies. He had hidden his gun, not wanting to attract attention, and his large military-green backpack let him pass as an enthusiastic hiker.

However, not everything was quite so well. The going was slow- the mountains were particularly rough and he couldn’t move more than an average of 5 miles in a day. Slow and steady wins the race, he thought one night as he gazed up into the boundless, star-strewn ether. Two hounds after a rabbit. Two bears against a fox. He sighed heavily. Sometimes… It feels hopeless, even though I haven’t seen anything to make me worry for days. Suddenly, his thoughts turned unbidden to the Mexican infinity fern. It had been days since the plant had last crossed his mind.

I should just hide it… Stow it in some secret cache and get it back when things blow over… But what good would that do? If Flores caught me, I’d probably end up being tortured until I revealed the location of the fern… And hiding it wouldn’t get the police off of my track. I obviously can’t just give it to someone. That wouldn’t help anything.

Hector bent his weary head in resignation. I suppose it’s my burden to bear, he thought with irony. Seems like the only thing for it is to keep running. Apart from that, there isn’t much I can do… To think that all of this mess began from going to some party.

Suddenly, he heard a snuffling noise nearby in the darkness. His fire had gone out long ago, and Hector had little knowledge about what kinds of animals lived in the mountains- yet he had heard the stories. The cold beginnings of fear swelled in his stomach. A mountain lion? He sat up quickly and groped for his pack. Where’s my gun when I need it? The snuffling increased. Whatever the thing was, it was getting closer. Less than thirty feet away by the sound of it, Hector thought with increasing agitation. Suddenly, a thin, sad-looking dog stepped out of the foliage. In the night air it was hard to tell the exact hue of its mangy fur, but the dog stood about three feet tall with large, upright ears (one of them half missing) and bright blue eyes that gleamed uncannily in the twilight.

Hector stared at the creature, and the dog stared back. It had clearly been lost, or maybe dumped by its owner- it didn’t belong in the mountains, that was for sure. Its thin frame attempted- and failed- to conceal its ribcage, and the dog’s general attitude was one of despair. However, a hopeful look played across its face as it stared- begging, it seemed- at Hector.

What the… What am I supposed to do? Hector had almost no experience with dogs. He didn’t like their loud barking, their slobbery tongues, or their clumsiness- but what he hated most about the few dogs he had interacted with was their disposition. Drug dealers are not generally the kindest people around, as is to be suspected, but most dogs Hector had seen weren’t treated badly. Instead, they were trained to be as mean as possible, and that disgusted Hector.

Hector eyed the mangy newcomer with suspicion, reminded of the police-dogs and fierce. What if one of Flores’ men is right behind following the dog? Perhaps it’s a police dog? However, the creature’s half-starved look convinced him otherwise. Its civilian origin was clear- this dog was not used to surviving in the mountains alone. Understandably.

After the staredown had lasted for a minute, Hector decided to make the first move. He approached the dog in a crouch, trying to seem friendly. Hoping it wouldn’t pounce and try to rip his throat out, he smiled and tried to make comforting noises.  As Hector neared, the dog began to back away, deeper into the bushes. When Hector stopped moving, so did the dog- but it seemed determined to keep a consistent distance between them at all times.

After a few minutes of moving back and forth, Hector switched tactics. He removed a package of dried meat from his backpack. Immediately the strategy had an effect. The dog sniffed the air eagerly, as if the smell of food was too good to be true. Hector took a piece out of the bag and ripped it in half, placing one half on the ground a foot away from where he sat. The dog came much closer, standing just three feet away from Hector. Greedily it eyed the meat.

“C’mon, dog. Come on. I won’t hurt you,” Hector said in what he hoped was a soft, friendly voice. Hardly had the words left his mouth when Hector noticed a change come upon the half-starved creature. Without further issue it sauntered up to Hector, licked his face, and bolted down the dried meat. Hector sputtered and wiped his face, wavering between disgust at the dog and satisfaction at the success of his taming strategy. Indeed, the dog seemed to have taken total trust in Hector. As it swallowed the last morsel of dried meat, it turned and sat facing Hector, tongue lolling expectantly. Its pleading eyes seemed to grapple for sympathy in his mind, and soon Hector had (albeit reluctantly) given it three more pieces of meat. Although he felt more than a little manipulated, Hector had to admit that he liked the dog- something about it was endearing- but he was tired, and sleep was more important than any dog.

If that thing’s still here in the morning, I’ll consider it mine. He rested his head on his backpack as he lay down on his bedroll. The dog sat staring at him for a while, then finally it tramped away into the woods. Thought so. It’s just a stray, Hector thought, with no small amount of disappointment.

However, “that thing” was still there in the morning. When Hector sat up in the morning, he found the dog curled up at his feet. When he got up to eat something, it stirred and turned its pleading gaze onto him yet again.

After a small breakfast, made yet smaller when Hector divided his portion with the dog, the two arose and Hector surveyed his surroundings. He stood near the peak of the tallest mountain around. After getting his bearings, he ascertained that if he continued north, he would eventually meet the US/Mexico border. Hector didn’t know too much about the United States of America- he had only been there once- but the beginnings of a plan formed in his mind. Official examination by US Customs Officers would not be an ideal situation for a wanted drug dealer, he decided- but he had heard of America’s border dispute and had known several drug-dealers who had simply walked across the border. Could I make it? If I got across, it’d be so much easier to hide from Flores… If I got across. That’s a big ‘if.’ He sighed heavily and glanced down at the dog by his side. It looked up happily, with an air of reverence and adoration unmistakable across its gray face.

“I’ll name you… uh…” Hector realized he had never thought of a suitable name for the creature. Suddenly, an idea struck him.

“Dog. I’ll call you Dog.”

And with that, the two companions set off.