Page 56 of The Way Back Home

His elbow catches me in the ribs and I grunt, tightening my grip, dragging him backwards. “Ryo, let it go.”

“Fuck that.” He twists, trying to break free, his eyes locked on his father groaning and spitting blood onto the dirt as he rolls over onto his hands and knees. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

“Ryowoon.” I shake him, shouting over him now. “We have to get Nuri out of here.”

That finally breaks through.

Ryowoon stops fighting, his body going rigid in my arms. His chest heaves, his breathing ragged, and his eyes stay on his father as I drag him back toward the gate. His body trembles with rage, muscles pulled tight, fists still clenched, I can feel the way he wants to lunge back in, wants to finish this.

But I hold on, pulling him back step by step until we’re through the gate. His father is still on the ground, muttering, reaching blindly for the bottle that rolled away from him.

“Come on,” I say, tugging at Ryowoon’s arm. “We have to go.”

Ryowoon finally spins around, tearing away from me. He drops to his knees beside Nuri where I left her on the curb, his hands shaking as he scoops her up carefully, cradling her against his chest. She whimpers, her body going limp in his arms, and Ryowoon’s face crumples for a second before he forces it back into something harder.

He turns to follow me as I take off running back toward the main roadway, my lungs burning, legs pumping.

“Come on!” I yell over my shoulder. “We have to get her help.”

We run.

My sneakers slap the pavement and Ryowoon’s right beside me, Nuri pressed against his chest, her body curled into him. She whines thin, high-pitched sounds that make my stomach turn inside out. Ryowoon’s breathing hard, his face pale and streaked with dirt and his dad’s blood, and he keeps his head ducked low over her, shielding her with his body as we tear down the hill.

“We have to get her out of here,” Ryowoon says between breaths, his voice hoarse. “If I take her back, he’ll kill her. You understand? He’ll fucking kill her, Seyeon.”

“I know.” My lungs burn. The street blurs past us, dark houses, closed gates, parked cars with no one inside them. “She needs a vet, Ryowoon. She’s hurt bad.”

Nuri makes a different sound, a wet, labored wheeze, her ribs expanding in stuttered movements against Ryowoon’s arms. I can see the dark patches on her fur where the bottle hit, matted and slick.

“There’s a vet in Yeonsan,” I say, thinking out loud, my brain scrambling.

“That’s forty minutes.”

“It’s the closest one.”

Ryowoon’s jaw clenches. He looks down at Nuri, then back at me, and I can see him thinking the same thing I’m thinking. No car. No buses running this late. No one on these streets who’s going to help us.

Mrs. Nam’s store comes into view at the bottom of the hill and we slow just enough to not trip over the curb. The roll-down doors are shut, the lights off, Mrs. Nam asleep in the back.

“Hold her,” Ryowoon says, transferring Nuri into my arms. She’s warm and trembling, lighter than she should be, and when I cradle her against my chest she lets out a thin cry that makes my throat close up. I hush her, adjusting my grip so I’m supporting her body without pressing on the places where the blood is.

“It’s okay,” I tell her, my voice unsteady. “You’re okay, girl. Shh.”

Ryowoon doesn’t explain. He turns and scales the courtyard wall in three movements, hand over hand, hauling himself up and dropping over the other side. I hear him land, hear his footsteps cross the courtyard at a run, and then the creak of the outbuilding door opening.

I stand there on the curb holding Nuri, feeling her breathing get shallower against my ribs. Her nose is cold where it presses into the crook of my arm. I stroke the top of her head with my thumb, the fur between her ears soft. I’ve known this dog since she was a puppy, since Ryowoon first unchained her in his yard when we were eight and she bowled both of us over trying to lick our faces.

The truck’s engine turns over on the other side of the wall, coughing once, then roaring to life. I hear the gears grind as Ryowoon backs it out, and then headlights sweep down the street as the truck comes rumbling around the corner toward me.

I run up to the driver’s side. “Move over. I’m driving.”

Ryowoon opens his mouth to argue.

“Get out and hold her. Move.”

He stares at me for a half second, then shifts across to the passenger seat without another word. I hand Nuri up to him carefully, her body going limp as she settles into his lap. He wraps both arms around her, tucking her head beneath his chin.

I climb in and slam the door, adjusting the seat because my legs are shorter than his. Clutch, gas, check the mirror. My hands know the motions now, drilled into muscle memory by weeks of Mrs. Nam barking instructions at me on back roads.