18

Not so much exploded, but the windows blew out and a gout of flame erupted from them. The real explosion came a few seconds later as the gas bottles blew, sending debris flying over the crowd of villagers. Luckily, no-one seemed harmed. Then the community centred settled into a steady inferno that Humphrey doubted it would survive. He sat upon the cobbles, staring at the flames, watching the legacy of his parents come to a fiery end and he felt numb. To the side, Cornelius stirred and, when his eyes came into focus, they latched upon Humphrey.

"Don't start that again, old boy." Audrey pushed Cornelius back to the ground by his shoulders. "Humphrey just may have saved your life."

About to retort, angrily, towards Audrey, Cornelius caught sight of the community centre, his mouth opening and closing as though he fought to find the words. He looked, again, towards Humphrey and his mouth clamped closed. It didn't look as though an apology, or thanks, were forthcoming and Humphrey didn't really care. The mere matter of dragging Cornelius from fiery death wouldn't change the man's attitude to him.

He lifted his hand and stared at it, noticing the blood that he had picked up from the cobbles. It wasn't Audrey's blood, the makeshift bandage seeming to keep that contained. Nor was it blood from the wound he thought Ursula had suffered from destroying the greenhouse. She stood at a distance, rubbing her hooked nose.

It wasn't any blood from anyone that he could see. Turning on to his knees, he looked around to see another spot, a little further down the street and he crawled towards it. A finger, pressed to the blood spot, showed that that, too, was fresh and wet. And another, a little further away. The trail of blood appeared to head out to the edge of the village.

Still on his hands and knees, he pushed through several pairs of legs as he crawled through community centre debris to follow the blood trail. This wasn't from the other night. Couldn't be. It was fresh. And then he remembered Audrey mentioning that the dog, that had helped to instigate the fire in the community centre, had an injury. A bad one, if this trail of blood told anything, and Humphrey felt the need to make certain the stray wasn't in too much pain.

"Best be following him, I reckon." The voice of Ursula called out, but Humphrey did not turn away from the blood trail. "Thee, too, Cornelius. Tha'll be wanting to see this."

Humphrey stood, brushing the dirt from his hands, and began to follow the blood trail properly. It was as though everything else had fallen away. That finding this poor, injured stray dog was far more important than standing around and watching the community centre burn to the ground. He'd leave that to the eager crowd of villagers that would tell stories of this for a good few days. At least until the next new scandal provoked their interest and gossip.

The trail continued on. It wasn't a great deal of blood, but enough. He didn't know how much blood dogs could lose before it became too much, but he felt certain that any amount was too much if the dog were in pain. He hated the thought that he hadn't paid better attention to the dog, that he hadn't called the RSPCA before, instead, joining in the terribly funny escapade of chasing the dog, days before.

He felt guilty about that. More guilty about that than anything else, right now, and, as he reached a  copse of trees on the outskirts of the village, he hoped he wasn't too late and have the death of this dog on his conscience. After all, had he not done a better job of calming the poor thing, in the community centre, none of this would have happened. At least, he liked to think so.

"I'm not going in there." The voice of Cornelius made Humphrey turn towards his nemesis. His other nemesis. Humphrey hadn't expected him to follow. "It'll ruin my waistcoat."

"Then don't." Humphrey saw all three of the others standing with Cornelius. Audrey, Frida and Ursula, who had managed to find her walking stick from somewhere.

With a scowl at Cornelius, Humphrey pushed into the stand of trees, the twigs and branches scraping and clutching at him. The blood trail had led here, though he could no longer see any blood in or on the undergrowth. Now he could only fall upon instincts that he felt certain he didn't have. After a few seconds, he heard someone else following him into the trees.

"You think it's the dog, don't you?" Pushing a branch out of her face, allowing it to snap back behind her, Audrey stomped through the undergrowth. "Surely it's best to leave to the experts, old boy?"

"It's injured. I couldn't live with myself if it died, knowing I hadn't even tried to help it." That felt terribly like a sense of responsibility. Humphrey didn't like responsibility. It felt like a demand from his conscience. "You don't have to come with me."

"Nonsense!" She prodded him in the back. "Can't let my best friend go on a mission of mercy without me."

Humphrey had never thought about it like that. He and Audrey had spent a great deal of time together, but he never thought she would consider herself his friend. No-one else ever had. As he pushed through the crackling trees, he smiled. He rather liked the idea of having a best friend. He liked the idea a great deal, in fact, and then wondered what people expected of 'best friends'. It wasn't something he had experience with.

Those thoughts would have to become revisited later, however, as they broke through the edge of the trees and found themselves in what looked like the remains of a garden, along with a broken down wooden shed and the remains of foundations and footings for a house. A house that had become demolished many, many years ago.

And, from the battered, weather-worn shed, Humphrey could hear a noise. With a finger to his lips, he began to lead Audrey across, crouching and trying not to make any noise. The shed looked about ready to fall to pieces. Beyond ready. It creaked and trembled, even though no wind touched it, and, as Humphrey came closer, he saw the dog, laid inside.

It didn't look well. Didn't look well at all and Humphrey could only imagine that its destructive foray into the community centre was, perhaps, its last attempt at finding someone to help it. Scared, chased by a bunch of shouting villagers, the dog had sought sanctuary. Only for Audrey, and then Humphrey, to do nothing but terrorise the poor creature even more.

"Oh, the poor thing!" He crouched at the doorway, not wishing to spook the dog again, and almost began to cry. "You poor, poor thing."

Humphrey couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before. One of the dog's hind legs was covered in blood, mostly dried, but with fresh blood mixing in and he could see what had caused it. A shard of glass. Not a large piece, but neither was it small. It stuck out of the dog's leg, close to the dog's tail and it looked horrible and painful.

The dog lifted it's head and gave a half-hearted growl before dropping back to the dirt-packed floor of the hut. Humphrey crept a little closer, not certain what he could do for the animal, but knowing that he wanted to do something, anything to take this poor creature's suffering away.

"Humphrey? Haven't you noticed?" A hand rested upon his shoulder as Audrey whispered in his ear and then her other hand pointed to other parts of the shed's floor. "Look."

"My crocheting!" The dog's head snapped up again as Frida squealed. She, too, now looked into the shed. "I wondered where that hat had got to!"

"And one of my spare Wellies." Audrey tried not to reach in for the Wellington boot as the dog's head fell, listlessly, once again. "But that's not all, is it, Cornelius?"

Humphrey hadn't even noticed that Cornelius had decided to follow him through the patch of trees after all. It shouldn't surprise him. Where Cornelius went, Frida followed. Had he stayed outside of the copse, she would have stayed with him. Now, Humphrey turned to look at the man as he half-heartedly, looked over the top of Humphrey and Audrey, into the rundown shed. His face began to flush as he saw what Audrey pointed towards.

"My turnips. And my cucumber." He tugged at the edge of his waistcoat and then raised a hand to his throat, attempting to loosen the shirt at his neck. "Yes. Well."

He tried to clear his throat, refusing to look at Humphrey, but Humphrey no longer cared. The only thing that mattered was the poor dog. He now wished that he had fallen into the scam of buying one of those 'mobile phones' that people seemed to give far too much attention to. Someone would have to call for a vet.

He had noticed, by now, the pile of things that it appeared the dog had stolen. Along with the rotting turnips and cucumber, there were signs of carrots in the detritus. Also various stuffed toys, a set of car keys and an elaborate door knocker that Humphrey didn't recognise. Including the glass in the dog's leg, it seemed obvious, now, that this dog had started the conflict with Cornelius and had, somehow, caused all the disasters of the past few days. Though why the dog had stolen the vegetables, Humphrey could not imagine. Hunger, perhaps? Humphrey didn't care, anyway. The dog was in pain.

"Can someone go and call for a vet?" He didn't look around, but he heard someone rush off, back through the trees. "I'm going to make sure this dog isn't alone."

He moved further into the shed, not caring about how close to falling down it looked. He reached out towards the dog and it allowed him to stroke its head. Everyone needed a friend, sometimes.