The mud kept swallowing everything he dug. Every handful he cleared slid back into place, erasing his effort like the earth was alive. Owen’s hands were numb, his breath ragged, the rain stinging his face as he tried to free the dog. It whimpered once, weak and strained, its eyes wide with panic.
“Easy,” he muttered, voice trembling. He pressed his hand along its side, searching for where it was caught. His fingers met something solid under the surface. Something that shouldn’t be there. The dog flinched, twisting slightly, a low cry rumbling in its chest. Whatever held it wasn’t letting go.
He tried again, digging faster, the mud collapsing around his wrists. The rain came harder, drowning the sound of his breath. The animal’s movements slowed until only its shallow breathing remained. Owen’s heart pounded in his throat. If he kept digging, he’d bury it alive. If he stopped, it would die anyway.