The Saviour
Only about sixty miles remained when the car’s headlights lit up a red vehicle parked on the roadside with its bonnet raised. A young man stood beside it, waving his arms frantically. Pulling over on a deserted road at night was reckless, but the sky ahead was brightening with dawn, and the journey was nearly over. Ethan stopped the car and stepped out. Before he could take more than a few steps, a heavy blow crashed into the back of his head.
He came to as someone’s hands rummaged through his pockets. He tried to get up, but a heavy weight pressed down on him—likely more than one attacker, given the sharp kick that struck his ribs. The pain was excruciating, and he cried out.
Blows rained down on him from all sides. He curled up, shielding his stomach with his knees and covering his head with his arms. A kick to his right side sent white-hot pain shooting through him, and Ethan blacked out.
The next time he woke, he heard soft whimpers nearby. For a second, he thought it was him. The beating had stopped. He shifted slightly, and a wet nose nudged his cheek. Blinking his eyes open, he saw a wary dog’s face staring down at him. He tried to sit up, but a jolt of pain stole his breath. *Broken rib*, he realised. His thoughts moved sluggishly, as if his head were stuffed with cotton. The dog whined again.
The next time he regained consciousness, the hum of an engine told him he was in a moving car. His body swayed with the bumps in the road.
“Awake now? We’re nearly in town, just hold on,” a voice said—Ethan couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman.
His eyelids were too heavy to open. He didn’t bother trying. Exhaustion pulled him back under. When he resurfaced, he was being carried somewhere. A sharp light made him wince—his head throbbed mercilessly.
“You’re back with us,” a bright, girlish voice said.
Ethan cracked his eyes open. A blurred face swam under the flickering hospital lights. His stomach lurched as the movement stopped. The face above him sharpened—an old man with a neatly trimmed grey beard studied him intently.
“What’s your name, lad? Do you remember what happened?” The voice sounded distant.
“Ethan Wright. I was…—” His lips felt thick and clumsy, but the man understood.
“Right. Took quite a beating.”
“My car…” Ethan exhaled, each breath stabbing his side.
“No car was found near you. Just the dog. He saved you. Rest now—better yet, sleep.” The old man’s words sent Ethan drifting off again.
When he woke next, his head ached less, his thoughts clearer. Voices murmured nearby.
“You’re awake. Good. Can you hear me? I’m Detective Harris from the police. Can you speak? I need to ask you a few things.”
Ethan listened—and somehow recounted the roadside stop, the attack, even his car’s registration number…
“Is this your dog?”
“I don’t have a dog,” Ethan replied, confused.
“But the driver who called the ambulance said this dog ran straight at his car from the woods, nearly got himself run over. He stopped, and the dog led him to you—down in a ditch, hidden from view. If not for him, you’d still be there. Now, sign here.” A sheet of paper appeared before Ethan. He signed weakly, then dropped his hand back onto the bed.
“How bad is it?” he whispered.
“You’re alive—that’s what matters. Two broken ribs, head trauma, bruises, cuts.”
“That’s enough for today. He needs rest. Come back tomorrow,” the familiar voice beside him said.
Ethan felt exhaustion drag him under once more.
He woke in darkness. Leaf shadows swayed on the ceiling, making him dizzy. He shut his eyes, but his mind was clear now. He remembered stopping on that road…
Next time, sunlight streamed through the window, birds singing cheerfully. He felt stronger.
“Better now? Think you can stand?” The doctor—same neat beard—smiled.
“Yes.”
“Easy does it.” The doctor helped him sit up. “Good. No dizziness? Now, swing your legs down. Well done.”
Soon, the room steadied. A small ward with pale blue walls, a bedside table. The doctor in his white coat and cap stood watchfully nearby. Bandages bound Ethan’s chest, but the pain had dulled.
“Next time, we’ll try walking,” the doctor said.
And walk he did. Strength returned with each step. He moved to the window. A hospital garden stretched below, dotted with benches along narrow paths.
“See? Under that tree? Your dog. Been waiting for you,” a nurse said behind him.
“I don’t have a dog.”
“Thought he was yours. Won’t leave—snaps if we shoo him. Sits there all day. We bring scraps from the canteen. Won’t eat while we watch.”
The dog sat under the tree, watching passersby. Too weak to stand long, Ethan returned to bed. The next day, he went outside.
The dog saw him but stayed put—waiting.
“You saved me? Thanks, mate.” Ethan scratched between its ears. The tail thumped twice.
He shuffled to a bench. The dog settled nearby.
They sat like that, soaking up the sun, until Detective Harris appeared. At the sight of the uniform, the dog retreated—but didn’t leave.
“Better, I see. Doesn’t care for police, does he?” Harris nodded at the dog.
More questions followed.
“We’ve put out alerts, but no sign of your car yet. I’ll update you.” Harris left. The dog edged closer again.
Next day, Ethan brought an uneaten lunchtime burger. The dog sniffed it warily, studying him, then ate.
“Sorry, it’s all I’ve got. Where’s your home? Why not go back?” The dog tilted its head. “Guess you’ve got your own story, huh?”
Patients and nurses passing by smiled at the pair. Their tale had spread through the hospital.
“Your saviour. Clever dog. What’ll you do when you’re discharged? Take him?” a patient asked.
“Don’t know. He must belong to someone. Doesn’t look stray.”
“But he won’t leave—must’ve chosen you.”
Ethan looked at the dog. Where *would* he go once Ethan left? Smart, well-trained—had *saved* him. Threw himself at a car to stop it, led the driver right to Ethan. Could he just walk away now? If the dog’s owner had abandoned him, leaving would be worse—a second betrayal. No. He couldn’t.
“Coming with me?” Ethan stroked between its ears.
The dog licked his hand.
“Do you actually *understand*? Never been much for dogs. Doubt I’ll be any good at this.”
Days passed. The loyal dog waited beneath the hospital windows. Ethan recalled a story he’d once read—*The Sun Dog* by Stephen King. This one wasn’t like that, except maybe the golden coat.
“Need a name. Sunny’s too long. What about Sol? Suit you?”
The dog pawed the ground, tail wagging.
“Sol it is. Come on, then, Sol!” Ethan patted his knee.
The dog trotted over, ears perked, waiting.
“Blimey.” Ethan chuckled.
His bruises faded, his ribs ached less. Staring at his stubble in the mirror, he wondered what Emily would think. They’d lived together briefly before realising they argued more than talked. Mutually, they’d decided to go back to dating—no strings. Oddly, he didn’t miss her.
Discharge day came. Papers in hand, dressed in cleaned clothes, Ethan stepped outside. Sol sat by the entrance like a loyal guard.
Ethan approached, glancing back at the hospital. Faces peered from windows—staff, patients. Sol was a hero. Now it was Ethan’s turn to do right by him.
“Alright, Sol? I’m out. You’re famous. Everyone’s waiting to see what I’ll do. Suppose we’d better not disappoint.” He looked at the windows. “If you’ve nowhere else… come on.” He ruffled Sol’s head and walked off.
Ethan felt eyes on his back as he and Sol crossed the garden. First stop: the police station.
“Out-of-towners, likely. Car’s probably stripped for parts by now. Need a bus ticket?” Harris said.
“They won’t let him on. Taxi, maybe—but my wallet’s gone.”
“Taking him, then? Good lad. Did some digging. His owner died overseas. Mum passed not long after. Dog was alone. Taxi’ll cost a fortune—hang on, I’ll sort a ride.”
In the patrol car, the chatty driver said, “Whole town’s talking about you two. Wish I had a dog like that.”
Sol sat calmly. EthanEmily stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide with fear, before turning and fleeing down the steps, leaving Ethan and Sol to begin their new life together, bound by loyalty and a second chance neither had expected.
