Rocky resisted with all four paws, his eyes wide and never leaving the trunk. His frantic energy began to draw an audience. An elderly woman, braving the heat with a parasol, stopped first. Then, a young man stepped out of a nearby shop. Within a minute, a small, confused crowd had gathered on the sidewalk.
"Why is your dog acting like that?" the young man asked, stepping back cautiously. "Maybe there’s a stray cat trapped under the bumper?" the elderly woman suggested. "Or maybe someone left groceries or food in there," another onlooker guessed.
We all exchanged bewildered glances, trying to make sense of the chaos. But Rocky’s barks only grew louder, more desperate. And then, he stopped simply scratching at the paint. He began wedging his snout and paws into the seam, literally trying to pry the trunk open himself.
It was at that exact moment that the horrific reality of the situation began to dawn on me.
As Rocky paused to catch his breath, a heavy, suffocating silence fell over the gathered crowd. In that brief window of quiet, a sound emerged from the car.
It was impossibly faint. At first, I thought my heat-addled brain had imagined it. I held up a hand, signaling the crowd to stay completely still.
A few seconds later, it happened again. Thump... thump.
It was the unmistakable, weak sound of knuckles rapping against metal—from the inside.
I stepped closer to the trunk, pressing my hand against the scalding black metal, and held my breath.
Thump...