Shannon dreamed a wet snake slithered up her face—ew—in a darkness as black as the sky of far away galaxies. A rushing toward light and—Indy’s great tongue licked her forehead, nose, gaping mouth, and chin, the dog’s immense jowls collapsing against her neck. Shannon closed her mouth, but found no strength to return the dog’s loving kiss.
Food. She’d never make it to the kitchen on her own. She had no energy reserves left. She had nothing.
Shannon, who never cried, cried now. Flat on her back, her Indy licking away the tears, she cried. She’d die here on the floor. Actually die.
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