Ten minutes later, Thomas stepped from the shadows of the tunnels into the glaring light of day. Squinting his eyes until they adjusted, he raised his face to the sky and drew in a deep breath to purge the stagnant stench of the tunnels from his lungs. He coughed at the smell of smoke hanging thick in the morning sky, a hazy reminder of the artillery fight that had raged during his shift. Thomas hesitated at the mouth of the communication trench that would take him left to the reserve trenches or right to the front-line trenches. The firefight had ceased for now, but the Germans could renew their assault at any moment. He shoved his hands in his pockets, and his fingers grazed his family photograph. He’d made a promise that he would find the answers to what had happened to James. It was a promise he wouldn’t be able to keep if he stayed cowering in the tunnels. As he stared down the trench leading to the front line, searching for the courage to move, something butted against his calf. He looked down to find Max staring up at him.

He knelt to pet the dog. “What are you doing out here? You should be asleep with the others.” He glanced back at the tunnel entrance, expecting to find Bagger lumbering toward him, but the entrance was empty.

“Go back to bed,” he ordered Max.

The terrier licked Thomas’s hand and wagged his stubby tail.

“Go on.” Thomas stood and waved him away, but Max barked and wagged his tail faster.

“Shhh.” Thomas hushed the dog, afraid his barking would draw unwanted attention. “Fine. Come on then.” He motioned for the dog to follow, grateful for the company.

They walked the support trenches for two hours. Most of the soldiers they encountered were sleeping. Those who were awake did not recognize James in Thomas’s photograph. Frustrated by another unsuccessful search, Thomas headed back to the tunnel entrance with Max trotting along beside him. When they arrived at the intersection where the communication trench crossed the support trench, Thomas once again stared down the path leading to the front line. Distant voices and laughter rumbled through the forbidden trenches. He stopped and looked down at Max, sitting at his feet.

“What do you think? Should we head back to the dugout, or see if any of the soldiers in the front-line trenches know what happened to James?”

The dog stared up at Thomas and then stretched a hind leg to his head to scratch behind his right ear. Thomas glanced back at the tunnel entrance. No movement stirred within its shadows. No sounds echoed from its cavernous throat. “We’ll just go for a minute,” he told Max. Keeping his head low, he turned right and hurried down the communication path.

When Thomas and Max entered the front-line trench, they came upon a group of soldiers sharing a tin of bully beef, slicing pieces of the congealed, shredded pink meat with a bayonet.