It was late August. The harvest, such as it could be in wartime, had already occurred. The field was a wreck, some rows neatly trimmed back and others looming with stalks neck-high, yellow and fragile, like parchment. The peasants were burning the field at the far end. It was an easy fire, the winds were mild, and the leaves caught like wet cigarettes. Clouds of black smoke were arising, and rolling toward the village. Lee noticed movement among the closest cornstalks; they seemed to be trembling and parting in advance of the fire. Something rustled through them, its course tentative and confused but generally away from the flames.

Lee was not armed. He held a pile of laundry. The villagers seemed to give little attention to whatever was in the field, so he reasoned he was safe. When the object stopped moving, and the cornstalks stopped shaking, he paid the woman for her washing and prepared to move on.

He might have left the village for his barracks had it not been for the breathing. He could hear a labored sound, an asthmatic sighing through a long rubber tube. A few quick pants, and then the wheeze of an intaken breath.

Sitting in the midst of the tallest corn, weight tilted to one side, was a German shepherd. Her fur was streaked with blood, and her pawpads were black and reeked of tar. She was pregnant.

The sky behind her was all flames and soot and ash, and the crackle of burning corn was beginning to approach. But she was not moving, for she was clearly exhausted. She was panting so awfully because she was wearing a gas mask.

Lee put his laundry on a flat rock. “Banjo?” he asked.

Nothing in response. Just a continuation of the wheeze, and then the short, soft exhalations that made her whole body shake.

A crack of corn exploding, and Banjo turned her head slightly. Her head was shaking. Someone had taken her and used her badly. The gas mask was filthy, with splashes of blood on its olive-drab canvas. It covered her head, including her ears, and came to a point at the top, making a triangular tent. There were round holes for her eyes, which were behind protective glass, and a hose dangled below her jaw. It seemed heavy.

“Banjo,” he said again. It was unlikely she could hear. He didn’t know how far she had traveled or how long she had been wearing the gas mask.

He took a step forward, and another, and she continued to stay still. Her head teetered from side to side, perhaps trying to see more of the landscape through the eyeholes, perhaps trying in vain to hear or smell something, somewhere.