I knelt beside the child. “Thank God, she’s alive.”
“Her mother and father aren’t,” the dog said. “She has no one. God sent me to find a rescuer.”
My vocal cords went dry as numbness filled my throat.
“I must go rescue others. Take care of Shira.”
“Wait.” I reached over and touched the dog’s head, focusing on his crusty eyes. “What do you mean?”
“You are the ones God called.”
“I understand animal speak, but I don’t know this poor child. What was her name again?”
“Shira,” the dog replied.
I tried to pick the child up, but she clung to her dead mother.
“Others need my help,” the dog said. Then he took off, disappearing into the darkness.
“We need to find her relatives,” Daniel said. He walked around to the other side and searched the pockets of her father. I looked for a cell phone.
Daniel shook his head. “Nothing,”
“Her name is Shira,” I whispered.
I stroked the child’s back and spoke in Hebrew. “Sweetie, come with me. Your mother and father are sleeping.”
The child turned and focused her eyes on me. After a brief hesitation, she lifted her arms. She was small and light—and couldn’t be more than three.
“Let’s get out of here,” Daniel said.
“Where should we go?”
“Jacob’s. He can help us find her relatives.”
When should I tell Daniel she had no relatives?