The sky was covered with heavy, gray clouds, and the wind, harsh and cold, came from the mountains, stirring the wet leaves on the side of the road. 

John had been driving for over two hours. He had left in a rush, called back urgently to the office, and needed to reach the city before nightfall. On the passenger seat, Barbara, his German Shepherd, was peacefully sleeping with her head on her paws.

In the distance, the headlights caught the outline of a car moving slowly—almost suspiciously slowly—on the empty road. John instinctively reduced his speed, and in the next moment, he saw the rear door of the car slightly open. A medium-sized object was hastily thrown onto the roadside, then the door slammed shut, and the car accelerated, disappearing into the rainy mist.

John froze.

— Did you see that, girl? — he whispered to Barbara, who had lifted her head and was watching intently in the direction where the object had been tossed.

At first, John thought it was a garbage bag. But in the dim headlights, he saw the thing was moving. Without questioning himself further, he pulled over and turned off the engine.

Stepping out of the car, the cold wind hit his face. Wet gravel crunched under his feet, and the fine rain slipped under his collar. He cautiously approached the discarded bundle.

It was a thick, dirty material, tied with a blue cord. And what had made it move wasn’t the wind. From inside, a faint, almost dying whimper could be heard.

Breath caught in his throat, John untied the cord. The worn blanket opened, and the image that revealed itself hit him in the chest: a little boy, about two years old, soaking wet, with pale cheeks, bluish lips, and wide, terrified eyes. His small body was visibly trembling, and the child whimpered, weakly, almost imperceptibly.

— Dear God… — John whispered.