Rescue Mission

by Jennifer Li Shotz

  It was Hero.

  His dog was nudging and pawing at him, licking his neck. Hero barked to alert Perillo, and the sound echoed through Ben’s brain in slow waves, like he was hearing it from miles away.

  “Ben!” Perillo cried out in alarm.

  She ran to his side as Hero began licking the wound on Ben’s wrist. His coarse tongue hurt Ben’s ruptured skin—the pain was unlike anything Ben had ever felt—but somehow, through his hazy thoughts, Ben understood that Hero was trying to draw the snake venom from his body.

  Ben tried to speak again. He formed the words in his mouth—Thanks, Hero—but all that came out was a hoarse whisper.

  Perillo knelt down and put her hands on either side of his face. “Look at me, Ben,” she said loudly and firmly. Her voice pierced the fog and pain that had overcome him. He tried to look at her, but even the slightest movement of his eyes made everything around him spin and swoop like he was on a roller coaster. “Ben, can you hear me? Look at me, Ben.”

  He concentrated as hard as he could, forcing his eyes to shift ever so slightly in her direction. Her blurry face hung over his.

  “Good. Now, Ben, listen to me.” Perillo was in full cop mode. “You’re going to be okay. I’ve got you. You just stay with me and let me do the work. All you have to do is stay with me. If you understand me, just blink.”

  Ben struggled to close his eyes and then open them again. He was suddenly freezing and shivering, but soaked in sweat from head to toe.

  “Great. Hero and I are going to get you out of here.”

  I don’t want to leave, Ben tried to say, but it came out as a mumbled blur.

  “Don’t try to talk,” Perillo said. “Save your energy.” She pressed two fingers against his good wrist, checking his pulse.

  “Dad . . .” Ben slurred.

  “Shhhhh. You’re in shock right now, Ben. What you’re feeling—what your body is doing—is protecting you. Just let it happen. I’m here.”

  Ben felt Perillo lifting his head and neck slightly off the ground. She wrapped something around his shoulder and under his injured wrist, then tied it in a knot—creating a makeshift splint to stabilize his arm. Hero licked Ben’s neck and face and snuffled into his ear, his warm breath brushing against Ben’s cheek. Ben wanted to reach out his good arm to pet his dog, but he couldn’t get it to move.

  Hero looked at Perillo and began whimpering and yipping.

  “Hero, sit,” Perillo said. “Calm, buddy. Calm.”

  Hero quieted down but paced back and forth along the length of Ben’s body, protecting him from any further harm.

  Perillo spoke into her walkie-talkie again, telling dispatch to warn the closest hospital they were on their way. Next she radioed the helicopter pilot to meet them back where he had dropped them off—and to get ready to evacuate Ben.

  Perillo leaned down over Ben and spoke to him gently. “Ben, listen. I’m going to pick you up now. And I’m going to carry you to the helicopter, and we’re going to get you to the doctor, okay? Remember what I said? You’re going to be fine.”

  Ben stared up at her, willing his mouth to move. He wanted to tell Perillo that he didn’t care about himself—he didn’t care about getting to the helicopter. He didn’t care about his wrist or anything else except one thing: They were so close to finding his dad; they couldn’t stop now.

  Perillo raised Ben off the ground and heaved him over her left shoulder in a fireman’s carry. She held on to his legs and pulled his head, chest, and one arm over her right shoulder.

  A wave of nausea overcame him, and he shut his eyes.

  Ben’s head bounced up and down against her shoulder. He moved in and out of consciousness as she hauled him through the dense foliage. In the moments when he was awake, he was aware only of Perillo’s labored breathing, the scorching pain in his arm, and Hero skittering along at Perillo’s knees. Hero ran as close to Ben as possible without tripping Perillo.

  Every few steps, Hero dashed ahead of Perillo for a moment, sniffing at the ground and redirecting them toward the helicopter. Then Hero would return to be close to Ben. Ben wished he could give Hero some kind of command—could be the alpha Hero needed—but at that moment, Hero was the one in charge, and Ben had never needed him more.

  The pain in Ben’s arm began to settle into a deep, steady throbbing. Waves of heat washed up and down from his wrist to his shoulder. A single thought came and went with the rhythm of the pain and Perillo’s footsteps: My dad. My dad. My dad.

  Slowly, that thought evolved in Ben’s foggy brain. A new thought arrived and receded, then returned. It was one word at first—game—then gradually expanded to become an idea: The game. The big game. The big game was coming up. And he was supposed to play in it.

  He was supposed to pitch in the big game.

  A fresh shot of adrenaline pumped through Ben’s body, and for one split second before he passed out again, he became suddenly alert and acutely aware of one horrible fact: With this snakebite on his wrist, there was no way he could pitch in the playoff game in just a few days.

  His team was relying on him.

  And he was going to let them down.

  10

  BEN WOKE UNDER BRIGHT FLUORESCENT LIGHTS to the sound of dings and beeps and the whirring of machines. He felt something pressing against his leg.

  He opened his eyes slowly, afraid that the tidal wave of nausea and vertigo would crash down on him again.

  But there was nothing.

  He was okay.

  He opened his eyes fully and looked around. He was in a hospital room. His face was half covered by an oxygen mask, and his wrist—where the snake had bitten him—was wrapped in a thick bandage from the tips of his fingers to his elbow. He was hooked into a machine that blipped along with his heart rate and pulse.

  Hero lay on the narrow hospital bed on Ben’s good side, pressed snugly against his leg, his head resting on Ben’s stomach. He had a “service dog” tag clipped to his collar. When Ben moved his head to look down at him, Hero half sat up and let out a happy yelp. He nosed Ben’s armpit, licked his cheek next to the oxygen mask, and lay back down with his head on Ben’s shoulder, his forehead pressed into Ben’s neck.

  The warmth of Hero’s fur was like a familiar, soft blanket that warmed Ben up in the cold, bright room. The dizziness was gone, and the pain in his arm had subsided to a soft ache. But he was overcome with an exhaustion so deep he didn’t know how it was possible to be this tired and awake at the same time.

  His head felt extra heavy, but he raised it enough to look out the open door to his room. Officer Perillo stood just outside, talking animatedly on her cell phone. Her end of the conversation drifted across the room to him.

  “That’s great—when?” Perillo said into her phone. “Okay, they’re on the move, then, and it sounds like they’re moving fast. I’m heading out soon, but I just want to wait until . . .” She spun around to check on Ben. Her face lit up with a relieved smile when she saw that he was awake. “I have to go, Chief. I’ll meet you at the rendezvous point.”

  She stuffed her phone into her pocket and crossed the room in a couple of quick steps.

  “Ben! I’m so glad you’re okay,” Perillo said. “You gave me and Hero quite a scare out there.”

  Ben’s mouth was dry, and his tongue felt like sandpaper. He used his good arm to lift the oxygen mask from his face. “Thank you,” he managed to say. “You saved me.”

  “Well, I had a little help,” Perillo replied, reaching down to scratch Hero’s belly. Hero rolled onto his back and let out a happy sound. Perillo looked at Ben. “Ben, you were so brave tonight. Your dad is right about you.”

  “My—my dad. Is he . . . ?” Ben croaked.

  Perillo sighed and pressed her lips tightly together. “We haven’t found him—yet.”

  Ben squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. They had been so close—if he hadn’t touched that rock, if he hadn’t been bitten . . .

  “It’s not your fault, Ben,” Perill
o said, knowing what he was thinking. “And besides, there’s some good news. That was the chief on the phone just now. There was another ping from your dad’s cell phone. They moved—they must have known we were close and headed farther west. But that means he’s okay, Ben—he turned his phone on and off again.”

  “That’s great,” Ben mumbled.

  “Let’s put that back on, okay?” Perillo said, taking the mask from his hand and placing it back over his mouth and nose. “It’s in the hands of the state police now. But they need us all on deck to back them up. I need to get back out there, Ben. You understand, right?”

  Ben nodded.

  “You’re in the hospital outside of Hattiesburg, and you’re going to be back on your feet in no time. The antivenom and painkillers they gave you are doing their job, and right now your job is to rest. It’s the middle of the night, so I convinced your mom to stay home and get some sleep before driving up. She and Erin will be here bright and early. Until then, you’ve got Hero to keep you company.”

  Hero’s ears danced back and forth on his head as he listened to Perillo speak, but his snout rested firmly on Ben’s shoulder—keeping Ben safe in bed.

  Ben reached up and gently eased Hero’s head off his shoulder. He raised himself up on the elbow of his good arm. Hero snorted at him and readjusted himself on the tiny bed, hovering over Ben like a furry knight in shiny black armor.

  “I’m coming with you,” Ben said to Perillo. He swung his legs off the side of the bed and tried to sit up all the way.

  Before Perillo could even try to talk him out of it, Ben let out a loud groan. He only made it a few inches toward a seated position when a flood of nausea barreled into him and the room spun like an amusement park ride. He flopped back onto the bed, clutching the sheets to try to stop the spinning.

  Hero scooted closer to Ben and put a paw on his chest. There was no way he was letting Ben get up again.

  “Looks like Hero and I are in agreement on this one,” Perillo said, shaking her head gently. “Ben, that snake shot you up with a lot of venom, and now you’re full of some seriously strong medication. You’re going to start to feel better fast, but at the moment, the last thing you need to do is go running around the woods.”

  Ben had broken out in a cold sweat and couldn’t speak. He nodded slightly to let her know that he understood.

  Perillo’s phone dinged in her pocket.

  “I’m sorry, but I have to go.” She crossed the room but stopped and turned in the doorway. “Ben,” Perillo said with a kind smile, “it’s hard for me to imagine anyone but you and Hero saving the day. I know it’s hard for you too. But listen, you need to rest. Promise me you’ll do that—promise me you’ll stay here and rest?”

  Ben held her gaze. Finally, he nodded.

  With a quick salute, Perillo slipped out the door and shut it softly behind her. As the room grew quiet, her words echoed in Ben’s mind.

  He had promised to stay put, but . . . Hero nuzzled at him. They looked at each other, and Ben felt like Hero was sharing his thoughts—as if the dog’s deep, soulful eyes were trying to ask Ben something.

  Ben thought he knew what it was. It was the same question that was running through his mind on repeat, until it became like a melody: If not us, then who?

  If he and Hero didn’t save his dad, who would?

  Ben squeezed his eyes shut. Hero raised his head and licked Ben’s face. His ears drooped low, and he looked about as sad and worried as Ben felt.

  Ben didn’t know if Hero was more upset that Ben was hurt or that they weren’t out looking for his dad. Either way, he knew Hero would never leave his side.

  The spinning and queasiness had subsided, but Ben’s throat was tight with emotion. If he could have spoken, he would have told Hero that it was going to be okay. That Perillo and the other officers were going to find his dad as fast as possible. That they just had to put their trust in other people this time and hope for the best.

  And in the meantime, the best thing they had was each other.

  11

  HERO DOZED OFF IN THE HOSPITAL bed. Ben could tell he was dreaming from the quick little snorts that escaped his nose and the way his legs twitched as if he were running in place. Hero’s giant paws dug into Ben’s ribs as they carried him around in his dreams—chasing a squirrel, maybe. Or a bad guy, more likely.

  Ben couldn’t sleep. It had been over an hour since Perillo left, and the hospital floor had gone stone silent as they reached the deadest part of night.

  A nurse tiptoed into his room. She fiddled with the monitor attached to the various sensors clipped to him.

  “Oh!” she said when she saw that Ben was awake. “Sweetie, you need to sleep.” Hero raised his head, sniffed the air around her, decided she wasn’t a threat to Ben in any way, and dropped his head back onto Ben.

  “I know,” Ben said through the mask on his face.

  “Are you thirsty?”

  Ben nodded.

  The nurse held up a small plastic water cup and lifted the straw to his lips. She pushed aside the mask, and he drank. The water was cool and delicious, and Ben felt it running through him, giving him strength.

  The nurse checked her watch. “It’ll be breakfast time soon enough. You’re probably starving. I’ll bring you some toast first thing, okay?”

  “Thanks,” Ben said. “That would be great.”

  The nurse tipped her head toward Hero. “And I’ll see what I can find for him.” She patted Ben’s good arm. “Now try to sleep.” She turned the lights off as she left the room.

  But Ben was restless. He ran his fingers through Hero’s fur and stared up at the ceiling, the events of the past twenty-four hours replaying in a speeding blur in his head.

  First he was playing baseball, and the most important thing in the world—the only thing in the world—was the game. He was up at bat, he hit a home run . . . it was a glorious moment. All Ben cared about for a few minutes was winning the game and getting to the playoffs.

  But how quickly things had changed again. As soon as they lost contact with his dad, baseball seemed so far away and unimportant. By morning, Ben’s world had narrowed to a single fact: His dad was missing, and Ben wouldn’t be able to think about or care about anything else until he was back, safe and sound.

  They had been so close to finding him—just moments away. But then Ben had messed up and gotten himself hurt. And now here he was, stuck in the hospital, unable to do a thing.

  If anything happened to his dad, it would be all Ben’s fault. He had to figure out a way to help.

  There was no way Ben was going to fall asleep.

  Start with what you know, he heard his dad say. That’s what cops do. Don’t worry about what you don’t know—just work with what you’ve got. That’s the first step toward figuring anything out.

  Ben’s mind was spinning over the facts—and the absence of facts. He tried to break down what he knew: He knew his dad had been able to turn on his phone twice. That had to mean that the guys who had him didn’t even realize he had a phone. Otherwise they would have taken it away.

  Then there was what Ben didn’t know: Why was his dad only able to turn it on and off for a couple of minutes at a time?

  And there were the questions Ben didn’t want to ask—let alone answer. What if the convicts found the phone before police officers got there—then what? They would take it away from his dad, sure, but what else would they do? Would they punish him for hiding it in the first place?

  Ben pushed the thoughts away. Don’t focus on the fear, his dad would say if he were here. Focus only on the solution.

  One thing was clear: Staying here wasn’t a solution—it was a waste of time.

  Ben tried sitting up again, but this time he did it slowly. He made it onto his elbows without his head spinning, and he stayed there for a minute. Hero woke up with a start, his tags jingling on his collar. When he saw that Ben was trying to get up, he raised himself into a half crouch on Ben’s bed.


  Ben got himself up into a seated position. His stomach churned a little, but he didn’t feel like he was tumbling off the edge of the Earth this time.

  Hero and Ben looked at each other. Ben put a hand on his dog’s head. They stayed that way for a moment, Ben listening to the sounds out in the hallway, assessing who was around and what was happening. He heard the soft footsteps of the nurse walking by his door and fading as she headed down the hall. He heard a cart rolling down the long hallway. He heard a phone ringing at the nurses station a few yards away.

  Then it was quiet.

  Ben stood up slowly, carefully. He put his feet on the floor. It was cold, even through the hospital-issue socks with the rubber tread. He peeled off the medical equipment from his arm and swayed a little. Hero hopped off the bed and stood close enough to steady him.

  Holding his bandaged arm in front of him, Ben took a few steps to the window, pulled aside the curtain, and looked out. Hero looked out with him, pressing his nose against the glass. Only the streetlights shined across the city. The houses and office buildings were dark and silent. There wasn’t a soul in the parking lot a few stories below them. The moon was low in the sky.

  Ben studied the purplish gray line in the distance where the city skyline met the predawn sky. It would be daytime soon.

  Perillo had said his mom and Erin would come first thing in the morning. If he knew his mom, she would be lying awake in her bed, waiting until it was light enough to come get him.

  He and Hero needed to get out of there before she could stop them.

  Ben found his clothes and backpack in the closet. Careful not to bump his injured arm, he got dressed as quickly as he could.

  He gingerly eased the pack onto his shoulders. There was a sling hanging on the back of a chair. Ben pulled it over his neck and slid his arm into it.

  They were ready to go. Now they just had to get past the nurses station.

  Ben opened the door to his room and stuck his head out. He gave Hero the hand signal for stay. Ben looked up and down the corridor. About ten yards to his right, a doctor leaned against the nurses’ desk, writing notes in a chart. His back was turned ever so slightly to Ben. There were no nurses in sight.