Rescue Mission

by Jennifer Li Shotz

  Tucker watched as Ben frantically pulled his dad’s sweatshirt from his backpack and held it under Hero’s nose again.

  “Hero lost his scent?” Tucker asked. Ben nodded, too upset to speak. “No big deal,” Tucker said.

  Ben clenched and unclenched his fists. The movement sent a sharp jolt of pain through his wounded arm. He breathed. He counted to ten. He asked himself what his dad would do in this situation.

  Nothing worked. Ben could no longer hold back the wave of emotions swelling in him, and he turned on Tucker.

  “No big deal?! No big deal?” Ben spat. “What are you saying, Tucker? This is a huge deal! Do you not get that my dad is in danger?”

  “Whoa—Ben, sorry,” Tucker held out his hands in an apologetic gesture. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just meant that it’s no big deal because there’s another way to find your dad.”

  Ben stared at Tucker, blood still pounding in his ears. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times until he found the right words. “I’m sorry,” Ben said simply. His cheeks were hot with embarrassment and anger. “I’m just really stressed out right now. What do you mean there’s another way?”

  Tucker didn’t seem fazed by Ben’s outburst. “Hero gets the person’s scent off an item, right?” he asked.

  Ben nodded.

  “So couldn’t he track the prisoners instead of your dad? I mean, if they have your dad, then following them should lead you right to him.”

  “I mean—yes, but—I don’t get it.” Ben wasn’t following Tucker’s point. That was logical—if they had a scent item that either of the prisoners had touched.

  “Orange fabric,” Tucker said matter-of-factly.

  “What?” Ben had no idea what he was talking about.

  “The little piece of orange fabric that’s in your pocket. I saw you drop it earlier. That’s from one of the prisoners, right?”

  Ben jammed his hand into his pocket and pulled out the shred of cloth. It curled up in his palm. He looked up at Tucker in amazement. “You’re right,” he said.

  Ben hopped off the tiny bike and crouched down next to Hero. Ben held the cloth under Hero’s nose. Hero sniffed at it, cleared his nose with a sharp snort, then sniffed some more. He ran his nose over it again and again. Finally he looked up at Ben.

  Hero was ready.

  “Good boy,” Ben said. He gave Hero a treat.

  “He sniffs that, and then he’s good to go?” Tucker asked.

  “That’s right.”

  Tucker nodded appreciatively. “Now what?”

  “Now this.” Ben looked at Hero and scratched him under the collar. “Hero, FIND IT!”

  Hero shot out into the woods. Ben and Tucker pedaled fast to keep up.

  The woods got denser; the trees grew closer together, and their foliage formed a tight canopy far above the boys’ heads. The bright daylight dimmed, making it harder for Ben and Tucker to navigate the bumpy trail on their bikes.

  They trailed Hero as closely as they could. Hero moved with his usual deftness and grace, weaving around trees and leaping over rocks at top speed without a hint of effort. But Ben could tell that Hero was still upset, still as desperate to find Ben’s dad as Ben was. Hero had the same raw energy that he’d had the night before.

  This time, though, Ben knew what to do. And he knew that Hero needed him to take the lead and guide him.

  When Hero got too far ahead of them, his movements quick and frenzied, his head low to the ground, Ben shouted, “Hero, stay close!” in a strong and firm voice that came from his gut.

  Each time, Hero slowed his pace so the boys could catch up. Ben and Tucker bounced over rocks, ducked under low branches, and swerved around thick tree stumps. Tucker was right beside Ben now, not hanging back.

  Ben thought about this person he’d just met. He could safely say Tucker was unlike anyone he’d ever known before. The kid was some kind of cross between a mind reader and a woodsman—a kind of nature superhero. Ben turned his head slightly and watched Tucker pedaling hard on his bike, his glasses covered with specks of dirt and his hair flapping in the wind.

  Despite the seriousness of their mission, Ben had to laugh as a thought occurred to him: Tucker was the boy equivalent of Hero.

  Just then, Hero slowed to a near stop. His snout hovered a few inches above the underbrush, and he crept forward carefully, one paw at a time. His body tensed, and his ears moved back on his head.

  Ben knew that Hero had stumbled upon a new scent—something that hadn’t been there even seconds before.

  For Ben, the woods smelled like a lovely mix of piney bark, rich soil, and wet leaves. For Hero, that didn’t even begin to scratch the surface.

  To Hero’s precise, highly sophisticated nose, the woods were a complex stew of thousands and thousands of scents that wove in and around one another, mixing together and separating again. As he ran and listened and looked, Hero also absorbed, differentiated, and sorted every one of those scents into different categories—all while he kept his senses finely tuned for the one they were looking for.

  It was a herculean task by any measure, but for Hero, it was as natural as breathing.

  Ben and Tucker slowed down and watched Hero work. Soon Hero corrected his path and led them on a new trajectory—at top speed. Ben and Tucker picked up the pace.

  They worked their way deeper and deeper into the shadowy woods. As the sunlight grew dimmer and the air took on a damp chill, Ben couldn’t shake a creeping sensation.

  He had the definite feeling that someone, somewhere, was watching them.

  They weren’t alone.

  14

  THE UNDERGROWTH HAD BECOME A THICK carpet of tree roots and ropy vines crisscrossing the ground. The path had disappeared.

  It was too hard to ride their bikes any longer. Ben and Tucker hopped off and stashed them behind a tall pile of brush, where they couldn’t be easily seen by anyone walking by. The boys made a solemn promise to return for the bikes as soon as they could.

  “Trust me,” Tucker said with a sigh, “you would not want to be there when my sister found out I lost her bike.”

  They moved forward on foot. Ben’s body was stiff and sore, but he was definitely stronger—and less dizzy—than he had been earlier. His arm still hurt, but he was slowly starting to feel like himself again.

  As they walked, Tucker wordlessly pointed to things Ben wouldn’t have noticed on his own: A trail of crushed leaves, where a large animal—a bear or a buck—had walked not long before they came through. A snake curled around a tree branch, totally still and nearly invisible. Ben shuddered at the very sight of it.

  They passed a few crumbling, camouflaged hunting cabins tucked among the trees. Each time they spotted one, Tucker signaled to Ben to stop and wait while he checked it out. Tucker would silently slip around the side of the shack and peer through a window to look in.

  They were all empty.

  The boys walked quietly for a long while, their feet falling into a steady rhythm. Hero forged ahead with total focus. He never seemed to get tired or winded.

  Ben felt the cool air through his jacket. He kept an eye on the sky as they trekked farther and farther east. The day had started to turn flat and gray, and the sun fought to make its way out from behind a blanket of clouds.

  Ben’s mind swam with thoughts of his dad. Had Perillo and the others found anything yet? Were they even getting closer? Was his dad safe?

  He checked his phone. There was no service, which meant no news—and no word from his mom. Had she gotten to the hospital yet and realized that Ben was missing? It was something he couldn’t worry about right now. He had to focus.

  But Ben was tired and sore, and growing hungrier by the minute. A terrible feeling sprouted in his gut—a feeling he didn’t recognize at first. It was a feeling he didn’t want to admit to having: hopelessness.

  Ben pushed the thought away with every bit of strength he had left. Losing hope for this mission meant losing hope for his dad—and tha
t was something he would never, ever do, no matter how frustrated or exhausted he felt.

  He thought back to something his dad had often told him: The best way to make a case go badly was to expect it to go well. Cops can never think things will go the way we want them to, his dad had said many times. We have to assume that things will be as hard as they can possibly be. Any case can fall apart at any moment. If we don’t remember that, we get careless.

  “Tell me about your dad.” Tucker interrupted Ben’s thoughts.

  “What do you want to know?” Ben asked.

  “I don’t know—he sounds kind of cool,” Tucker said.

  “He’s . . .” Ben trailed off, searching for the right words. “He’s great. He’s, you know, tough on me, but not in a crazy way. He pushes me.”

  “What’s it like having a cop for a dad—is it hard?”

  Ben wasn’t sure how to answer that at first, because he’d never known anything different. He thought for a moment. “No. I mean, he’s pretty protective,” Ben said. “And I can’t lie—like, ever—because he can totally tell. And it can be scary—sometimes his job is dangerous.” He chuckled as he said it. “I guess that’s an understatement considering where we are right now.”

  Tucker laughed. “I guess.”

  Ben waited for the sadness to kick in again, like it had last night when Perillo was talking about his dad. But it didn’t happen this time. Instead it felt good to talk about him—it helped somehow.

  “Has he always had a police dog?” Tucker asked.

  “For as long as I can remember, anyway. He’s called a K-9 officer. Hero was his partner, but then Hero retired, so now he’s my dog.”

  “That’s cool,” Tucker said. He was quiet for a moment. “My dad’s not around. My stepdad is okay, I guess.”

  Ben felt like a jerk for going on about how great his own father was. “Sorry—I didn’t mean . . .” he trailed off. “That must be tough.”

  “Nah,” Tucker said. “I’m used to it. My mom is really happy since she met him. So that’s good. But he’s not my dad, you know?”

  “Where is your dad?”

  “He lives in Atlanta.” Tucker changed the subject. “You hungry?”

  Ben’s stomach gurgled at the mere mention of food. He couldn’t remember ever being this hungry before. He’d eaten his last granola bar for breakfast.

  “I’m starving,” he admitted. “But I’m out of food.”

  “Lucky for you”—Tucker grinned—“I have plenty of jerky. Want to rest for a sec?”

  Ben’s legs were tired. A rest sounded great, but he also just wanted to keep moving.

  “I can eat and walk,” Ben said.

  “Suit yourself.” Tucker pulled his backpack around to his chest and began digging through it while they walked. He pulled out the plastic bag full of dried meat and held it out to Ben.

  It looked stringy and dark. Under normal circumstances, it wasn’t something Ben would be enthusiastic about eating, but he didn’t want to be rude—and he had no idea when or where his next meal would be.

  Tucker opened the bag, and the sharp smell rose from it and drifted toward Ben. Even Hero raised his head as the odor reached him in the distance.

  Ben stuck a hand into the bag and took a small piece. Tucker watched him carefully as he raised it to his mouth and took a bite.

  The jerky was tough and dry, and when he bit into it, a burst of musky meatiness filled his mouth. It was somehow bland and overpowering at the same time.

  It was the most disgusting thing he had ever tasted in his entire life.

  Ben was overcome with a powerful urge to eject the food from his mouth, but he forced himself to keep chewing. All the while, Tucker watched him, an expectant look on his face.

  “Well, what do you think?” Tucker asked.

  Ben thought he was going to barf.

  When he couldn’t take it for another second, Ben gagged and spat the chewed-up jerky into the dirt by his feet.

  “I’m sorry, dude,” Ben said, wiping his tongue on his sleeve. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I can’t eat this.” He took a swig of water, swished it around in his mouth, and spat that out too. “That is . . . That is . . .” Ben fumbled for the right words.

  “That’s my grandma’s recipe,” Tucker said, looking crushed.

  Ben felt terrible. “Oh, man—I didn’t mean to . . . I’m so sorry . . . I—”

  Tucker burst out laughing. “Oh, man, you should see your face! It’s priceless!”

  Ben was confused for a second, but soon Tucker was doubled over laughing, and Ben couldn’t help laughing along with him.

  “Wait,” Ben said, “are you telling me you know how nasty that stuff is?”

  “Oh yeah. It’s disgusting, right?” Tucker could hardly breathe he was laughing so hard. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s venison jerky,” Tucker managed to say between bursts of laughter. “My grandma makes it by the pound.”

  Hero stopped running and turned back to see what the commotion was. He cocked his head to the side and cast a suspicious eye on Tucker.

  Ben was laughing almost as hard as Tucker now. “How do you eat it if it’s so bad?”

  “I don’t know,” Tucker said, wiping his cheeks and catching his breath. “I guess I’m just used to it. They’ve been making me eat it since I was a little kid. Everyone hates it, but we all eat it. We have to.”

  Ben shook his head. “That’s insane!”

  “Totally,” Tucker said. “But no one wants to hurt Granny’s feelings. And it has tons of protein so it’s great for camping.”

  Hero barked at Ben.

  “It’s okay, pal,” Ben said. “But if you’re looking for lunch, you do not want to eat that.”

  “Sorry, Hero,” Tucker said, “but Ben’s right.” He stopped walking. “Tell you what, though—how would you like some nice fresh fish?”

  “Are you carrying a bass around in your backpack?” Ben asked. “Because I don’t see any water around here.”

  “Just wait.” Tucker grinned. “Follow me.”

  He led them off the trail and over a small rise. A little ways beyond it, a stream flowed and burbled. Tucker sat down on a large, flat rock that formed a perfect bench, his feet dangling over the water. “Fish coming right up.”

  “How are you going to catch them?” Ben asked, dropping down next to him. His whole body thanked him for taking a break. Hero trotted down to the water’s edge and lapped up some of the cool water. “Because I’m pretty sure you don’t have a fishing rod in there either.”

  “Aha.” Tucker reached back into his pack and pulled out a short stick that ended in a Y shape, with a thin strip of rubber connecting the ends. “That’s what this is for.”

  It was a handmade slingshot. Ben studied it as Tucker turned it over, held it in one hand, and tugged on the piece of rubber with the other. He palmed a small, round rock about the size of a walnut.

  “No way,” Ben said. “You can’t actually catch a fish with that, can you?”

  “Sure can,” Tucker said. “Watch.”

  He lay on his stomach on the flat rock, perched up on his elbows, and pulled the rubber band taut. He slipped the rock into the band, squinted, and eyed the fish swimming back and forth underwater. Ben held his breath and watched.

  Tucker stayed frozen in one position for so long that Ben thought maybe he was messing with him again. Then, suddenly, before Ben even knew that Tucker had let go of the rubber band, there was a pop, and a whizzing sound, and a plink as the rock sliced into the water at top speed.

  Bubbles rose to the surface, but otherwise, there was no indication that anything had happened. Ben was about to tease Tucker when the other boy hopped off the rock and jumped down to the water’s edge. He took a couple of steps into the stream, bent down, stuck his hand in, and stood up gripping a fat, squirming catfish.

  “Here you go,” Tucker said. “Lunch.”

  Ben’s jaw f
ell open. “Wow. That was amazing.”

  “Guess you probably want this cooked for you, city boy,” Tucker joked. “Let me just light a fire.”

  “Ha.” Ben rolled his eyes. “Thanks, but I can handle that part.”

  While Tucker caught another catfish, Ben took off his pack and gathered dried wood, holding it carefully in the crook of his bandaged arm. He formed a small pyramid on the flat rock and stuffed kindling around the bottom. Holding a matchbox in his injured hand, he struck a match with the other.

  Ben’s mouth watered as the fish cooked over the open fire, but he was painfully aware of how much time was passing. He felt jittery with hunger and a desire to keep moving. They had to eat—but they also had to hurry.

  Tucker, on the other hand, seemed totally unconcerned with how slowly the food was cooking. He leaned back on his pack, watching the fish turning on the end of the stick in his hand.

  “It looks done,” Ben said, peering over.

  “Almost. Just needs another minute.”

  Hero was just as anxious as Ben was. The dog paced nearby, his tail down and his ears hanging low around his head.

  “It’s okay, buddy,” Ben said. “We’re gonna get going soon.”

  “Here you go,” Tucker said, handing Ben the stick at last. Ben placed the crispy, steaming fish down on the rock in front of him to let it cool. Hero popped over and sniffed at what was about to be their shared lunch.

  Within minutes, Ben was full, and Hero was licking his chops in satisfaction. Tucker was taking his time finishing his meal, wiping his mouth on his sleeve between bites.

  Ben put his head down on his backpack and looked up at the small puzzle pieces of sky visible beyond the treetops. Hero lay down next to him.

  Impatience coursed through Ben. I should stand up, he thought. I should get my pack on and show Tucker I’m ready.

  Hero was warm next to Ben. His fur was soft. Ben’s belly was full. The leaves on the trees danced in the breeze and made a soft rustling sound.

  I’m going to get up right now, Ben thought as his heavy eyelids closed. After I rest my eyes for a second.

  15

  BEN’S BACK HURT; HE WAS LYING on something cold and hard. His arm was throbbing and tightly wrapped. He had no idea where he was—only that he was staring up into darkness and trees. Hero dozed next to him. Water burbled nearby.