Rescue Mission

by Jennifer Li Shotz

  Then it all came crashing back: His dad. The snakebite. The hospital. And now he and Hero were out in the woods with Tucker, heading east to find his dad.

  But why was it dark out? Hadn’t it just been lunchtime?

  Ben sat up, rubbed his face with his hands, and looked around. Across from him, Tucker leaned against his backpack, gazing into the fire. Ben groggily remembered the slingshot and the fish. He recalled the fatigue that had overcome him after he ate . . .

  He had fallen asleep.

  “How long have I been sleeping?” Ben panicked. “We have to go! It’s dark—what time is it? My dad—”

  “It’s okay, Ben,” Tucker said. “You were pretty wiped out. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

  Tucker really didn’t seem to understand the urgency of the situation.

  “If your dad was missing,” Ben snapped, unable to control his frustration, “I think you’d have woken me up!”

  “Whoa. That’s not cool.” Tucker sounded hurt.

  Ben remembered what Tucker had told him about his dad—how he barely ever saw him.

  “I’m sorry,” Ben said, dropping his head into his hands. “That was lame. I didn’t mean— I’m just . . . I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Tucker stood up and brushed off his jeans. He started kicking ashes onto the fire to put it out. “Let’s get going.”

  “Tucker, seriously. I’m sorry.”

  Tucker stopped and looked up at Ben. “You’re lucky to have a dad like yours.”

  Ben was silent as they set off again, Hero in the lead.

  They walked along the edge of the stream. Hero sniffed at the slippery rocks and waded into the water, splashing along and constantly searching for the scent he’d found on the scrap of orange fabric.

  “He can even follow a scent in water?” Tucker asked, watching Hero work.

  “He can,” Ben said.

  “Can all dogs do that?”

  “Track over water? Special ones, like Hero.”

  Tucker looked impressed. “Bet that comes in handy.”

  Ben was relieved that Tucker didn’t seem angry at him for his outburst. “It does. Last year, Hero and I were stuck out in the forest during the hurricane with my friends—”

  “During the actual hurricane?” Tucker interrupted.

  “Yeah.” Ben felt ridiculous saying it out loud. It sounded crazy now, but at the time, he hadn’t felt like he had a choice . . . It was the same way he had felt when he left the hospital earlier that morning to find his dad. “My friend Jack got stuck in the woods with his dog, Scout.” Hero’s ears popped up at the sound of Scout’s name. “And we couldn’t just leave them out there alone.”

  “It must have been pretty wild out there during the storm.”

  Ben shrugged. “I guess. But I was just way more worried about finding Jack and Scout. Plus, I had Hero to keep me safe.”

  “Hero,” Tucker called out to the dog, “you’re pretty cool.” Hero wagged his tail and kept walking. “So what happened to Scout?” he asked Ben.

  “Actually,” Ben said, “Scout is my dad’s new partner. He’s out there with my dad right now. Hero helped train him. He’s going to become either a police dog or a military dog.”

  “What’s, like, the craziest rescue Hero ever made?” Tucker asked.

  “Hard to say.” Ben thought for a moment. “I mean, during the hurricane, he found a Boy Scout troop trapped in a cave. And then this one Boy Scout and I got stuck in a really strong current after the flooding . . .”

  Ben trailed off, worried he was going on too much.

  “So what happened?” Tucker urged him on.

  “Well . . .” Ben ran through the dozens of stories he could tell about Hero’s amazing career—including the one about Hero finding Ben as a little kid, lost and alone in the woods at night. Every time he finished one rescue story, Tucker begged him for another.

  When Ben had run through the best rescue stories, Tucker asked him for Hero’s craziest arrests and takedowns. Ben told him the one about the bank robber. Then the ones about the car thief and the guy who stole things from people’s front porches. And the one about the dogfighting ring—which Ben and Hero had busted up together.

  There were just so many to choose from, but Tucker didn’t seem to get bored.

  They trekked through the dark for a couple more miles. The moon was high overhead. Dim moonlight shone down through the leaves, creating a patchwork of light and shadow.

  Tucker slowed his pace and gestured to Ben to slow down too. Tucker raised a finger to his lips to shush him.

  At the same moment, Hero froze midstep. He lifted his head, his ears up, and scanned the area around them carefully. His tail extended straight out behind him. Ben watched Hero for any indication of what he might have smelled or heard.

  Tucker tapped Ben on the arm and pointed at a large, flat rock nearby. Ben squinted in the dim light and saw what looked like a short tower on top of it. He stepped closer and saw that it was a pile of three small rocks that had been carefully—and intentionally—stacked one on top of the other.

  Ben looked at Tucker in silent confusion.

  “It’s a signal,” Tucker whispered. “Hikers and hunters do it to let other people know there’s trouble.”

  Ben went cold. Had his dad placed those there while the escaped prisoners weren’t watching?

  If so, what kind of a warning was he sending? Were the convicts the trouble, or was it something else entirely?

  They forged ahead for another half mile, Ben and Tucker moving as silently as possible, trying not to step on any branches. Hero moved as quickly and stealthily as ever. Ben felt the ground sloping upward as he walked, until they stood at the top of a small hill.

  “There,” Tucker whispered, pointing to a spot just below them. Ben followed his finger but couldn’t see anything in the thick woods at first. He saw only leaves and trees, then more leaves and trees.

  Ben scanned the tree line again, and this time he spotted it, as if it were suddenly emerging from the natural world around it: a dilapidated hunting shack nestled among the trees, its rough plank walls blending in perfectly with the forest around it.

  “That’s Old Man Scoggins’s shack,” Tucker said quietly. “He doesn’t come out here anymore. No one in his family does. It should be empty.” Tucker’s voice was low and calm, but Ben saw that he was taking in the whole scene—the shack, the tall trees surrounding it on three sides, the darkness between the tree trunks. Ben recognized something in Tucker’s expression. It was an alertness, a sharp-eyed observation that he’d often seen in his dad and in Hero.

  Tucker reached for the slingshot in his back pocket. He gripped it firmly in his right hand. He flexed the fingers on his left hand, which held a small but heavy rock. Tucker was poised and ready to fire if necessary.

  Hero was similarly primed. The points of his ears rose up, and his nose crinkled as he sorted out the thousands of scents he was catching. He locked his eyes on the cabin. Hero had sensed something inside.

  Tsk tsk. Ben made the sound he had practiced with Perillo the night before. It worked. Hero sat down, and Ben knew he wouldn’t run into the cabin—no matter what was inside—unless Ben gave him the command.

  Ben studied the small, splintering structure, which was barely bigger than a garden shed. It had small windows at the front, but no glass—just torn curtains fluttering in the night breeze. The place was dark, deserted. It looked like it hadn’t seen a human in ages.

  Hero sniffed at the air. He looked up at Ben, his eyes begging for a command that would let him run to the shed and find whatever was inside.

  Ben looked down at Hero—and then something beyond the dog caught his eye, making him gasp audibly. At first he thought his mind was playing tricks on him, but he looked again, straining his eyes, and that’s when he knew for sure: The curtain on the left had stopped fluttering.

  It had stopped because someone was holding it still.

  Someone w
ho was inside the shack.

  Looking out.

  A million thoughts burst into Ben’s brain at once, but one rose above all the others: Had they been spotted by the person inside?

  Before he had a chance to learn the answer, a sound punctured the silence, making Ben, Tucker, and Hero jump.

  It was a voice, floating on the night air. Ben recognized it right away.

  It was his dad. And he sounded okay. Hoarse, exhausted, maybe in a little bit of pain—but okay.

  “People are out looking for me,” Sergeant Landry was saying in a calm, even tone. “It’s only a matter of time before they find us, and when they do, they’re going to want to throw you in jail. But you can still get out of this if you let me help you.”

  Ben was flooded with joy. He fought the intense urge to call out for his dad. He bit his lip and watched the cabin for any sign of movement.

  “Shut up!” a stranger’s voice boomed back.

  As if in response to the man’s angry tone, a single, sharp bark rang out from the shack and echoed around the forest.

  Scout.

  Hero whimpered and scratched the ground with impatience. He stood up and wriggled with a barely contained urgency to move.

  “Tsk tsk,” Ben signaled. Hero instantly calmed himself and sat back down.

  Ben forced himself to take slow, even breaths while he considered their options. He turned to Tucker, who had his eyes locked on the shack. Without looking down at his hands, Tucker slipped the rock into the rubber strap of the slingshot, pulled back on it, and paused. He turned to Ben.

  “Only one guy, right?” Tucker whispered to Ben.

  “I think so,” Ben replied quietly. They’d only heard one voice that wasn’t his dad’s, and the shack was small—it would have been tight for three grown men at once.

  This was good news and bad news. If there was only one convict in there, that meant Ben’s dad wasn’t currently outnumbered.

  But it also meant that if the other guy wasn’t in there, he was out here—where Ben, Tucker, and Hero were.

  He could be anywhere in the darkness around them.

  He could even be watching them right that second.

  Ben scanned the trees behind them. He listened for man-made sounds. Nothing. He looked at Hero, who was growing ever more desperate to race down to the shack and get to Ben’s dad and Scout.

  “What’s taking him so long?” the man in the shack growled. He sounded furious and scared. A dangerous combination.

  “The other guy—they’re waiting for him to come back,” Ben whispered to Tucker.

  Tucker nodded. He squinted, gazing over his slingshot, which was aimed squarely at the window where the man had looked out before.

  Tucker’s hands were steady.

  The seconds ticked by slowly. The man in the shack cursed a few times as Ben’s dad tried to talk him down.

  “I can only help one of you,” Ben’s dad said. “Don’t you want it to be you? But you have to help me first.”

  And then it happened: The man grabbed at the curtain, yanked it hard to the side, and stuck his face through the window to look outside.

  In one swift movement, Tucker released the rubber strap. The rock sliced silently through the air, and the escaped prisoner let out a yell as it bashed him in the forehead.

  Blood spouted from a gash above his right eye, and he clutched at it with a meaty hand. He howled in shock and pain—and fell away from the window. Ben and Tucker heard him hit the ground with a sickening thud.

  “He’s out!” Ben’s dad called from inside.

  “Go, Ben!” Tucker instructed Ben. “I’ll stay here and keep watch.”

  “Hero, go get Dad!” Ben commanded.

  Ben and Hero raced to the flimsy door. Ben kicked it open. In that filthy, crumbling shack, with splinters of wood spiking up from the floor and the smell of rotting leaves emanating from the very walls, Ben saw the most amazing sight of his life: his dad, crumpled in the corner with his back against the wall, looking up at him with a huge smile of relief on his face.

  He was bruised and scratched up. His wrists and ankles were lashed together with rope. He winced as he tried to push himself up from the floor.

  Ben’s dad was hurt.

  But he was alive.

  16

  “BEN!” HIS DAD’S VOICE WAS FILLED with emotion. “What are you doing here?”

  “Dad—you’re okay!” Ben stepped over the unconscious man on the floor and crossed the tiny space in just a couple of steps. He dropped to his knees and, as best he could with the giant bandage on his arm, began untying the bindings on his dad’s wrists. Hero bolted over and licked Sergeant Landry’s face.

  A blur of movement in the corner caught Ben’s eye.

  Scout whimpered and darted over to Ben and Hero, his tail up and wagging like crazy.

  Hero sniffed and nudged at the younger dog, then licked Scout all over his face.

  “Ben,” his dad said, his voice growing serious, “we’re not safe. There’s two of them—the other guy will be back any sec—”

  Before he could even finish the sentence, his gaze shifted from Ben’s face to something over Ben’s shoulder, and his expression grew fierce.

  Hero shot up and crouched down into a fighting stance, growling deeply. Scout let out a series of angry barks.

  Ben spun around.

  Standing by the door, just feet from him, was the second escaped prisoner. He wore a ripped orange prison jumpsuit. His face was scratched and muddy, and he had a wild, desperate look in his eye. A sour smell of sweat and dirt emanated from him.

  He was looking at Ben.

  And he was holding a gun.

  Hero’s growl shifted into a low, angry snarl, and he bared his top teeth. This was the most aggressive Ben had ever seen Hero—and it made sense. Never before had he needed to protect both Ben and his dad.

  This man was after Hero’s very heart and soul.

  And he had no idea what he was about to encounter.

  Ben’s heart was pounding with fear. His hands shook. But he was also strangely calm—as if everything had slowed down and become crystal clear. He was hyperaware of everything around him—his dad’s ragged breathing, Hero’s protective fury, Scout’s big eyes watching the scene intently.

  “Hero,” Ben said, speaking in a voice as strong and deep as possible through clenched teeth. “Stand down. Stay.”

  Hero hesitated. He didn’t want to obey Ben’s commands, but he did.

  “Good boy,” Ben breathed as Hero sat down and went quiet.

  Hero kept his eyes locked on the man by the door, waiting for the slightest sound from Ben’s mouth or twitch of Ben’s finger to attack.

  But if there was anyone in the world, besides his mom and sister, that Ben cared about as much as his dad, it was Hero. There was no way Ben was going to let Hero get hurt—and this man clearly wouldn’t hesitate to shoot any of them, human or canine.

  “Who the hell are you?” the prisoner snarled at Ben. “And what did you do to him?” He gestured at his fellow escapee with the gun. “He better be alive!” he bellowed.

  “He’s alive,” Ben’s dad said calmly. “And there’s no need to hurt anyone. This is my son. We’ll do whatever you ask us to. We’re not going anywhere.”

  “Shut up,” the man said, his voice cold and menacing. “I can’t think when you’re flapping your gums like that.” He waved the gun wildly in their direction.

  “Okay,” Ben’s dad said, holding up his still-bound hands in a sign of compliance. “Whatever you need.” He nodded at Ben. Ben dropped to the floor next to him. Hero and Scout stood closely together.

  With the tip of one muddy boot, the man nudged at his partner, who was still passed out cold on the floor. No response. The man kicked the wall in frustration. The entire shack shuddered with the blow, and for a second Ben thought it might collapse right on top of them.

  “You’re gonna pay for this, kid!” the prisoner roared at Ben. He lurched toward th
em, and Ben flinched. His dad leaned forward, trying to put his own injured body between Ben and the man.

  Ben could see the frenzied rage in the man’s eyes. His chance to escape was on the line here—and Ben was the one standing in the way.

  “I don’t know what you did to him,” the man spat, “but he’s gonna be real pissed off when he wakes up. So I’ll tell you what—you’re gonna be the first person he sees when he opens his eyes, and you can tell him yourself what you did. What he does to you in return—well, that’s up to him.”

  Ben’s jaw was tightly clenched, and his temples pulsed. He was grateful for his dad’s steadying presence beside him.

  The prisoner waved his gun in their faces. “I have to go take care of something. I won’t be gone long, and if either of you try to leave, I’m gonna catch you, and you’re gonna get hurt. Well—whatever part of you isn’t hurt already by my friend here.” He cracked a nasty grin and waved the gun toward the unconscious man on the ground. “You got me loud and clear?”

  Ben and his dad nodded.

  “Just to make real sure, I’m gonna have to tie you up.”

  The man pulled some rope from his back pocket and took a shambling step toward Ben. He leaned down—Ben almost gagged from his stench—and grabbed Ben’s wrists. Ben’s bandaged arm vibrated with pain, but he clenched his teeth and took short, sharp breaths through his nostrils—anything to prevent this jerk from seeing him in pain.

  Ben felt his dad tense up next to him. Even with his hands and feet tied up, he was ready to tear the man apart if he hurt Ben. Hero and Scout snarled softly.

  “Leave it, Scout,” Ben’s dad said under his breath.

  “Leave it, Hero,” Ben said.

  The dogs went quiet, but Ben could see from the corner of his eye that, like his dad, they were still on high alert.

  Ben let his arms go limp as the man lashed them together tightly. He wasn’t going to fight—not now. Not yet. The rope pinched his skin and cut off the circulation. Ben felt weak from the pain radiating from his wound. But he looked the man right in the eye, daring him to look back.