Gem

by Jane B. Mason

“Looks like the entire laundry room and linen closet exploded in here,” Tommy said when they could see the other side.

  It was true—there was a lot to navigate in the little hallway. Finally, after another several minutes, they made it to the bathroom.

  Gem’s tail thumped at the sight of Laurel. “Good dog, Gem!” Laurel patted her leg and Gem moved to her side while Erik knelt to check the girl’s pulse. It was there … barely.

  “She’s cold, and her breathing is shallow,” he said. Laurel saw the two medics exchange a concerned look. They knew what this meant; time was of the essence. They sprang into action. “Laurel, go grab some of those towels so we can cover her while we wait for help.”

  Laurel did as she was told, choosing the driest and cleanest linens she could find. When she returned with an armful of once-yellow towels, Erik and Tommy were discussing ways to get the girl out. It was clear that they didn’t have the time it took to get in, so they had to come up with an alternative plan … something faster.

  Erik radioed out to the larger team, letting them know where they were located in the house and what the conditions were.

  Laurel spotted a crack in the skewed roof. “Do you think they could get an excavator to pull off the roof?” she asked. “We could use the bathtub to protect her …”

  Tommy nodded. “That’s what we were thinking, too. It’s risky, but there aren’t a lot of other options.”

  Erik finished his conversation and holstered the radio. “They agree. Pulling off the roof is the best chance we—I mean she—has. If we can do that, we can helicopter her out from here.” He let out a slow breath. “They should be ready to go in about five minutes.”

  It took all three of the rescuers to drag the heavy tub a few inches closer to the wall in order to protect the unconscious girl as much as possible.

  “I think that’s the best we can do,” Erik said as they huffed. “We’ve got to take cover in the hall.” He waved his hand toward the spot he thought offered the best shelter during the roof demolition. They could hear the rumble of the excavator approaching as they scrambled into the corridor. Gem lagged behind, whimpering and unwilling to stray from the human she’d found.

  “Come on, Gem,” Laurel called, patting her leg. Gem looked back at her handler, her eyes more liquid than usual. She really didn’t want to come. She wanted to stay with the girl. The girl was in trouble. The girl needed her.

  “All right, stay,” Laurel said as Gem curled up tightly beneath the lip of the tub beside the teen.

  “It’s cast iron under that porcelain if that makes you feel any better,” Tommy offered reassuringly. “Sturdy as all get-out. They’re safer than we are.”

  The three workers hunkered down beside the cleaning closet as the roar of the giant machine rumbled closer. The house shuddered for several long seconds, and the sound of giant metal teeth clamping around the eave of the roof split their ears. Laurel closed her eyes as the shaking increased and then stopped for a moment. All at once everything lurched upward. Light flooded over them, and Laurel shielded her now-open eyes. The roof over their heads was gone!

  “Holy moly!” Laurel exclaimed as she got to her feet and waded to the bathroom door. Gem was still there, curled up beside the girl. Both were safe.

  “No kidding,” Tommy agreed.

  They could hear several rescue workers outside now, shouting communications and excitement, then the thunderous sound of the medevac helicopter. A stretcher was lowered into the bathroom, and Erik and Tommy used a piece of wood to keep the girl’s body in position as they gently lifted her onto it and strapped her in. An oxygen mask was fitted onto her face, and as the stretcher began to rise, they saw her eyelids flutter.

  Erik beamed at Tommy, and then Laurel. “That’s a good sign,” he said. “A very good sign.”

  With the victim evacuated and on her way to the hospital, it was time for the crew to make its way out, too. Gem led them down the hall, patiently waiting while they climbed over mess and waded through the mud. The cherry picker was still waiting next to the boulder in the living room. It was an even tighter squeeze with Gem on board, but they managed to fit.

  Outside, Erik and Tommy turned their attention to Gem, the hero of the day. “You are one incredible dog,” Erik said while Tommy ruffled her mud-covered scruff.

  Laurel beamed as Gem lapped up the attention. She was grateful that Gem was okay, that they had done some real good.

  “I have to go check on my crew,” Erik said. “And I’ll see if I can get some info on the girl. Sometimes they let us know quickly if there’s an ID or an update—especially with kids.”

  “I’d love to hear whatever you find out,” Laurel replied.

  Tommy gave Gem one last pet, then picked up his pole and went back to probing the mud.

  Alone with her prized pup, Laurel gave Gem some much-deserved praise, water, and treats from the bag in her pocket. “You really, truly, are my wonder dog,” she whispered. “One hundred percent.”

  Before long Erik was back with the report that the girl had been identified when she arrived at the hospital. Her name was Casey Jorgen. “Finding her was a miracle,” he said, shaking his head in happy disbelief.

  Laurel let the information sink in for a minute. Dozens of people were still missing in the mud, but Casey Jorgen had been found, alive. Found by Gem. “You are the miracle,” she whispered.

  When she lifted her face from Gem’s neck, she saw a man stumbling toward them. It took her a moment to realize it was the man they’d met at the beginning of the day—the man in shock who’d said his family was just … gone. It seemed like so long ago, yet it had only been a matter of hours.

  “You found my Casey,” he blurted as he nearly collapsed next to them. “That was my Casey.” His face was covered in muddy streaks, and his body shook with emotion and shock and fatigue. “She’s not out of the woods yet, but if you hadn’t found her there …” He shuddered again, his shoulders shaking. “Just … thank you.”

  Gem leaned toward the sobbing man and licked his cheek, which brought on another round of tears. Laurel gripped his arm and felt her own heart squeeze. “You’re welcome” was all she could say.

  After dinner on Thursday, the Sterling family gathered around the television as they had been ordered to by the littlest thing on two legs at the ranch: Juniper.

  Georgia and Martin’s youngest daughter stood in front of the screen holding the remote over her head and looking like an impatient tour guide at a museum.

  “Uhhhh-uhhm.” She cleared her throat.

  Morgan nudged Forrest. Forrest nudged her back too hard with his elbow. Morgan fell into Shelby, who shoved her off and gave her “that look.”

  “Uhhh-uhhm!” Juniper cleared her throat again, and the crowd finally settled. Her parents were looking far too amused, and her siblings were not paying near enough attention. Only her grandmother, Frances, and her Lab, Cocoa, seemed to be taking this with the appropriate level of seriousness. They sat still in their seats and gave Juniper their undivided attention.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, canines and felines!” Juniper included her cats even though they were nowhere in sight. “It is no secret to all of us here that Twig and Bud are the smartest, most adorable, most talented animals alive.” She glanced at Cocoa apologetically, and Frances pretended to cover the brown dog’s ears so she wouldn’t be insulted.

  “Soon, the secret will be out in the world …” Juniper paused dramatically and stepped to the side of the screen. I present to you, Bud Sequoia Cheshire Sterling in his world-premiere debut!” She pressed play.

  Forrest nudged Morgan again, but both of them kept their eyes glued to the screen as Bud strolled into the frame, sauntering serenely at cat’s-eye level. Looking properly aloof, he crossed a pristine kitchen to a large, waiting bowl filled with colorful kibble.

  The crowd went wild.

  Juniper shushed them.

  Bud proceeded to chew and crunch the kibble, and after a few close-up mou
thfuls, the camera zoomed out so he could weave in and out of a pair of legs while producing his trademark engine-rumble purr.

  “Meow Chow. They’ll love you for it!” the voice-over announced as a tagline appeared on the bottom of the screen, complete with a heart-shaped paw print.

  Everyone clapped, and Juniper, who had at last managed to lure Bud into the room during the first ever screening of his television debut, grabbed the star and took a bow along with him while Twig trotted past, unmoved.

  “Great job, Bud.” Morgan jumped up to give the champion purrer a pet.

  Juniper nodded. “He really did nail it,” she agreed. “Maybe now we can get a new agent.” She rolled her eyes and released her grip on Bud, who promptly retreated to the corner to lick himself.

  “Hopefully this new agent will help you get paid in cash?” her dad suggested lightly. “I don’t know where I’m going to store all that cat food on a dog ranch.”

  “Bud and Twig don’t even like it!” Juniper crowed. “They had to put tuna juice on top to get Bud to eat it during filming!”

  Georgia giggled and covered her mouth. She knew better than to laugh at Juniper … or her husband. She was about to suggest they donate a substantial amount of Meow Chow to the local shelter, when her phone rang. It was a FaceTime call from a number she recognized. Pushing a few buttons, she mirrored her screen with the TV monitor and accepted the call. A familiar face replaced the number.

  “Laurel! Good to see you! You caught us all together!”

  Laurel’s eyes grew wide, and she waved with the hand that was not holding the phone. “Hi, everyone!” She sounded excited, and her smile was wide.

  The Sterlings shouted back their greetings, drowning one another out until Juniper climbed onto a chair.

  “Shhhh! Everybody!” She hushed the room to be sure she was hearing what she thought she was hearing: familiar barks! “Gem! It’s Gem! Say hi, Bud!”

  Laurel laughed, bringing her dog into the frame on the call so they could see her for a second. She had to rein in the conversation, or leash it, or something …

  “I called because I have big news,” Laurel said. “Did you hear about the awful mudslides in Southern California?”

  Georgia covered her mouth again. Of course she had heard. They all had. She kept her mouth covered while Laurel told the story of Gem’s first rescue. By the time Laurel finished, there were tears in Georgia’s eyes. Laurel had to swallow hard, too.

  “Gem got in there. I thought the house was going to come the rest of the way down on her at any second, on all of us! But she dug her way through to find the girl, and we got Casey out just in time. We even visited her in the hospital. She’s going to make a full recovery, thanks to Gem.”

  Georgia gulped. She had read about the teenager rescued from the big slides. It stuck with her because Casey was the same age as her Shelby. She sprang to her feet and wrapped her kids—all of them—in a hug. Juniper was first to wriggle free.

  “Gem did it!” Juniper shouted as she danced around the living room. “I knew she was a rescue dog!” She suddenly stopped dancing and popped her fists onto her hips. Her eyebrows went up and her lips puckered into a bow. “And being a digger turned out to be a good thing after all,” she said in her best “I told you so” voice. She shook her head, annoyed by the stupidity of human beings and their constant underestimation of animals.

  “It sure did, Juniper!” Laurel, who was still on-screen, agreed, crouching down to wrap her arms around her best dog. “Our little digger is a rescue gem!”

  As bona fide dog lovers we jumped at the opportunity to write stories about rescue dogs. Knowing that the project would require extensive research, we excitedly explored websites, books, articles, and anything else that could help us learn about rescue dog training, handler pairing, and the disasters dogs assist with. We found dozens of inspiring stories about real dogs doing what they do best: acting selflessly, loyally, enthusiastically, tirelessly, and heroically to save people in peril. We were won over by these incredible tales of canines and their companions, and inspired by the dedication and hard work so many two- and four-legged creatures undertake in service of others. We also learned that there are many differing theories and methods of dog training.

  It can take years of training and discipline to develop dogs’ natural gifts into skills that make them both safe and effective helpers in the aftermath of disasters. Dozens of canine search and rescue agencies all over the world do this important work, and while they all share the common goal of creating well-matched and successful dog-and-handler teams, each has its own philosophy and style. There is no single path to becoming a certified search dog. Though we were particularly inspired by the National Disaster Search Dog Foundation, established by Wilma Melville and her Labrador, Murphy, we pulled from several schools of thought regarding both training and searching to create these dog-inspired fictional stories. We hope you enjoy them. Woof!

  Read all the Rescue Dogs novels!

  Keep reading for a special look at Ember!

  The little yellow puppy wriggled in a heap with her littermates. She freed a tiny paw, twisted, and pushed her fuzzy snout underneath her brother’s chin. She wanted to snuggle back to sleep. It was dark under the house where the puppies dozed, always. Even during the day. But she could not settle. Something was different. Something was wrong.

  Struggling out of the pile, she stood on wobbly legs. She opened her eyes to peer into the darkness and blinked. The small puppy had only had her eyes open for a week, and she loved to gaze at dust mites, her littermates’ floppy tails, and the slow-moving spiders that lurked in the murky dark of the den. But this dark was different from the dark she knew. This dark wasn’t the cozy, warm dark that was good for napping and rolling around with her siblings. This dark smelled strange. It felt hot. And it burned her open eyes. She let out a yip and then stood still, waiting to feel her mother’s comforting lick.

  It didn’t come.

  The pup lifted her short snout and sniffed again. Even in the strange, thick air, she could scent it. Her mother was gone.

  The puppies’ mother rarely left the nest she’d made for her litter. When she did, she was never away for long—just long enough to get food or water or go to the bathroom. The yellow puppy yipped once more. She pricked up her floppy ears, listening for her mama to call back in return. All she heard were strange new noises—loud thumps, scrapes, snaps, and pops. Added to the smells, the sounds made her uncomfortable. A whimper rose in her throat. She swallowed, then let her mouth fall open as she strained to see and hear and smell more.

  At last she heard her mother’s bark, but that, too, was strange. There was a warning in it, a plea, and an urgency she’d never heard before. It also sounded muffled, as if it was coming from far away.

  The puppy yipped back to her mom, though it was useless. Her tiny bark was swallowed up by the new noises. But that didn’t stop her. She yipped again and again, waking her brothers and sisters. The other puppies joined in the cry. They struggled to their feet in turn and began yelping and yapping, adding their tiny barks to the din, calling to their mother.

  It was not enough.

  Stumbling around in the dark, the yellow puppy kept barking as she searched for a way out.

  None of the puppies had ever been out of the nest where they’d been born. Their mama dog provided all they needed—food, shelter, comfort. They had never needed to know the way out. “Out” was a place they thought they might follow their mother one day. Now, suddenly, “out” was a place they needed to find right away.

  The yellow puppy kept sniffing for an escape, searching for fresh air. The strange-smelling air stung her nose, and the strong scent was growing stronger every second. Soon it overwhelmed everything else. The little dog stopped. She could not trust her nose. She held still and focused on the sounds coming from all around her. She heard her mother’s muffled bark, her siblings’ cries, and other voices, too—human voices. One of them was deep and booming �
� louder than the others.

  “Wait. The dog. She’s trying to tell us something!” the voice bellowed from somewhere above her.

  “Marcus, we’ve got to get out of here. I don’t think the roof is going to hold. Grab that dog and let’s go!”

  “No. Wait,” the booming voice repeated. “See her pacing? She keeps going back to that spot. There’s something down there. And look at her belly. I think she has puppies!”

  The yellow puppy yipped in the dark and tilted her head. New noises came from above: more thumping, and then a strange scratching sound.

  “Stand back. Hold the dog!” the deep voice boomed. The scratching was replaced by a loud WHACK. Then another. And another. WHACK! WHACK!

  The rest of the frightened puppies cowered together. The whole den shook. The yellow pup stood apart. She listened to the sound of splintering wood and a strange wailing creak as one of the floorboards that made the roof of the puppies’ den was pried up.

  A hazy shaft of light flickered into the darkness, and the yellow puppy heard the booming voice again—louder this time.

  “Here!” it shouted.

  The terrified litter moved farther into a gloomy corner as a large covered hand reached through the opening, accompanied by a thick cloud of gray smoke. The gloved hand groped in the darkness, searching, as more and more smoke poured in.

  The little yellow puppy had never been close to humans before, but she sensed two things: Danger was closing in, and help was near. Circling the rest of her litter, she nudged them with her nose toward the hand that grasped each one gently and lifted them out one at a time.

  The yellow pup kept herding the litter to safety, ignoring the burning in her throat and eyes. Smoke filled her lungs. She struggled to breathe. She coughed as she pushed a brown puppy, the last one, forward and watched him disappear through the rough opening.

  “We’ve got to get out of here, NOW!” the second voice shouted above her.