Hero

by Jennifer Li Shotz

  DEDICATION

  For my dog-crazy family, and all the Heros, Scouts, Moussies, and Mangoes in our future

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  PROLOGUE

  HERO SAT PERFECTLY STILL ON THE auditorium stage, his ears alert, his front paws in alignment. The dog tilted his head ever so slightly and locked his eyes on the police chief, who stood at the podium. From his seat in the front row, Ben thought his chest might burst with pride. Even though he’d known Hero since he was a baby, Ben was still totally blown away by what a great dog Hero was.

  Everything about Hero, a black Labrador, was poised and distinguished. Even his thick dark coat was extra shiny—Ben’s mom had insisted on taking him to the groomer yesterday. Hero, as usual, had gone without complaint. He even let Ben’s little sister, Erin, put a giant bow on his collar. Ben had taken it off that morning before the ceremony. He didn’t think Mississippi’s most decorated police dog needed to show up for his retirement ceremony with a floppy bow on his neck.

  Ben squeezed Erin’s tiny hand in his and stood up as straight as he could. Everyone was dressed up for the special occasion, and Ben felt like a man in his new suit. His mom, Jessica, wiped a tear from her eye. She had straightened Ben’s tie about a million times that morning before they left the house. Noah, Ben’s best friend, fidgeted in his stiff shirt. He was used to playing baseball with Ben, not dressing up—but even he was caught up in the moment.

  Ben studied his dad and Hero on the stage at the front of the room. His dad—Sergeant Dave Landry, technically—held Hero’s leash in one hand. The badges and medals on his dad’s dress uniform glinted every time the photographer’s flash went off. His dad wore a serious expression, but Ben could see that his eyes were a little damp too.

  Hero was more than just a regular police dog in the K-9 unit—he was also trained as a search-and-rescue dog. Hero and Ben’s dad had been partners on the Gulfport police force for eight years. In that time, Hero had busted a lot of criminals—and saved a lot of lives.

  Including Ben’s.

  When Ben was only six, he had wandered away from the house and walked a couple of miles along a nearby creek. He threw small rocks in the air, then swung at them with sticks—playing “baseball.” He was so caught up in his game that he didn’t realize the sun was going down until he looked up and it was dark. He didn’t know which way was home. Ben was terrified. Every tree looked exactly the same, and he couldn’t see the path.

  He tried to find his way back, but he only got more lost. Finally he sank down at the base of a tree, pulled his arms into his T-shirt for warmth, and sobbed. He thought he would never see his family again.

  Then, all of a sudden, Hero had bounded through the darkness and found Ben. The dog had licked the tears right off his face. Even though it was almost seven years later, Ben could still remember the feel of Hero’s warm fur in the cold night.

  Ben and his family had never forgotten that Hero saved Ben’s life. And apparently, neither had Hero: After that night in the woods, whenever Hero and Ben were together, Hero followed Ben everywhere—like he was protecting him.

  Every chance he got, Ben’s dad would bring Hero to the house to visit Ben. The dog always went straight upstairs to Ben’s room, where he’d sit for hours and patiently listen to Ben explain the rules of baseball. For Ben, it was like a dream come true: his two favorite things—Hero and baseball—together in one place.

  “We owe Hero a great debt,” the police chief said into the microphone. “This town has never seen such a skilled police dog. We can’t even count the number of people he’s saved or bad guys he’s caught. But we can say that every time he was on the job, he amazed us. After a tornado tore up part of our town two years ago, Hero was the first one on the job every morning, and the last to leave at night. He knew every nook and cranny of the rubble, and he saved the lives of several of our friends and neighbors who were buried under the ruins of their own houses.”

  The chief looked down at Hero appreciatively. “I watched them pull a man out of the destruction,” the chief went on. “A man who feared he might never see daylight again. Well, he is alive today because of Hero. I am humbled by this great creature.”

  There wasn’t a dry eye in the room.

  “And now,” the chief said, “after many years of service to our community, it’s time for Hero to enjoy himself a little. We’re sad to see him go, of course, but we feel like Hero has earned the chance to retire and not have to show up to work every day, like the rest of us.” The crowd laughed. The chief stepped forward and hung a wide ribbon around the dog’s neck. At the end of it dangled a shiny round medal. “Hero, on behalf of the city of Gulfport, Mississippi, I am proud to award you this Medal of Honor for distinguished service. Thank you, sir.”

  Hero thumped his long, curving tail. He tilted his head up at the chief and let out a little woof. Then he opened his mouth and panted a little.

  “Look!” Erin cried. “Hero is smiling!”

  Ben, his parents, his sister, and Noah all cheered. The rest of the room burst into applause.

  Ben’s dad stepped down from the small stage, and Hero loped along after him. Ben, his mom, and his sister encircled them in a big group hug.

  After a moment, Ben dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around Hero’s neck.

  “I’m gonna miss you, pal,” he said. The group went quiet. The day was a celebration, but it was also bittersweet. Like most retired police dogs in the area, Hero was going to work for a private security company, doing some light duty. They didn’t know how often—or if—they’d get to see him. Ben stood up.

  “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to bring everybody down.”

  Ben’s dad exchanged a look with Ben’s mom. She nodded. His dad turned and looked Ben square in the eye. Without a word, he handed Ben the loop at the end of Hero’s leash.

  “Hero is yours now, son,” Ben’s dad said.

  “Wait—what do you mean?” Ben asked in total surprise.

  “You’re growing up,” his dad said. “And we feel like you’re ready to take on more responsibility.”

  Ben tried to understand what his dad was saying. “Are you serious? You’re saying that Hero is really my dog?”

  His dad nodded.

  “But what about the security company—” Ben asked.

  “Not Hero,” his dad replied. “This is a good dog who has saved a lot of lives. And one of those lives was pretty important to me. The department knows how special Hero is to our family. They agreed that he deserves only the best, and that means he gets to come live with the Landry family. Taking care of Hero will be your opportunity to show us what you’re made of.”

  “Yes!” Ben blurted out. “I mean, okay, Dad. I can do that . . . I’ll do that.” Ben was too excited to think, let alone speak. Hero was his!

  He looked at Noah to see if he was hearing
this or if Ben was just dreaming the whole thing. Noah wore a huge, happy grin and high-fived him. “Now you’ll have someone to catch your fly balls, Ben!” his best friend teased.

  Ben’s mom hugged him tight. “But listen, honey,” his mom said. “To keep Hero, you have to keep your grades up and not fall behind in any classes.”

  “Absolutely, Mom.”

  “And do all your chores.”

  “I promise I’ll do them, Mom. I’ll do anything!”

  His parents looked at him with a funny expression on their faces. Like a mixture of pride and happiness, plus a tiny drop of weepiness, all at once.

  Ben knew it would be more work than he was used to—taking care of a dog wasn’t always easy, and taking care of a hero dog meant that much more pressure. His stomach felt jittery.

  He smiled to cover his nerves.

  “I know you can do it, Ben,” his mom said. She squeezed his shoulders.

  “Thanks, Mom,” Ben said, hoping she was right.

  Ben looked down at Hero, who sat patiently, his medal draped across his soft black chest. Hero snapped his mouth shut and tilted his head back to look at Ben. Ben put his hand on the dog’s head. His dog’s head, he reminded himself. It felt warm and solid under his palm. In his other hand, he gripped the leash. The leather rope felt heavy—full of promise and responsibility. Hero nudged Ben’s hand and gave his fingers a lick. It was almost like Hero understood who his new owner was.

  Ben wanted to pinch himself. Hero was coming home with him for good.

  As they walked to the car, Hero moved with precision, keeping perfect pace with Ben. Lean yet muscular, Hero was a big dog, but in total control of his body. Ben wanted to try something out. He stopped short. The dog stopped at almost exactly the same instant and immediately sat down at Ben’s side. Ben stepped forward quickly. Hero hopped up and moved in step with him. Ben stopped; Hero froze and sat down in one fluid motion. It’s like he knows I’m going to stop before I do it, Ben thought.

  Ben’s dad was walking a few feet ahead of them. He turned around and watched Ben and Hero over his shoulder. “He’s good, right, son?”

  Ben nodded in amazement. “No kidding, Dad. How does he do it?”

  His dad chuckled. “He just does. It’s what he’s trained to do, but he was born that way. Hero has always been a natural.”

  Ben leaned down and touched his nose to Hero’s. Hero snuffled Ben’s face and looked up at him with big brown eyes.

  “It’s you and me now, Hero,” Ben said with a grin.

  1

  THE BALL ARCED THROUGH THE AIR and came down fast. Hero pumped his legs and hurtled across the grass, his stride long and graceful, but strong. One minute he had four paws on the ground, the next he was sailing upward, closing his jaw around the ball. He landed effortlessly, taking the impact on his hind legs. He wasn’t even panting.

  “Did you see that?” Ben shouted at Noah.

  “He’s amazing,” Noah said, shading his eyes to watch Hero race back with the baseball. “He’s like half-bird, half-dog.”

  Ben never got tired of hitting balls for Hero. And Hero never seemed to get tired of chasing them down. But the only person who loved playing ball more than Ben and Hero combined was Noah. This year, Ben and Noah were determined to make the seventh-grade varsity team. They came with Hero to the baseball park every day after school to practice throwing, hitting, and catching, and to give each other pointers.

  Hero bounded back toward them, a slobbery ball perched in his mouth.

  “What time is it?” Noah asked.

  Ben looked up and noticed that the sun had sunk lower in the sky.

  “Four thirty,” he said.

  “I have to get going,” Noah said.

  “Yeah, us too. C’mon, Hero. Time to pack it in,” Ben said as he gave Hero a scratch on the head.

  Hero dropped the ball at Ben’s feet. Ben flashed Hero the hand signal for stay. Hero stood still. Ben was still mastering all the signals and verbal commands his dad had been using with Hero for years. There wasn’t much need for Ben to give Hero the special ones, like search and track. But Hero knew other commands that would be fun to use, like when to start and stop, whether to run or jump, when to turn around and come back. Hero could stop walking mid-step, if he got the right command. Hero’s training was at an expert level—and he always followed orders. That’s what a police dog did best.

  The dog fixed his serious eyes on Ben. His left ear twitched. He cocked his head to the right. Ben was learning his every expression and gesture.

  “You see that look he gives me?” Ben asked Noah. He nodded. “That means he wants me to throw one more ball.”

  “Wow. Your dog is not only a hero, but he can talk too?” Noah looked down at Hero. Hero wagged his tail.

  Ben rolled his eyes. “No, seriously,” he said. “If he goes like this”—Ben bobbed his head up and down, doing his best dog impersonation—“he needs to go out to, you know, do his business. If his head moves around like this”—Ben twitched his head to the left, then right, then back again—“he hears something outside. Like he’s on watch or something.”

  Noah looked like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  “Ben, are you seriously acting like your dog right now?”

  Ben shrugged. “Maybe.”

  Noah dropped to one knee. He held Hero’s head in his hands. “Keep an eye on him for me, okay, Hero? If he starts to become more beast than boy, let me know.”

  Hero licked him on the nose. Noah laughed and scratched him behind the ears.

  “See ya, pal.” He stood up and hopped on his bike. “Ben, hit a few more balls, would you? I know I don’t need to remind you, but tryouts are in two weeks. And we both have to make varsity or it won’t be half as much fun.”

  Ben grimaced. “No pressure, though, right?”

  “Right. For real, though, Ben,” Noah said, suddenly serious. “I know you’ve worked really hard to play shortstop. But you know how Coach is—he’s not going to just give it to you. You need to show him. You need to be ready for tryouts.”

  “I will be.” Ben gave his best friend a confident smile.

  “Okay. We can practice more tomorrow. You need to tighten up that follow-through.” Noah pedaled off. “Bye,” he called out over his shoulder.

  “Bye.” Ben sighed. Most of the time it was great when your best friend was baseball obsessed. But sometimes it was just stressful.

  Hero watched Ben, furrowing his brow and wrinkling the soft patch of fur between his eyes.

  “Okay, boy,” Ben said. “One more ball.”

  Ben hefted the ball up and down a couple of times. Hero’s pointy ears pricked forward, and he dropped into a crouch. His whole body was ready for the chase. Ben let him wait for a long moment, enjoying Hero’s excitement. The dog was so . . . alert. If Ben so much as twitched his pinkie finger, Hero noticed. It was like Hero’s whole body and mind were in sync, absorbing everything around him. Whatever Hero did, he did wholly and intentionally. That’s what Ben needed to do. His dad called it “acting with purpose.”

  “Slow down, Ben,” his dad would say as Ben raced by on his way to his room to do his homework, or to baseball practice, or to an early morning Newspaper Club meeting at school. Ben just powered ahead, without thinking things through. It was the same with baseball. He wasn’t the most precise player. He just hit the baseball as hard as he could.

  Ben heard his dad’s voice in his head. “Slooooow it down. Breathe. Act with purpose, kid. That’s how cops do it.”

  Hero whimpered, as if to say, Let’s get on with it! Focusing as hard as he could, Ben lifted the bat over his right shoulder and tossed the ball straight up in the air. He swung. The ball cracked against the bat, then flew up and out—way, way out.

  “Whoa!” Ben yelled. He couldn’t believe how far he’d hit it. It would definitely have been a home run!

  Hero went from standing totally still to galloping after the ball. Ben had no idea how he could ge
t moving so fast. The ball landed in the grass with a thunk.

  Ben took off after Hero and caught up to him on the other side of the baseball field, where the park began to give way to heavy woods. Hero pressed his nose to the ground, his nostrils flaring with short, quick inhalations. The ball wasn’t there. Hero zigzagged, following his nose, then stopped and sniffed repeatedly in one spot. Spring wildflowers were just beginning to jut out of the grass under Hero’s giant paws.

  “Where is it, buddy?” Ben asked.

  Hero kept his attention on the ground. He walked slowly toward the tree line.

  “What do you smell?” Ben followed him. Hero picked up speed and started to head deeper into the woods, where the trees were close together and the undergrowth was thick. How could the ball have traveled this far? Ben wondered. Something was different about Hero’s movements—he was completely focused. His ears pointed forward. His nose was working double time. His tail, which usually curved down by his back legs, was up. Even his fur seemed to be paying attention.

  Hero was tracking.

  Ben had never seen Hero lock onto a scent like this before. He was in full search-and-rescue mode . . . but for what? A baseball? That seemed weird.

  Ben was excited to watch Hero in action, but he was not excited to be late for dinner. They were going to have to hurry this along.

  “Hero, buddy, my mom is going to kill me if we’re late again.” Hero pressed his nose into the grass. “It’s just a baseball, dude,” Ben said. “It’ll still be here tomorrow.”

  Ben was about to give Hero the stop command, when suddenly Hero’s head shot up. He took off at a full sprint around a dense cluster of trees. Ben sighed. He watched Hero run and then come to a sudden halt. Hero stood as still as a statue, watching something intently in the leaves and vines on the ground. A soft woof came from his throat. Ben jogged after him.

  “What is it . . .” Ben trailed off. There was his baseball. But how? Out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw a flash of movement—a blur of brown and white leaping over the ball. Hero and Ben watched as the blur tumbled and rolled and pounced. It stopped moving and sat up, the ball gripped firmly in its teeth.