Hurricane Rescue Page 7

  “Hero!” Ben called out. A hundred or so yards up ahead, Ben saw the flicker of Hero’s reflective vest in the moonlight. “There!” he shouted to Noah and Jack.

  The boys panted and hurried after Scout, deeper into the woods. In the back of his mind, Ben sensed they were heading farther from home.

  They must have jogged for half a mile before Scout finally led them up a small hill. Scout stopped at the top, and the boys gathered around him, catching their breath. Scout sniffed at the ground, then started to head down the opposite side. The boys exchanged skeptical glances before following the puppy.

  Ben stopped in his tracks when he saw a low opening in the other side of the hill. It was the mouth of a cave. And there, in the entrance, stood Hero.

  “Hero, what are you doing?” Ben said angrily as he tried to leash his dog. He’d never spoken to Hero like that before—but Hero had never run off like that either. Hero dodged out of Ben’s hands and trotted into the cave. “Hero, stop!” Ben said. But the dog ignored him.

  Ben and Scout followed close behind Hero. Noah and Jack brought up the rear, both letting out deep, exhausted sighs.

  The cave opened into a large cavern. It was so much bigger than Ben expected—he couldn’t see the back of it. Ben turned on his flashlight and followed Hero farther and farther in, until he saw, in the dim light, what Hero was heading for.

  People.

  “Who’s there?” a man’s voice called out.

  “Um, hi,” Noah replied. “We got lost.”

  “We’re from Gulfport,” Ben added.

  Ben aimed his flashlight on a small group of people sitting around a lantern—a man and several boys in Boy Scout uniforms. The kids were younger than Ben, maybe seven or eight years old. As Ben got closer to them, glimmers of hope and relief crossed their faces. Except for the Boy Scout leader—he looked like he was in some serious pain.

  The man leaned back against the rock wall, his eyes squeezed shut, his face pale and glistening with sweat. His leg stuck out in front of him at a weird angle. Ben could tell that it was broken. Noah, Ben, and Jack ran over and crouched down next to him.

  “Are you okay, sir?” Ben asked, though he already knew the answer.

  The Boy Scout leader opened his eyes just enough to squint at Ben.

  “I’m Marco.”

  “Nice to meet you, Marco,” Ben said. “What happened to your leg?”

  “It’s broken. A branch fell and knocked me down a hill. Broke it on the way down.” Marco sounded like every word was painful, and he was trying to use as few as possible.

  “How long have you been out here?” Jack asked.

  “We’ve been camping for three days. I don’t understand where that storm came from—I checked the forecast over and over before we left. It wasn’t supposed to be nearly that bad. I was prepared for some rain, but this . . .” He trailed off and winced.

  “That wasn’t just a storm,” Ben said. “It was a hurricane. It changed course at the last minute today—there wasn’t any time to evacuate or anything.”

  “That explains why my radio’s out,” Marco said. “I feel terrible for putting these boys in danger. Their parents must be worried sick.”

  “Well,” Ben said reassuringly, “it looks like you kept them safe in here.”

  Marco closed his eyes and rested his head back against the wall. “How bad is it out there?”

  Ben shook his head. “It’s pretty rough.”

  Marco tipped his head toward the back of the cave and whispered, “Well, it isn’t good in here either. The water is rising in the back. Fast. The boys haven’t noticed it yet, but they will soon. The cave is going to flood—my guess is in the next couple of hours. You need to get them out of here.”

  Ben peered into the darkness along the far wall of the cave, but he couldn’t see anything from where they were. The thought of rising water made him nervous. He’d seen how quickly things could change out in the woods, especially when it came to water.

  “What about you?” Ben asked.

  “Just take the kids,” Marco said. “Then send back help.”

  “Okay, sir, we can do that,” Ben replied.

  “Thank you.”

  Ben looked around at the scared faces of the kids. They definitely had their work cut out for them now. It had been hard enough leading his friends through the woods, but if anyone was cut out for the job, it was Hero and Scout. He gave his dog a rub behind the ears—his way of apologizing for raising his voice at Hero earlier. If it weren’t for Hero, these kids might never have been rescued. Hero licked Ben’s hand, as if he understood what Ben was trying to say.

  “You guys really found a great place to hide out from the storm.” Noah tried his best to sound cheerful. The young boys nodded uncertainly.

  “Is the storm over?” one of the Boy Scouts said in a high, shaky voice.

  “Almost,” Ben said. The boys stared back at him with big, round eyes. He scrambled for the right thing to say but came up blank. “Uh, my name is Ben.” He gave them a quick wave. “And these are my two friends, Jack and Noah.”

  The Boy Scouts just stared at the older boys, until Hero and Scout ambled over to the group and sniffed at their dirt-caked uniforms. Smiles broke out on the kids’ faces as they reached out to pet the dogs.

  “Excuse me, mister,” a Boy Scout with thick glasses and big cheeks called out to Ben. The boy was pointing at Hero. “Isn’t this the dog from the TV news? The police dog who saves lives?”

  Ben grinned.

  “That’s him,” he said.

  “What’s his name?” the boy asked.

  “Hero,” Ben replied. “His name is Hero. And he’s going to get you all home.”

  15

  A SKINNY DARK-HAIRED BOY RAN TO Marco and gave him a hug. “Dad,” the boy said. His eyes were puffy from crying. “I’m not leaving you here.”

  “It’s okay, Cory,” Marco said. “You just need to get out of here, and then you can send someone back for me.”

  “No, Dad—”

  Marco struggled to lift his arm and put it around Cory’s shoulders. With a grimace, he pulled his son in close. “I’m okay, buddy. I just need to know that you’re going to get home safe.”

  Cory burst into tears and buried his face in his dad’s shirt. Marco stroked his son’s head.

  “Ben,” Marco called, his voice hoarse. “Do you have a cell phone?”

  Ben nodded. “But there’s no service. We were on our way to higher ground.”

  “When you get a signal, call for help. Once the boys are safe—and only after they’re safe—send someone for me,” Marco said.

  Ben shook his head. “We can’t just leave you here—”

  “Please, Ben,” Marco cut him off. “Take care of Cory and the others. Please?”

  Ben studied the man’s face. He recognized something in his expression—a look he’d seen on his own dad’s face many times. It was conviction. Marco believed this was the best solution for his own son, and for all the other boys too.

  “I will,” Ben said. “And we’ll be back for you.”

  “Take this map,” Marco said, handing Ben a neatly folded rectangle of paper. “I marked where we are right now. And take this too.” He handed Ben a walkie-talkie. “I’ll keep the other. They’ve got a long range, so when the signal’s back, we should be able to talk. Let me know that you’re safe and help is on the way—and that Cory’s okay.” Marco’s voice cracked a little.

  Ben slipped the walkie-talkie into his pocket. He clutched the map in his palm. Marco closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall again.

  Ben turned to the boys and clapped his hands together, trying to rally some energy. “Raise your hand,” he said, his voice light and encouraging, “if you’re ready to get a little wet!”

  “We can’t leave our leader,” the boys cried. Cory’s eyes filled with tears.

  “We’re not leaving him for long,” Jack said, resting next to the boys. “We’re going to let him
relax for a few minutes while we go get help.”

  “Yeah,” Noah chimed in, “actually, he really needs us to hurry so we can call someone to come and get him. The faster we go, the faster he’ll get some help. Okay?”

  The Boy Scouts nodded.

  “It’s okay, guys,” Marco said, mustering as much strength as he could, his voice as cheerful as he could make it sound. “Go on ahead. Just make sure whoever you send brings me a nice hot cheeseburger, okay?”

  The Boy Scouts scrambled to their feet, still uncertain but doing what they were told. Hero and Scout stood up too.

  “Besides,” Ben said, “you’re not just going to get help. You’re hiking through the woods with Gulfport’s famous search-and-rescue dog!” The kids broke into weak smiles. “Come, Hero,” Ben said. Hero walked to him. “Sit.” Hero sat. The boys were frozen, their eyes locked on Hero. Ben paused for effect. “Hero, go!”

  Hero bolted across the cave. He looked so official—almost regal—in his yellow vest. The boys were mesmerized.

  “Hero, stop!”

  Hero stopped almost instantaneously. The kids opened their mouths in awe.

  Ben had been working on a new trick with Hero, just for fun. He hadn’t shown it to anyone yet, but this was as good a time as any.

  “Hero, dance!”

  Hero trotted toward Ben, bobbing his head up and down and doing a funny little skittering step.

  The kids—and Noah and Jack—burst out laughing.

  “Good boy, Hero!” Ben dropped to his knees and hugged his dog. “What do you think, guys? You ready to follow Hero and go home?”

  “Yes!” the boys cheered. They pulled their packs onto their tiny shoulders and formed a line, ready to go. Cory knelt down to give his dad a hug, and then, his eyes damp, he joined the others.

  “Hero, let’s go!” Ben called out. Hero sauntered to the mouth of the cave and stopped. He stood with his head held high, his jet-black fur glistening, all his muscles flexed, and his tail pointed up, ready for his next command.

  Ben looked back at Marco, who gave him a thumbs-up.

  Ben gave him a salute and said, “We’ll be back soon.”

  16

  THEY MARCHED IN A SINGLE-FILE LINE as the hurricane wound down around them. The weather was calmer, although the wind still shook the trees high above the boys, and the rain came steadily down on them. Ben kept checking his phone, waiting for a signal. The clock said it was close to four in the morning.

  Hero led the way, with Ben right behind him. Before they’d left the cave, Noah had clipped Hero’s and Scout’s leashes together to create a long tether. Each of the little boys gripped the nylon rope with one mud-caked hand as they marched. This kept them all in a row and prevented anyone from wandering off the path.

  Noah positioned himself in the middle of the pack, with three Boy Scouts in front of him and four behind him. Jack and Scout brought up the rear. Every time one of the kids started to lag, Scout ran up and nudged him with his nose, urging him along.

  They followed Marco’s map. The path angled uphill again. Ben leaned forward, pushing himself as the road got harder and his legs got more tired. He looked over his shoulder. The Boy Scouts pursed their lips and furrowed their brows, concentrating hard on getting up the hill. They looked so young and scared—but none of them complained. They just wanted to get home.

  Cory was right behind Ben. He was trying really hard not to cry—and mostly, he was succeeding. Ben couldn’t imagine leaving his own dad behind, hurt and trapped like that.

  A pang of fear shot through Ben’s chest as he thought about Dad. Did he even know Ben was missing—and was he worried about him? Either way, Ben hoped that he’d find out the answer soon.

  Off in the distance, Ben heard the sound of a creek running. It was heavy and fast-moving, probably overflowing with rainwater. He shined his flashlight on the map. Eventually they were going to have to cross that creek in order to get to higher ground—and closer to Gulfport.

  Cory sniffled and choked back a sob. Ben stopped walking and let Cory catch up. He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and squeezed. “It’s gonna be okay,” Ben said, hoping he was right. “Just picture your dad doing something really fun that you love to do together. And only think of that.”

  “Okay,” Cory muttered.

  Hero darted around their legs, and Cory smiled a little through his tears.

  Ben had an idea. “Hey,” he called out to the others, “you guys want to hear about one of Hero’s big rescues back when he was a police dog?” No one answered at first.

  Then a soft voice from the middle of the pack said, “Yes, please.”

  There were so many great Hero rescue stories—Ben racked his brain for just the right one.

  He could tell them the one about how he’d gotten lost in the woods when he was just a little boy—younger than these Boy Scouts were. Ben had been terrified and convinced he’d never see his parents again. But Hero had come racing out of the darkness and found him crying, alone, under a tree.

  That was Ben’s personal favorite, of course.

  Or he could tell them how Hero had tracked a bank robber by sniffing a single piece of paper that the crook had touched. He’d followed the man’s scent from the bank, down the street, through an office building, and into the basement where he was hiding.

  But nope. Ben knew which story he would tell the Boy Scouts.

  “Have you guys heard about the Front Porch Robber?” Ben asked.

  “My mom told me about him,” said a boy, Jonah, from the middle of the pack. “She said he was weird.”

  Ben laughed. “Yeah, he was weird. ’Cause he really liked taking weird stuff. A few years ago, people started noticing that their things were disappearing from their front porches at night.”

  “Like what?” asked Jonah.

  “Like, he stole a rocking chair once. And another time he just took a potted plant.”

  “What?”

  “No way!”

  “Why would anyone take a plant?”

  The boys were giggling now.

  “Who knows why, but this guy took a plant,” Ben went on. “And a tricycle. And even—are you ready for this?”

  “Yes!” the boys cackled.

  “A chicken!” Ben shouted.

  The boys were laughing so hard they had to stop walking for a second.

  “Anyway,” Ben said, tugging on the tether to get them moving again, “no one could catch the Front Porch Robber. Not the cops. Not the neighbors. No one. Until . . .”

  The boys went totally silent. Ben let them wait until they couldn’t take it for a second longer.

  “Until what?” they yelled.

  “What do you think?” Ben asked. He waved a hand in Hero’s direction.

  “Hero caught him!” the boys cried.

  “That’s right. Hero caught him. One night in the middle of the night, a woman saw the robber running away from her house.” Ben lowered his voice and spoke slowly, dramatically, drawing out the story. “And she called the police right away. So they knew that the guy had just been there. My dad and Hero got to her house a few minutes later, and they found a glove the thief dropped when he ran away. He’d never left anything behind before, so this was a big deal.”

  “Then what happened?” one boy, Emmett, asked.

  “But the robber was gone already,” another boy, Isaiah, said. “How could Hero find him? Could he see him?”

  “Nope,” Ben said, “but he could smell him. Just like he can smell you right now. Did you know that everyone has their own smell? It comes from little pieces of your skin that fly off you.”

  “Gross!” The boys giggled.

  “It sounds gross, but it’s really cool, actually,” Ben said. “You and I can’t smell each other so much. But Hero knows the difference between each and every one of us, because his sense of smell is thousands of times better than ours. Crazy, right?”

  “So he could smell the bad guy or what?” Emmett asked impatiently.<
br />
  “You got it. Hero knew the thief’s smell from the glove. Then he sniffed the ground and the air and the grass and the dirt, and he found the guy’s smell on all those things too. And he followed it really far. And do you know where they found the Front Porch Robber?”

  “Where?!” the boys cried out all at once.

  “In a trash can.”

  “For real?” Emmett asked, suspicious.

  “For real,” Ben said. “He was hiding in someone’s trash can outside their house. He had put the lid on over his head and everything. But Hero smelled him and signaled to my dad where he was. And they caught him.”

  “Wow.”

  “Cool.”

  “Didn’t the trash smell really bad?”

  “Yeah.” Ben laughed. “I’m guessing it smelled really bad. But that didn’t stop you, right, Hero?”

  Hero wagged his tail, almost as if he knew the story was about him.

  17

  THEY WERE MAKING GOOD PROGRESS, BUT as they neared the top of the hill, the path abruptly narrowed to no more than two feet wide. The ground dropped off sharply to their left and sloped steeply upward to their right. Ben’s pack brushed against the roots and branches that stuck out from the wall of earth next to him.

  Ben told the boys to be careful while they stepped sideways along the treacherous path. Scout and Hero yipped and howled encouragement.

  Soon they arrived on the bank of the creek, although it looked more like a raging river—it was churning with debris from the hurricane. Ben and Hero stopped, and the group came to a halt behind them.

  “Uh,” Jack said quietly so the boys couldn’t hear, “where’s the bridge?”

  According to the map in Ben’s hand, it was supposed to be right where they were standing.

  Ben double-checked the coordinates on his compass. This was the spot.

  “That is the bridge,” he said, pointing to what was left of it: some old lumber lying across the creek, partly submerged in the water, with a busted railing leaning off of one side—and one side only. The other side was long gone, probably miles downstream by then. The bridge bobbed up and down with the current.