Hero Page 9

  Sunday morning, Ben got out of bed at dawn, more exhausted than he’d ever been. His mom was already at the kitchen table, reading the paper and sipping her coffee. Even Erin was still asleep.

  She was surprised to see Ben downstairs so early. “Good morning, sunshine,” she said, a quizzical look on her face. “Or should I say ‘Good morning, thundercloud’?”

  “Hey, Mom,” he mumbled. He dropped into a chair across from her.

  She scrunched up her face and studied him. “Ben, honey, are you okay? You don’t look so hot.”

  Ben fought tears. He wished he could tell his mom everything. He felt alone and scared, but if he asked his parents for help finding the dogs, they would take Scout away—if he ever found him again, that was. And then Hero would be heartbroken, and it would all be Ben’s fault. It was like a puzzle with no real solution. Ben didn’t know what to do.

  “I’m okay,” he said, wishing he sounded more convincing. “It’s just—well, you know, Mom . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “I just have a lot to do, and I don’t know if I can get it all done. That’s all.” Ben exhaled. It wasn’t a lie . . . it just wasn’t exactly the whole truth.

  His mom looked at him. Ben shifted in his chair and looked at the floor. He worried he’d said too much already.

  “That doesn’t sound like anyone in my family,” his mom said firmly.

  Ben’s head shot up. He hadn’t expected to hear those words.

  “When your dad feels overwhelmed,” she went on, “do you know what he does?”

  Ben shook his head.

  “Even if he’s in the middle of an investigation, he stops, figures out what he’s not doing right and how he could do it better, and he comes up with a new plan. He doesn’t sit around feeling mopey, that’s for sure,” his mom said.

  Ben absorbed her words. He had been spending an awful lot of time feeling sorry for himself—sorry that he wasn’t getting his homework done, sorry that his parents had grounded him, sorry that they were threatening to take away Scout. His mom was right.

  Suddenly Ben’s thoughts were interrupted by the best sound he’d heard in his entire life: barking and scratching at the back door.

  He let out a loud whoop and hopped out of his chair. He crossed the kitchen in two big steps and flung open the door.

  Hero was back!

  Hero stood in the doorway panting, one eye swollen. He held his left front paw up in the air ever so slightly, as if it hurt too much for him to put down. His beautiful coat was matted and dirty. Relief washed over Ben as he dropped to his knees and threw his arms around Hero’s neck. The feel of Hero’s warm fur and the sound of his breath brought Ben back to that night so many years ago, when the dog had appeared out of the darkness and Ben knew he was going to be okay. He never wanted to let go of Hero, who stood patiently while Ben hugged him.

  “Are you okay, buddy?” Ben asked, pulling away and looking the dog up and down. “Poor guy,” he muttered as he inspected Hero’s injuries. They didn’t seem too bad, thankfully. Hero licked Ben’s face as Ben looked past him into the backyard. It was empty and quiet.

  Scout wasn’t there.

  “You two sure missed each other,” Ben’s mom said, walking over and crouching down next to them. Ben nodded, struggling to hide his concern for Scout.

  “Aw, Hero,” she said, scratching Hero under the chin. “What happened to you, buddy?”

  Ben’s mind worked overtime to try to come up with a plausible explanation.

  “Um, Noah said he got stuck in the hedge behind his house and got a little scratched up, that’s all.”

  His mom eyed him skeptically. “Uh-huh” was all she said. Ben could tell she didn’t entirely believe him, but luckily she didn’t push it.

  “Where’s Scout?”

  “Oh, he’s still at Noah’s,” Ben said. “He’s too little to walk home by himself, of course.”

  “Of course,” his mom said slowly.

  Ben needed to escape before she started asking more questions. “Actually, I think I’ll go over there and see Scout, okay, Mom?”

  “Let’s clean Hero up a little first,” she said.

  She dabbed gently at Hero’s eye with a wet washcloth and soaked his paw in a bowl of warm, salty water. Hero seemed to improve quickly.

  Even though he was worried sick about Scout, Ben forced himself to remain outwardly calm. Besides, he knew, he had the best hope of finding Scout right here by his side: Hero.

  If anyone could track Scout, Hero could.

  Finally his mom kissed the top of Hero’s head. “All set.”

  Ben raced for the door, Hero fast on his heels. “See you later, Mom.”

  “Ben,” she called out after him. “Remember—you’re still grounded. You don’t have a lot of time. You need to be back here in two hours, okay?”

  “Okay!” Ben called.

  Now that Hero was back, maybe they had a shot at finding Scout. Ben just hoped two hours would be enough time.

  18

  EVEN WITH A WOUNDED PAW, HERO ran faster than Ben could ever go on his bike.

  All the way to Noah’s, one question ran through Ben’s mind over and over: If Hero was this banged up, what kind of shape would the puppy be in? It made him queasy to even think about it. Hero ran right up to Noah’s front door and scratched at it. Noah dropped to his knees when he saw him.

  “Hero! You’re back!” He gave Hero a long hug, which the dog patiently endured. Noah pulled back, took Hero’s head in his hands, and looked him right in the eye. “Where’s Scout?” he asked firmly.

  Hero leaped up and bolted across the lawn to the curb. He stopped and looked back at Noah and Ben, his tail wagging frantically. He barked at them once, short and sharp, as if to say, Let’s go!

  Noah and Ben hopped on their bikes and followed Hero down the street. He led them out of the neighborhood, along the waterfront, and into a rural area outside of town. He turned off the main thoroughfare and onto a narrow, bumpy road. Ben’s teeth rattled as his bike bounced up and down over the holes and rocks.

  They came around a bend in the long road, and Ben saw a massive barn off in the distance. It was cavernous—the size of an airplane hangar—and dilapidated. As they got closer, Ben could see that giant chunks of its roof were missing. The exterior walls were covered in rust and dirt. The whole building seemed to sag to the left. Scattered around the perimeter were old industrial farming machines that clearly hadn’t been used in a long time. Silos were crumbling, and long metal chutes had giant holes sagging open like gaping mouths. A couple of rusting tractors sat, frozen and long forgotten, nearby. Hero sat down in the road—what he was trained to do when he had tracked a subject to its final destination. He waited for Ben’s command.

  Ben studied the building and let out a long, low whistle. The place was scary looking, but if Scout was in there, he was going in after him. He looked over at Noah.

  “You don’t have to go in with me,” he said.

  “Shut up. Let’s go,” Noah said.

  Ben saw the same determination in his friend’s face that he felt. The three of them moved silently toward the barn. They stopped behind one of the old, immobile tractors, out of view of the barn’s double-wide front doors. The right-side door was ajar just a few inches. From his position, Ben could see people moving around inside. He heard muffled voices and distant barking.

  “Okay. Hero, stay.” Hero cocked his head at Ben. “Sorry, pal. I just don’t want you to get hurt anymore. I can’t lose you again.” Ben’s voice cracked. Hero sat down, but his ears pointed straight up. He sniffed at the air. Every muscle in his body was tensed and ready for action. He wanted to protect Ben, but this time it was Ben’s turn to keep Hero safe.

  Ben and Noah slipped inside the barn doors. Luckily an old pickup truck had been left to rust just inside the barn. They stood hidden behind it and let their eyes adjust to the dim lighting. Ben peered over the truck. The barn seemed even bigger inside than it had from the o
utside. From where they stood, Ben couldn’t even see the other side of the building. It must have been a football field long, and the roof was at least twenty feet high.

  Off to their right, a group of men stood in a half circle, around a ring of hay bales, their backs to Ben and Noah. The men were watching something near the ground. They cheered and raised their fists in the air. At first Ben couldn’t see what they were looking at—it was just a blur of motion. But then he heard it: Snarling. Growling. Pained yelping and crying. He smelled the sharp tang of blood in the air.

  It was a dogfight.

  Ben was disgusted. What kind of psychos would watch dogs tear each other apart? Suddenly a horrible thought occurred to him, and he felt clammy with fear. Scout. These idiots couldn’t possibly let a puppy fight—would they? What if Scout was in the ring right now? Blood pounded in his ears as he squinted and tried to see the dogs in the ring. They were moving so fast, but Ben could tell that they were both big. Neither one was Scout—but it could be Scout’s turn at any moment.

  They had to move fast. Noah must have had the same thought, because he nudged Ben with his elbow and pointed toward the opposite side of the barn. There were two rows of metal cages, stacked on top of each other. Inside them, dogs of all ages, sizes, and breeds turned in circles, pawed at the latches, or whimpered sadly. The worst ones just sat quietly, staring blankly, as if they’d accepted their horrible fate. There must have been close to fifty dogs there.

  “Let’s split up,” Ben whispered to Noah. “You start from the back, and I’ll start from the front.”

  Noah nodded. Silently, they moved along the edge of the building toward the cages. Ben stopped at the first row, and Noah continued on. Ben watched him go until he was out of sight.

  Ben turned to the imprisoned dogs, and his heart nearly broke. Their faces were scarred and bloody. Their ears were ripped and even missing. Their bodies bore the marks of many injuries. Even worse than their wounds, though, were their eyes. They gazed at Ben with a combination of desperation and fear. Some wagged their tails when they saw him, but many just looked at him, like they couldn’t possibly be happy to see a human being ever again. Ben swore to himself silently that after he saved Scout, he’d find a way to come back and save the rest of them.

  Ben forced himself to keep moving. He scanned the cages from top to bottom, right to left, looking for Scout. He was almost done with the second row of dogs when he found him. Scout was in the last cage in his row, on the bottom, cowering in the back corner. The sound of his soft whimpering was horrible. Ben dropped to his knees in front of the cage.

  When he saw Ben, Scout didn’t jump up right away—he just looked at Ben, crying and shaking. His fur was caked with dirt. Ben almost couldn’t bear the sadness in Scout’s eyes.

  After a moment, Scout got to his feet and made his way toward the front of the cage. He whined and stuck the tip of his nose through the metal. Ben reached a few fingers in and rubbed Scout’s chin. Scout licked his hand. This was the worst thing that could have happened to the puppy, Ben knew. He had worked so hard to be comfortable with Ben and his family, to trust people again. And here he was, mistreated and left to suffer. Again.

  “It’s okay, Scout,” Ben whispered. “I’m gonna get you out of here.”

  Ben tried to slide open the latch on Scout’s cage. It wouldn’t give. He looked at it more closely and saw that someone had used a plastic cable tie to secure the door. There was no way the dogs were getting out of these cages. Ben fumbled around in his pockets for something to cut the tie. His keys would probably do the trick.

  “Well, look who it is,” said a deep voice behind him. Ben froze with fear. “Stand up.”

  Ben stood up. Something about the man’s voice felt familiar, but Ben’s heart was pounding so hard that he couldn’t place it.

  “Turn around.”

  Ben turned around. It was Mitch—the tall man with the cold blue eyes who Ben had seen twice now: once at the car lot, and once outside Mitch’s house. All the bits and pieces of the last couple of weeks began to fall into place. Mitch ran this dogfighting ring, not Jack. And Scout had been Mitch’s dog.

  It was the only explanation that accounted for all the weird things that had happened. Mitch had seen Scout at the car lot and recognized him as one of his dogs. Mitch was the one who drove the black SUV by Ben’s house—and then he must have followed Ben to the police station. Mitch was waiting for an opportunity to get Scout back—and he got it when Scout ran away from the station. He must have picked him up in his car, which explained how Scout got to Mitch’s house so fast. And Mitch was the man who had gone to the shelter with a picture of Scout. He hadn’t left his name because he was part of an illegal dogfighting ring.

  It also explained why Scout got upset every time he saw Mitch.

  Mitch was behind all of this.

  “That’s my dog,” Ben said angrily. “And I want him back.”

  Mitch let out a dry laugh. “Actually, kid, that’s my dog. I’ve been trying to get him back without anyone getting hurt, but you just won’t give up, will you?”

  Ben clenched and unclenched his fists. His nostrils flared as he inhaled and exhaled sharply, trying to control himself. Stay present. Stay calm. Figure it out.

  “I didn’t catch your name the other day,” Mitch said, nastiness seeping into his voice. Ben didn’t say anything. He kept his eyes locked on Mitch’s. “You’re the silent type, I see.” Mitch put his face just inches from Ben’s. Ben could feel Mitch’s hot breath. He resisted the urge to take a step back.

  “I told you the other day you should fight those dogs of yours,” Mitch snarled. “But you thought they were too good for it. Well, guess what? Your big dog is a brawler. And that one”—he gestured toward Scout—“he’s tiny, but he’s a tough son of a gun. I thought he’d be a good bait dog, but turns out you’ve trained him up real nice for me. So I guess I owe you one. He’s gonna have his first real fight today.”

  Ben felt ill.

  A flicker of motion over Mitch’s shoulder distracted Ben. It was Noah. He stood in the darkness toward the back of the barn, motioning to Ben. Ben pretended to be staring off into the distance and considering Mitch’s words. Noah shook his head and put a finger to his lips. He doesn’t know I’m here, Noah was telling Ben. And let’s keep it that way. Noah pointed at Scout’s cage, then at himself. I’ll get Scout. Ben quickly formulated a plan.

  “You seem like a nice kid,” Mitch said, “so I’m going to give you one last chance to get out of here without getting hurt. And I assume you’re not stupid enough to tell anyone what you saw here today. Normally I’m not a very trusting person, but I’m making an exception this one time. So you don’t get any more chances—you hear me?”

  “Yeah, I hear you,” Ben replied. “I’ll go.” Ben took one step backward, and Scout went crazy in his cage. The puppy whined and howled desperately. The sound was like a punch to Ben’s gut.

  “It’s okay, buddy,” he said to Scout. “You’re gonna be okay.”

  19

  “STUPID KID,” MITCH GROWLED AT BEN as he shoved him through the barn door. “You’d better get home. I bet your mama’s looking for you.” He slammed the door behind Ben.

  Ben ran to his bike, which was still leaning against the old tractor. Hero hopped to his feet.

  “Sorry, Hero. You need to stay. Stay.” Hero sat back down and watched Ben with big, expectant eyes.

  Ben rode his bike quickly around the perimeter of the barn. There had to be another door somewhere.

  Two-thirds of the way around the building, and he had found several pairs of barn doors—all of them bolted shut with heavy, rusted chains and padlocks. Ben was just about to give up when he rounded the final corner. There, at the back of the building, was a small, single door, painted the same color as the sides of the building. This one didn’t have a lock—they must have overlooked it. Even Ben had almost whizzed right by it.

  Ben leaned his bike against the side of the barn an
d mapped out a plan. He’d go back into the barn this way, out of sight of the men at the front of the building. He would find Noah and Scout, and he would get them out through this door.

  It was the only plan he had.

  The door was rusted shut. Ben twisted the handle and pulled hard until it jerked open with a loud screech. He froze, but no one came for him. Mitch and the others probably hadn’t heard him over the horrible snarling and growling of the dogs in the ring—and the raucous cheering of the crowd.

  Ben stepped into the dimly lit barn. The sound of his own fast breathing was loud in his ears. He closed his eyes and prepared himself for whatever was about to happen. The only thing he knew for sure was that he and Noah needed to get Scout out of there before it was the puppy’s turn in that ring. At the front of the barn, the sound of dogs tearing at each other reached a ferocious pitch. Suddenly, the fight was over, and Ben heard one of the dogs wailing and whimpering. It sounded like the animal was hurt—badly. Ben’s stomach turned.

  Half of the men gathered around the ring cheered. The other half booed loudly. While they were distracted, Ben darted silently toward the rows of cages. Had Noah gotten Scout yet?

  He hadn’t. Scout was still in his cage. The puppy cowered at the back, his whole body shaking. When he saw Ben, he hopped up and ran to the front of the cage, whimpering desperately.

  “Shhhhhh . . . Scout, quiet,” Ben whispered. He looked around—Noah was nowhere to be seen. The ruckus by the fighting pit was dying down, and there was a lull in the noise—and the distraction. Ben had to get Scout out of his cage fast. He pulled his key ring out of his jeans pocket and started hacking at the plastic cable tie with his house key. Scout nosed at his fingers through the metal bars of the cage.

  Snap. The cable tie gave way. Ben opened the cage door, and Scout leaped into his arms, wiggling excitedly.