Storm Dog

by Jennifer Li Shotz

  The houses were in terrible shape, way worse than the ones in town. Their sides were ripped off, and their roofs were missing. Windows were broken. Matt peered in and saw refrigerators floating on their sides in living rooms where three feet of water lapped at the walls. Doors dangled by a single hinge. Inside a small grocery store, Matt saw that the shelves lay tilted and angled on top of one another like fallen dominoes. The ceiling had collapsed onto the register.

  The buildings were dark, and not just with a lack of electricity. They were empty—uninhabitable.

  A chill went through Matt. “This is bad,” he said.

  “This is the way it is everywhere.” Luisa’s face was drawn. “It’s not so bad in town. There’s more people to help with repairs and stuff. But it’s quiet out here.”

  “Why isn’t anyone helping? Why aren’t my mom and your dad and their teams here?”

  “They can’t be everywhere at once, I guess.”

  “Where did all the people go?”

  Luisa shook her head. “To their families’. Their friends’. Wherever they can.”

  They passed by the deserted houses and trudged along. The road rose up and the water receded, but their feet were soaking wet. Matt’s sneakers squished with every step. Scout shook out his fur, sending a spray of water in every direction, and, with a quick look back over his shoulder at Matt, continued on.

  Matt thought back to the news stories he’d heard about the storm while he was home in Nevada. The coverage had been constant at first—there was overhead footage of flooded neighborhoods and front-page photos of desperate moms carrying their babies through waist-high water. He’d even seen one image that had haunted him for days—an apartment building with the entire front wall ripped off. But the rest of the building was fine, and people sat in their apartments, on their furniture, looking out where the wall used to be.

  But then it had stopped. Or maybe it didn’t so much stop as fade . . . off the front page, out of the broadcast, and from people’s minds. From Matt’s mind. Within a week or two of the storm, the news reports got shorter. They became updates. Then they disappeared completely.

  Soon the news was about regular things—sports, politics, local happenings—that Matt could afford to tune out. He was free to think about other things—anything. But the hundreds of thousands of people there, in Puerto Rico, couldn’t put the storm out of their minds. They were too busy living it.

  Matt felt terrible for not knowing just how awful it really was.

  “They’re just—they’re not talking about it back home,” he said. “They’re not showing people how bad it is.”

  Luisa looked pained. “We’re used to that.”

  “That doesn’t make it okay.”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Can I ask you, Luisa—”

  “What?”

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”

  She stopped and turned to face him. “You want to know what it was like? During the hurricane?”

  Matt felt bad for asking. Why would she want to relive what was probably the worst night of her life?

  “I’m glad you asked, actually,” Luisa said softly. “It feels better when I talk about it, you know?”

  Matt nodded. They started walking again as Luisa spoke.

  “It was awful,” she began. “It came in the middle of the night, around one or two A.M. The wind—I’ve never heard anything like it. At first it sounded like screeching or shrieking, but it got louder and louder until it was more like a train going right over us. And the rain was like bullets on the windows—hitting over and over and over, ping ping ping.” She paused and took a breath. “It went on for hours. It felt like it would never end—the noise just wouldn’t stop. It made my ears and head hurt. Our whole house was shaking so hard I thought it was going to just break apart. My mom, dad, Emanuel, and I—the whole time we held on to each other in the dining room. All we could do was pray that the walls didn’t get ripped off and we didn’t get sucked out of the house by the wind.” She choked up and had to wait a second before continuing. “You could hear the trees snapping and slamming into things outside. I kept waiting for one to hit our house.”

  “No one should have to go through that,” Matt said.

  “But we got really lucky,” Luisa said. “We had some broken windows, but that’s all. Not a lot of water got in—I have no idea how. It was so much worse for so many people.”

  Matt looked up at the clear blue sky above them. It was hard for him to imagine such a violent storm hitting this beautiful place.

  “Walking out of our house the next day,” Luisa went on, trying to keep her voice steady. “When it was finally over . . . it was like we had landed on another planet.” She closed her eyes for a second, like she was replaying it in her mind.

  “But it’s not like it ended when the storm ended,” Matt offered.

  “Yeah.” She sounded sad. “I couldn’t sleep for the first few nights after. I’d fall asleep and then, like, jolt awake a few minutes later, thinking that I was in the middle of the storm again. It got better after a while but . . . I don’t know. The hurricane made me . . . different.”

  “I’m sorry, Luisa.” Matt felt like that was all he could say. There were no words that would soften her memories. He was just glad that Luisa had shared everything with him, like he was a true friend she could trust. Because after the crazy twenty-four hours they’d had with Rosita, he thought of her as his friend, too.

  “Thanks,” she said simply. “I mean it.”

  “No, thank you,” Matt said. “And I mean it.”

  14

  THEY WALKED ON. Midday was turning into afternoon, and the day was hot. Matt’s wet feet were developing blisters from rubbing in his shoes, and he felt like he was walking through a heavy steam shower. But they kept going.

  As the trees on either side of the road got taller, they passed a lone house set back from the road. It was badly damaged and as desolate and lifeless as all the others they’d passed. Matt saw the remains of a small shed behind the home. It had nearly caved in on itself and was nothing more than a leaning pile of plywood and hinges and corrugated metal—a house of cards that was barely standing.

  As they neared the house, Scout came to a halt.

  “Wait.” Matt held out a hand to stop Luisa.

  They peered into the distance and strained their ears for any sign of what Scout had sensed. At first there was nothing, but then Matt and Luisa heard it at the same time—a quiet, high-pitched cry, so faint they could have missed it.

  “What was that?” Luisa’s eyes grew wide.

  Matt recognized the sound at the exact moment Scout shot off toward the shed.

  “I think it’s Rosita,” Matt said. “Scout found her!”

  Scout ran in a frantic circle around the shed, barking and yawping. Matt heard the whimpering more clearly now. It was definitely Rosita—and it was definitely coming from inside the wreckage of the shed. Scout’s ears went forward on his head, and he was electrified by a desperate drive to get to his friend.

  Through a gap in the crisscrossed wood, Matt caught a glimpse of Rosita’s black-and-white fur, her pointed ears, and her frightened eyes.

  “Rosita!” Luisa gasped, her voice breaking. “It’s okay, sweetheart—we’re here!”

  The structure was fragile—one brush against it could have sent the whole mess toppling down onto the little dog. But before Matt could stop him, Scout darted right toward the center of the pile, his head disappearing into a crevice. He wedged his front half through a narrow opening barely as wide as his shoulders.

  With one loud, creaking groan, the whole thing shuddered like it could barely hold itself up any longer.

  “No!” Luisa screamed, frightened for not just one, but two dogs.

  “Scout,” Matt said firmly, trying not to sound as panicked as he felt. “Get out of there!”

  But Scout had found Rosita, and he wasn’t about to leave her now. He was
not going to let her get hurt.

  “He’s not going to listen,” Matt said.

  “So we have to help him.”

  They dropped to their knees on either side of Scout, trying to figure out their next move. Matt squinted through the cracks and saw Rosita shaking with fear. She had stopped whimpering, and she had locked her big brown eyes on Scout.

  The shed shook and swayed above them, and Matt and Luisa reflexively ducked and covered their heads.

  “Scout,” Matt sounded a warning to his dog. “Whatever you’re doing in there, you need to do it fast. Come on, buddy!”

  A hunk of tin roofing material slid off the top of the pile and clattered to the ground nearby, sending up a splatter of mud.

  “You should get out of here,” Matt said to Luisa.

  “No way,” she replied, wiping wet dirt from her face. “I’m not leaving her in there.”

  Matt knew from the steely look in her eye that there was no point trying to talk her out of it. And it was the same reason he wasn’t going to leave either—neither one of them was going to abandon their dog.

  Matt peered into the center of the pile again and saw that Scout had his mouth closed around the back of Rosita’s neck. He was going to carry her out by the scruff.

  “He’s got her!” Matt said.

  Luisa looked worried. “When they come out, this whole thing is coming down,” she said. “We need to try to stabilize it.”

  They hopped to their feet just as Scout began backing out of the opening. His shoulders reappeared, then his neck.

  The shed began to shake. It tipped toward Matt and Luisa, leaning farther and farther, until it threatened to come crashing down. Matt’s hands flew up to catch it. The rough surface smacked into his palms and bent back his wrists. He leaned into the weight, planting his feet wide apart for leverage. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Luisa doing the same. She grimaced and her face turned red with exertion.

  “Scout—hurry!” Matt shouted through gritted teeth.

  With a grunt, Scout leaped backward, clearing the structure and landing a couple of feet away, Rosita dangling limply in his jaw.

  The dogs were safe.

  Matt and Luisa locked eyes. As if on cue, they began to count down.

  “Three—”

  Matt took a sharp breath in through his nose.

  “Two—”

  He exhaled through his mouth, trying to calm the surge of adrenaline pumping through his arms and legs.

  “One!”

  Matt and Luisa hurled themselves backward as the teetering mountain of wood crashed to the ground with a thunderous noise. Matt landed hard on his back, knocking the wind out of him. He felt the sting of a thousand tiny slivers of wood pelting him on the arms and face. When it was over, he sat up and opened his eyes. His mouth was filled with mud, and blood pounded in his ears.

  Scout and Rosita were a few feet away. Rosita had tucked herself into the nook under Scout’s chest, and Scout was licking the top of her head.

  Matt turned his head to the right, where Luisa was on her back too, with her hands covering her face.

  Everyone was safe.

  He closed his eyes, waiting for his heart rate to return to normal. After a moment, Matt felt heavy pressure on his chest and something warm and scratchy on his face. Scout had planted both front paws on Matt’s rib cage and was licking his cheeks.

  “I’m okay, buddy.” Matt sat up and wrapped his arms around his dog in a grateful hug. “Thanks for checking on me, though.” He pulled Scout in and lay his head across the dog’s neck, breathing in the familiar scent of Scout’s soft fur.

  “Matt.”

  “Yeah?” Matt replied without raising his head.

  “Matt.”

  Matt looked up. Luisa had gone sheet white, and her bottom lip trembled.

  She pointed at the spot where Scout and Rosita had just been sitting together. There was nothing there.

  Rosita was gone.

  Again.

  Neither of them spoke. What was there to say? They were hot and exhausted and frustrated, and there was no sign of the dog who had just given them the slip for the third time.

  Matt wanted to be mad at Scout for letting Rosita get away, but he knew it wasn’t his dog’s fault. Scout had only turned his back on her so he could make sure Matt was okay.

  Rosita was on a mission, and all they could do was follow her as best as they could.

  15

  IN THE DISTANCE, something lay across the road. They got closer, and Matt saw that two fallen trees blocked their path entirely. The giant trees were tangled up in each other, one lying diagonally across the other. Even on their sides, the trees were way taller than Matt.

  “They must have been growing right next to each other,” Luisa said. “One fell and brought the other down with it.”

  Scout scrambled up onto the thick trunks, assessing the situation. The top tree wobbled under his weight. It didn’t look safe.

  “Scout, off.” Reluctantly, Scout got down and walked to Matt’s side. Matt and Luisa inspected the pile. He kicked at the lower trunk with his wet foot. The whole thing tottered, and the top tree threatened to roll right off. Matt and Luisa jumped back.

  They’d had enough things fall on them today already.

  “We can’t go over them, that’s for sure,” Matt said. “They’re not stable.”

  “Does Scout think Rosita went over them?” Luisa asked. “Or maybe under.” She checked under the trees for a gap, but there wasn’t even enough room for a mouse to wiggle through.

  Scout had moved to the side of the road. He looked over at Matt, pawed at the ground, and whimpered. He wanted them to follow him.

  “He’s still tracking her scent.” Matt looked at where his dog wanted to go and realized that they were on the edge of the forest. Scout wanted to leave the road and head into the woods.

  Matt scanned the horizon. The forest went on as far as he could see. But something wasn’t right. Matt knew from years of hiking and camping with his dad that a forest should be cool and damp, because leaves on the trees blocked the sunlight.

  But this time, there were no treetops. There was no dappled light. Matt breathed in the smell of wet dirt and tree sap, but the light was too bright and the air was too hot. He squinted, running his eyes up and up and up the tree trunks until he reached the top—and saw that there was nothing there.

  The trees were stripped completely bare.

  It was as if someone had plucked every single leaf off every single branch. Matt blinked a few times, as if maybe he wasn’t seeing clearly. But it was real, and it was mind-blowing. The 155-mile-an-hour winds from the hurricane had ripped the leaves off but left the trees upright.

  And that was just on the trees that were still standing.

  Huge swaths of fallen trees leaned on each other and lay sideways at sharp angles.

  Scout was sniffing busily at the air, trying to reorient himself in this world of new odors.

  “Where are we?” Matt asked.

  “El Yunque forest,” Luisa said quietly.

  “It’s big, right?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Like, really, really big.”

  Matt closed his eyes and pictured the map he’d studied before coming to Puerto Rico. El Yunque was a huge forest on the eastern end of the island—but it wasn’t just any forest. It was a rain forest, which meant it should have a thick canopy of trees, a vibrant array of greenery and wildlife, and a rich palette of colors. But it was wiped out, washed out, absent of color—and strangely, uncomfortably quiet.

  There was no chirping or cawing. There was no rustling in the underbrush. There was no snuffling and grunting of an animal on a quest for food. When the storm had blown through and clobbered the forest, it had destroyed the habitats of the animals and birds that lived there. Matt felt like he was sneaking around someone’s house when they weren’t home.

  “The animals.” Luisa gasped. “Where are they?”

  “I think they’re .
. .” Matt strained his ears to be sure he wasn’t imagining things. But he wasn’t. “I think they’re gone.”

  Scout’s sharp bark snapped Matt out of his shock. The dog had run into the forest and stopped, and now he was staring at Matt and Luisa impatiently. His tail was up and curled over his back, his ears were at the sides of his head, and every muscle in his body was flexed. He was ready—he just needed the humans to keep up.

  “Let’s go,” Matt said. “He’s got Rosita’s scent again.”

  But Luisa didn’t move. She ran her eyes across the devastation and shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean? It’s fine. Scout knows what he’s doing.”

  “But the forest?” She pressed her lips together. “We don’t know how bad it is in there. What if it’s not safe? What if we can’t find her? What if we can’t find our way back?”

  Matt weighed Luisa’s words carefully. He peered between the trees, took in the thickets of debris and tangled branches. He tried to envision how much worse it could be deeper inside the empty, broken forest.

  For a second, Matt’s imagination went rogue and he had the strange sensation that they were the last three living creatures in the forest—and on Earth. He zoomed out of El Yunque, up into the sky, and looked down on them from miles above the still, silent planet—totally empty of a single heartbeat, except for theirs.

  Scout whined and barked at him again. Matt shook his head and chased the images away.

  Scout took off a few yards into the woods, then stopped and looked back.

  That was all Matt needed to see. He turned to Luisa.

  “Scout is never wrong. It’ll be okay. I bet Rosita’s owner lives near the forest and this is just a shortcut to get to their house.”

  “Okay.” She still looked nervous. “Vámonos.”

  “Go, Scout,” Matt called out. Scout bolted ahead through the trees, and they wended their way through the forest behind him. Matt had been confident that Scout wouldn’t lead them astray, but after they had trekked a couple of miles, he had to admit that these silent woods were creepy.