Storm Dog

by Jennifer Li Shotz

  “She’s okay—is she okay?” Luisa took a step into the water too, then pulled back immediately.

  That’s when Matt realized that it wasn’t water at all, and it wasn’t ground, either. It was something else entirely—it was a deep pit filled with a thick mass of dirt, sodden and crushed leaves, splintered tree branches, sharp sticks, and rainwater, all churned together into a sludge that looked treacherous.

  Rosita stood at the center of it, balanced on a narrow tree branch that stuck out of the mud at an angle, her four paws gripping it tightly. Her feet threatened to slip right off, and if she lost her balance, she would fall directly into the darkness that surrounded her on all sides.

  “Scout, come!” Matt commanded his dog. Sensing that he was in danger, Scout did as he was told. He backed up carefully, his paws making loud slurping sounds.

  Matt took a step into the water and immediately understood why Scout had stopped and Luisa had pulled back. It was thick and goopy—heavy—and it suctioned around his foot so fast that it felt like hands grabbing him from deep within the earth. If he took another step, he would get sucked in—and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get himself out.

  Matt jerked his foot back. There was no way to walk to Rosita, and Rosita definitely couldn’t come to them.

  They would have to figure out another way.

  18

  THE RAIN HAD STARTED UP AGAIN. It fell in sheets, harder than before, if that was even possible. It pounded Matt’s face with such power that it hurt and forced him to shut his eyes. He and Luisa shielded their eyes with their arms and wiped their faces as best they could, trying desperately to see Rosita through the wall of water.

  The tiny dog was still at the center of the pit, but she was scrambling to keep her balance on the dripping-wet branch. The mire around her was growing deeper by the second as the rain poured down.

  They had to get her. And fast.

  Scout clearly felt the same way. He kept his eyes on Rosita as he skittered back and forth on the bank of the pit looking for a way to get to her. With a sharp bark, Scout hurled himself forward into the swirling muck pit.

  It was a disaster.

  Within seconds, Scout’s legs had disappeared under the surface and he had sunk up to his chest.

  “Scout!” Matt cried. “No, no, hang on, buddy! I’m coming!”

  Scout tipped his head back to hold his snout up for air. The rain beat down on him, but he couldn’t swipe at his face with his paws, which seemed to be stuck in the mud. Scout’s body strained as he tried to pull his legs out and move forward, backward . . . any direction.

  Matt took a step into the pit toward Scout.

  “No—Matt, no—” Luisa cried. “Don’t do it. Look how far Scout sank already!”

  “I can’t just leave him there!” But Matt knew she was right. Desperation rose in his chest, and he cast his eyes around for something—anything—he could use to help Scout. But before Matt could find anything, Scout suddenly lurched forward, his left front paw rising above the surface with a giant slurp sound. With one leg free, Scout was able to wriggle his body enough to gain some traction. He pressed forward, trying to get closer to Rosita.

  She watched him head her way, and her whole body began to shake with excitement. Rosita extended her snout toward Scout, stretching her neck and swiping a paw in the air, as if she was reaching out to him. But he was still too far away.

  Matt looked up at the sky and saw a solid mass of clouds above. The rain showed no signs of abating, which meant it was a bad idea for Scout to forge ahead. The thick mud was only going to get worse. Matt had to get him back.

  “Scout—come!” Scout’s ears flicked at the sound of Matt’s voice, but he continued pushing against the mud, trying to move forward. Matt took a full breath and closed his eyes. Dig deep, a dog trainer had once told him. Speak with conviction. “Scout—come here, now!”

  Scout’s whole body reacted to Matt’s command. His head popped up, and—with one sad look at Rosita—he slowly turned himself around. Every step required great effort as he tugged one paw up and out of the sludge, then plunked it back down, then pulled up the next and plunked it down. He trudged toward Matt and Luisa, finally planting his front paws on the wet ground and pulling his back half out. He shook himself violently, sending a spray of mud and leaves out into the rain.

  Scout looked at Rosita. She whimpered and let out a few terrified yips, sliding on the branch and trying to chase after Scout. She fell sideways and landed in the muddy goop.

  “¡Ay, Dios mio!” Luisa’s hands flew to her mouth. “I don’t know if she can make it!”

  With a wild look in her eye, Rosita had rolled onto her belly. Her legs were quickly under the surface, but she had summoned something fierce and scrappy from deep within herself. Struggling, Rosita scooted forward one inch, then two. She got close enough to the branch to reach out one front paw and latch on to it with her claws. Then she dug the other paw into it and scratched and scrabbled at it until she had pulled herself up to safety.

  Matt and Luisa gasped with relief.

  Rosita shook herself off and, without missing a beat, picked up right where she had left off with her high-pitched barks and cries.

  “Talk to her, okay?” Matt said to Luisa. “Just tell her it’s going to be okay—she listens to you.”

  “Okay.” Luisa took a deep breath and exhaled. “Rosita,” she said in a soothing tone. “Tranquila, mi vida. Todo va a estar bien.”

  Matt was practically blinded by the rain, and his feet were getting sucked into the wet, muddy ground. Frustration mounted and threatened to burst out of him, but he forced himself to take a slow, deep inhale through his nose and let out an even slower exhale through his mouth. It was what his dad had always taught him to do when he was afraid or stressed or unsure how to proceed.

  Immediately Matt felt his heart rate come down and the knot of anxiety in his chest begin to loosen.

  And it was something else his dad had always taught him that helped him figure out what to do next. Work with what you’ve got, Matt-o. When the mission is going south, you can’t just ask everyone to wait a sec while you run out for supplies. You’ve got to take the only things you’ve got—your own brain and whatever’s right in front of you—and use them to your advantage.

  Matt spotted a long tree branch lying nearby. It was in pretty good shape, not splintered like so many of the others. And it lay by itself, not tangled up in a pile of heavy, wet debris. He snatched it up by the wide end and dragged it over to Luisa and Scout.

  Luisa seemed to get what he was trying to do. “You’re going to make a bridge?”

  “Yep.” Matt was trying to maneuver the heavy branch toward the pit so he could swing the end out over the surface toward Rosita.

  Luisa shook her head. “She’ll never be able to walk on it. She’ll fall off.”

  Luisa was right. But anything wider and it would be too heavy. Even if Matt and Luisa could drag it over to the mud pit, it would sink the second they laid it on the surface.

  They needed width and stability, but not weight. Matt squeezed his eyes shut, trying to picture just what would fit that description, out here in the middle of nowhere.

  Think! It’s here—it’s right in front of you. You just have to find it.

  Matt opened his eyes. He had it. One big branch would be too narrow and heavy, but two branches side by side would be wide enough together—and light enough individually to stay afloat.

  He ran around, peering through the rain, until he found a branch that was similar in size and heft to the first. He dragged it over and he and Luisa positioned the two logs tightly together, extending all the way to Rosita from the bank where they stood. They knelt on either side and braced the trunks.

  Rosita stopped whining and watched them with big, round eyes. She swiped at the wood with one paw, then pulled back.

  “Come on,” Matt called out, barely able to control his emotions enough to speak calmly. “Rosita, go on—get
on the tree and come over here.”

  “You can walk on it!” Luisa whistled gently. “Rosita—¡ven aquí! It’s okay—we got you.”

  But Rosita was shaking too hard to move, and now she was covered in thick, wet mud. She looked at the bridge they had made for her, then at Scout, then at Matt and Luisa. She whimpered sadly.

  Scout barked once—sharp and shrill.

  Rosita couldn’t do it. She didn’t understand what they wanted her to do—or if she did, she was too terrified to do it.

  Matt couldn’t fight his frustration. “Rosita, you have to come here, now—”

  He caught a blur of motion out of the corner of his eye, and suddenly the tree trunks jerked under his palms. A brown-and-white streak—Scout—was stepping quickly and lightly across the makeshift bridge toward Rosita. Before Matt could find his voice, Scout had reached Rosita and, in an instant, snatched her up by the scruff and turned back around. Moving gracefully and quickly—as if he were just taking a walk and not racing along a wet, slippery tightrope—Scout brought Rosita back and hopped onto the ground. Scout gently laid the little dog at Luisa’s feet and began to nudge and lick her with his nose.

  Matt couldn’t help himself. He scooped up the muddy Rosita, cradling her in one arm while he wrapped the other around Scout’s neck and pulled his dog in. Luisa gave Scout a kiss on the top of his head and held out her arms for Rosita. Matt handed her over, and Luisa cuddled the small dog, softly cooing into her ear.

  They stayed there, ignoring the rain, for a long moment. Relief washed over Matt. Luisa closed her eyes and pressed her cheek to Rosita’s. They were all covered in mud, and they were sopping wet, but they were now all together and safe.

  Matt looked past Scout and took in the sky in the distance. It wasn’t just gray with rain clouds anymore. It was getting dark as the sun went down, turning inky and opaque.

  Matt turned to Luisa and realized he could barely see her. “Luisa,” he said. She looked in the direction he was pointing. “It’s getting dark. We don’t know where we’re going. We’ll never find our way out of here at night.”

  She nodded and swallowed hard. Matt saw a flash of fear cross her face, but she kept her composure. “So we stay.”

  Matt knew she was right. “We stay.” He hated the thought, but he didn’t see any way around it.

  His stomach felt queasy, and his arms and legs had gone numb.

  He’d camped out a thousand times, and even been in some scary situations—like a flood and a wildfire. But this was a rain forest. A devastated rain forest, where no one else had any reason to be—where they were utterly, totally alone.

  He was in way over his head this time. He had no big ideas, no way to fix this, and no backup plan.

  Matt felt about as low as he ever had. He swore to himself that when they saw the light of morning—if they saw the light of morning—he would get them safely home and never, ever do anything like this again.

  But first, they had to get through the night.

  19

  IT WAS SO DARK NOW THAT Matt couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face. He, Scout, Rosita, and Luisa huddled together, leaning back against a stack of boulders that were angled just enough to provide them with cover. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.

  After the heat and humidity of the day, Matt hadn’t expected to be cold. The rain had stopped, but now that the sun had gone down and he was soaked to the bone, the chill had set in. His clothes were heavy with water, his skin was covered in goose bumps, and his fingers were puckered and pruny. Luisa’s jaw was tight and her lips shivered as she wrapped her arms around herself and leaned into Scout for warmth. They were all chilled through and through.

  Scout lay between them, seeming like he wasn’t sure who to look out for first—Matt, Rosita, or Luisa. Rosita was tucked safely at his side, curled into the curve of Scout’s hip. Scout sniffed at her and licked her head every few minutes. In between, he tipped his head back and looked up at Matt, as if checking to be sure he was still there. Matt scratched Scout’s neck and under his chin, running his fingers through his dog’s soft, damp fur. Scout turned to Luisa on his other side and placed a paw on her leg. She leaned down and rested her head on his, draping an arm over his body.

  Matt reached across Scout and patted Rosita’s belly. She grumbled with satisfaction, happy to be snug and safe again. Matt thought about this tiny, odd dog and how far she’d traveled that day just to be with her family, wherever they were.

  Out here, adrift in the deep forest and the inky blackness, he remembered what it felt like to want to go home really, really badly. He got why Rosita was so determined, and how much she was willing to go through just to find her loved ones again.

  All around them, the sounds of the forest cawed and tapped and hummed, like a symphony warming up. Some animals were winding down for the night, and others were just getting started. Matt listened intently, trying to sort out the sounds—but soon he couldn’t hear much over the rising chorus of the coquí frogs.

  Coquí! Coquí! began one.

  Coquí coquí coquí! replied another.

  The rest of the frogs hidden in the trees all around them took their cue, and soon the night was booming with their calls. Matt couldn’t help but laugh, despite their current terrible situation.

  “I told you that’s what they sounded like,” Luisa said with a chuckle.

  “You do a good impersonation.”

  “Thanks. I’ve had years of practice.”

  Matt closed his eyes and listened to the frogs’ melody. It was relaxing, like the sound of waves crashing on the beach.

  The gurgle of Matt’s stomach interrupted the music.

  “Hungry?” Luisa asked.

  “Not really. You?”

  “Sort of. I know I should be, but I don’t feel like eating. Not that we have any food anyway.”

  Matt thought for a second. “Wait—I do have food!” He turned on his flashlight and dug around in his backpack. Everything inside it was wet, but he closed his hand around two sealed granola bars and the pack of ham he’d thrown in there at the last second.

  “Carbs and protein!” Matt handed one bar and the ham to Luisa. He ripped open the wrapper on the other bar and broke off half, then split that in two. He gave one piece to Rosita and one piece to Scout. They both ate it in one gulp.

  “Ham?” Luisa held out the package to him as she chewed and swallowed the meat.

  “Thanks. I bet these guys would like some.” Matt took the packet from her and pulled out a slice. He fed it to Scout and Rosita, who were more than happy to eat it. “There you go, guys.” He forced himself to eat some too.

  Fed and comfortable—and protected by Scout—Rosita dropped her head onto her paws and closed her eyes. Scout licked his lips, and his eyelids lowered halfway. He wasn’t asleep. He was resting, but his senses were still on patrol. Matt could see his ears flicking with each sound, and his nostrils twitching as he kept tabs on every scent that floated by on the air.

  Matt closed up the ham packet and dropped it back into his pack. The food had taken the edge off his nerves, and with one arm lying across Scout’s stomach, he leaned back against the rock and closed his eyes. Like a movie in slo-mo, the long day played out in his mind: all the destruction and damage they had seen, trekking in the heat and rain, getting lost in the forest, the stress of finding Rosita . . . Exhaustion hit him hard, and before he knew it, the sound of the frogs was fading into the distance, growing softer and softer until Matt had fallen deeply asleep.

  There were dogs howling in Matt’s dream. They were loud—so incredibly loud—and Matt just wanted them to stop. “Quiet!” he commanded them. “Scout—shush!” But it was like that dream that plagued Matt, when his alarm clock was beeping but he couldn’t turn it off no matter how many times he hit Snooze, or even after he had unplugged it. Scout and the other dogs wouldn’t listen, and the howling continued.

  It was a wild sound, sad and fierce all at once. There were so m
any of them—how many different voices was Matt hearing? The dogs joined together, hitting different notes but their calls overlapping and rising together, then falling off and starting over again. Matt grew agitated, determined to make the sound stop.

  He fought to wake himself up, struggling against the weight of sleep and the fogginess of the dream. Slowly he pushed up, up, up into a drowsy wakefulness. For a confused moment, he didn’t remember where he was or why. He felt cold and damp. The air was thick and smelled of dirt, and his back hurt from the hard surface behind him.

  It came to him slowly. He was in the forest. With Luisa. And the dogs.

  The dogs.

  Matt snapped into alertness and his eyes shot open. He tried to adjust his vision to the darkness that surrounded him as it became crystal clear why he couldn’t get the dogs to quiet down in his dream.

  It was because they weren’t in his dream. They were real.

  And the wild dogs were howling all around them. The air was filled with their calls. Scout was standing up, a soft growl emanating from his chest. Matt fumbled around for Rosita. She was trembling, and he pulled her onto his lap to comfort her, holding her tight.

  “Luisa?” Matt whispered into the darkness.

  “I’m here,” she replied. “They’re satos—but not the nice kind. What do they want?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Scout’s growl grew louder.

  “Scout, stay,” Matt said, reaching up and grabbing hold of Scout’s collar. He didn’t want Scout to take off into the dark, after some unknown dogs they couldn’t even see. He would be outnumbered—plus, he was on their turf and they would have the advantage. No way Matt was going to let Scout put himself in that kind of danger.

  Matt felt Scout crouch down low and heard his growl grow deeper and fiercer. He was preparing to defend them. The dogs kept howling, but the tenor of their cries changed. They got louder, and there was a note of something harsher, more menacing.

  Matt blinked into the darkness, willing his eyes to adjust. As the faint light of the moon reached the forest floor, Matt saw something that made his blood run cold. Something glinting and bright. Something terrifying.