We Could Be Heroes

by Margaret Finnegan

  Suddenly, Booler started barking. They tiptoed back and settled the dog down, lest the people in the ranch house hear him and come and find them all. They set out again for the mother cow, but just like before, Booler started barking. And the more Booler kept barking, the more Hank’s stomach pinged.

  Finally, Maisie suggested that Hank stay with Booler and that she go on alone. Relieved, Hank rubbed his belly and waved her on. Then he untied the leash and stepped back from the fence.

  He watched as, at first, the cows mostly ignored Maisie. A few of them swished their tails when she passed. Others moseyed to the other side of the enclosure. But all that changed when she got close to the calf. From across the pen, the bull looked up. It let loose a long snort of suspicion and leaned forward.

  Maisie froze. When the bull made no further movements she took a slow sideways shuffle toward the calf. She took another step, then another. Then, her eyes still watching the bull, she reached out and ran her hand across the calf.

  The calf’s ears twitched.

  The mother cow ambled away and the little calf trotted behind her.

  The bull seemed to relax. It wandered over to a pile of hay and began eating.

  Hank held his breath as, moving slowly, Maisie approached the mother cow and put her hand on its side. She stayed with the animal as it moved to a long watering trough, where it dropped its head and started drinking. The calf, now on the opposite side of Maisie, did the same.

  The bull could certainly not see Maisie in her new position. Unfortunately, neither could Hank or Booler.

  Booler gave a low whimper that sounded a little like a creaking boat.

  Hank comforted Booler—and himself—saying, “It’s okay. Maisie has this under control.”

  But he wondered if that was true. It didn’t help that time seemed to slow down, that every second that he could not see Maisie seemed like a minute and that every minute seemed like an hour. And that was before the bull decided that it too wanted some water, before it began its unhurried stroll to the watering trough, before the mama cow made a sharp “mraaaw” sound and the bull’s unhurried stroll turned into a trot. Hank watched in what seemed like slow motion as the bull lifted its head and made a beeline for the mama cow as the calf bolted away.

  Hank watched the mama cow’s hooves dance up and down.

  The mama cow’s head was bent sideways, toward where Maisie stood. It made another “mraaaw” sound and stepped away, exposing Maisie to both the bull and Hank.

  The bull began to gallop.

  “Move, Maisie,” whispered Hank. But then he thought, That bull cannot hear me. I don’t need to whisper. And then he thought, What if that bull could hear me? And then he had his own stinker of an idea.

  His stomach jumped as he yelled, “Over here! Look over here, bull!”

  The bull stopped. It turned toward Hank. Its eyes grew beady and its nostrils flared. Lowering its head, it charged toward him.

  Before Hank could even think to move, Booler sprang toward the bull, all bark and spit. Hank pulled on the leash with all his strength as Booler clawed at the ground and tried to hurl himself inside the paddock.

  “Booler, no!” yelled Hank. “Maisie!”

  The bull careened toward them. Hank thought for sure the animal would stampede through the wooden slats, but then suddenly the bull tossed its head and turned away. Trotting back to the straw pile, it shook its shoulders and gave a doleful snort, as if it just wanted to forget the whole thing.

  Hank held his breath, stunned. Then he saw Maisie. She was outside the paddock, running the length of the fence. Her face was red and glistened with sweat.

  Panting, she said, “That was close. Wow. That was really close.”

  He looked at the empty peanut container dangling from one of her hands. She hadn’t gotten any milk.

  She swallowed and held up the container helplessly. Still panting, she said, “The mama cow kept moving.” She held her free palm up like a crossing guard stopping cars. “But don’t worry. I have another idea.”

  She took Hank’s hand and they crept over to the house.

  “Remember the black truck that was there yesterday? Well, look. From over here you can see that it’s gone. I noticed it when I was avoiding getting killed by the bull. So maybe the people are all gone too, right?”

  Hank peered at the home. It was a ranch-style house, one floor, with a detached garage. The backyard was neat and tidy with freshly planted flowers and a raised vegetable bed full of seedlings. A hose stretched across the grass from the side of the house to the raised bed.

  “So what are you saying?” said Hank, looking at the hose. His stomach had begun to settle down and he suddenly felt very thirsty.

  She put a hand on his back. “Well, now that I’m looking around, I’m saying that I think hose water technically belongs to everyone. I think that is a well-known fact, so if we filled our water bottles with it that would not be stealing. I know how you feel about stealing.”

  “And we can’t live without water,” said Hank thoughtfully.

  “No,” said Maisie. “We cannot.”

  They ran back to the campsite, got their water bottles, and returned again. They tiptoed over to the spigot, peeking in the windows of the darkened house as they moved. Then they turned on the water and ran to the end of the hose, where they filled Booler’s water bowl and their own bottles. They drank the water in big thirsty gulps and filled their containers once more.

  Maisie pointed to the raised bed. “Carrots.” She squatted and looked at them more closely. “Hmm. I think it is also a well-known fact that things living in the wild—like rabbits and deer—get to take whatever they want from people’s yards. And since we are living in the wild right now, I think it would be totally expected of us to take some of these.” She pulled up a row of young carrots, each about the size of a stubby finger. She took the still-running hose and rinsed the carrots off. With a smile, she looked at Hank. “See, I told you it would be okay.”

  “I do like carrots,” said Hank, taking two carrots and eating them down to their leaves.

  “And look,” she said, pointing to a tree near the garage. “Apples!”

  Hank shook his head. “Those are crab apples. They’re really sour.”

  She shrugged. “They might not be.”

  “They will be.”

  “We’ll see about that.” She dropped the carrots into the empty peanut container, letting the greens drape over the sides of the can. Then she put the container on the ground next to her water bottle and handed Booler’s leash to Hank. She ran to the tree and began to climb. When she was near the top she pulled off two small green apples and shoved them into her pants pockets. Then she grabbed two more and rolled them into the bottom of her long-sleeved tee.

  Her tongue was hanging out the side of her mouth and she was beginning to climb down the tree when a voice yelled, “Hey!”

  Booler stiffened and barked just as Hank turned to see a barefoot woman wrapped in a big pink bathrobe. She filled the frame of the house’s back door. Something seemed to jostle her and suddenly a German shepherd sprang forward, hackles raised, spit flying out of its wildly barking mouth.

  “Max!” said the woman. “Kids, wait! Max!”

  Maisie jumped from the tree, shouting, “Run!”

  “We weren’t stealing!” screamed Hank, turning round, tugging on Booler’s leash even as the dog, barking, pulled toward the German shepherd.

  Maisie raced past him. “We’re basically rabbits!”

  Booler leapt toward Maisie and he and Hank tried to catch up to the speeding girl. Running faster than he’d ever run before, Hank glanced back and saw the woman dive onto the German shepherd. But now there was another person, a teenager, his head swinging left and right as he tried to figure out what was going on.

  “Back to the tent!” panted Maisie.

  They reached the tent and threw themselves onto the ground as Booler paced back and forth, his tongue hanging out of his mout
h. Maisie crept over to the clearing. “I don’t see anyone,” she said. “But our goose is really cooked this time.” Her eyes flashed worry as she turned and looked at the campsite. “We gotta pack up. We gotta go.”

  “Home?” Hope filled his voice, but he knew—he knew before she even said, “Let me think”—that they weren’t going home.

  They tried to erase the evidence of their campsite. “It can’t look like we were ever here,” warned Maisie as Hank broke down the tent and shoved everything in his backpack.

  “I see you. I see you. I’m helping you. I’m helping Booler. I’m helping you, just for a few days,” mumbled a frantic Hank as he tamped down the a’a feeling that rumbled inside him.

  “We’ve got to go deeper into the forest,” said Maisie, grabbing the rocks and wood from their failed campfire and throwing them around. “Somewhere they can’t find us.”

  He strapped on his backpack and then let his hands spin round and round as he muttered, “I’m helping Booler. I’m helping you. I’m helping Booler. I’m helping you.”

  A voice came from the direction of the house. “Hank? Maisie?”

  From the same direction but higher in the foothills came another voice: “Mayyyyy-zeeee? Haaaay-nkkkkk?”

  “Oh, no!” Maisie squealed. “They know it’s us.”

  “What do we do?” whispered Hank.

  She bit down on her lip and tightened her grip on Booler’s leash. Grimacing, she took a sturdy step toward the clearing. “We’ll lose them in the cows.”

  Quiet as could be, they made their way to the edge of the clearing. They looked toward the house. They looked toward the paddock with the peacefully grazing cows. They looked at each other.

  Suddenly, Hank wrapped Maisie in a big hug. He let go and they watched for a moment as the dog sniffed their legs and then glanced up at them with trusting, curious eyes.

  “For Booler,” said Hank.

  Maisie nodded. “For Booler.”

  With ferocious courage, they dashed across the open field and made their way toward the paddock. Hank watched as Maisie helped Booler through the slats of the fence and then stumbled through the gap herself.

  She looked back at Hank. “Hurry, Hank! Hurry!”

  “Wait!” yelled the woman in the bathrobe. She was standing at the far edge of the paddock next to another man and woman, and all of them were staring at him and Maisie with open mouths.

  From behind him came another voice: “Hank! Maisie! Wait!”

  He threw himself through the fence. He didn’t see Maisie trip but he heard her. He heard a great thunk and a squeal. When he turned to look she was already running after Booler, whose leash she had dropped. Booler ran straight toward the largest huddle of cows, and there was the bull—its front legs lifting off the ground; its piercing, sharp horns glinting in the sun; its bellowing snort trumpeting alarm. Maybe it was because Booler was never free, always tied to a rope or tethered to a leash; maybe he was just like Superman and had a secret talent.… Whatever it was, the dog was a bullet. Already Booler had passed the cows and the bull and was now almost at the other side of the enclosure. So Hank ran that way too, but not before glancing behind him to see now four people making their way through the fence.

  “Maisie!” he yelled. “They’re coming!”

  She was about fifty feet ahead of him and she turned when she heard his voice.

  What happened next didn’t make any sense at all. Maisie stopped and her eyes got huge and her jaw dropped so that her mouth was a saucer.

  “Hank! Watch out!”

  Suddenly, Booler sped straight past Hank. The dog circled round him, ending on Hank’s left. Bark after bark erupted from Booler’s mouth as spit flew across the pasture in angry bursts. It was an urgent bark, a warning bark. Hank turned to see the bull charging straight toward him. It lowered its head and Booler’s barking became a shrill yelp.

  Hank saw only a shadow of Booler begin to sail across the sky before he gasped and realized that he too was sailing across the sky and that there was the most terrible pain in his side, so terrible that he couldn’t even marvel at how fast the clouds passed before his eyes or how his breath seemed caught at the very bottom of his throat.

  He landed in a pile of straw and manure. For a moment the smell pulled at his nose and he started to gag, but then the pain in his side knocked the stink out of his brain. He became aware of a warm wetness spreading across his belly.

  He lifted his head, stunned. What he saw gave him such a shock that the why and the wonder of it all evaporated. It was Mrs. Vera.

  She knelt next to him, her eyes on his belly. She pulled off her jacket, balled it up, and pressed it onto his stomach. “Well, you never do anything halfway, do you, Hank?”

  “Ow,” he said, trying to pull away.

  “Stay put,” she said. “We’ve got to stop the bleeding.”

  “Bleeding?” He lifted his head again and tried to look down his body but all he could see was Booler, seven feet in front of him, splayed out, silent.

  “Yes. Bleeding. That bull gored you, Hank.”

  “Why are you here? Are these your cows? I don’t think I like them.”

  Mrs. Vera gave a nervous laugh. “No, no. It’s just… half the town has been out looking for you two.” She pressed harder on the balled-up jacket.

  “Ouch,” moaned Hank.

  “It’s okay,” said Mrs. Vera. “Just relax. An ambulance will be here soon.”

  “An ambulance? Am I dying?” The a’a feeling exploded and mingled with the pain in his body.

  “Calm down, buddy. You’re not gonna die.”

  “No, no,” he shook his head. “I’m not your buddy. You hate me.”

  She pressed harder on his wound. Her voice pained, she said, “Now, why would you think that?”

  Hank plopped his hand over his face, darkening the sky. Salt and sweat tingled his tongue. “I’m tired.”

  Mrs. Vera ran her free hand through his hair.

  “No, no. Stay awake, Hank. Hank… Hank! Tell me, why do you think I hate you? That’s a funny thing to say.”

  “ ’Cuz…,” he said, his voice starting to trail off. His side was really starting to hurt.

  “Well, I don’t hate you, Hank,” she said, her voice becoming more soft and gentle than he had ever heard it. “I just don’t want you to think that you can do less than you can do. I just want you to have a world of choices. Hank? Hank?”

  “You’re a real piece of work, Mrs. Vera.”

  12.

  Hank awoke with his mouth feeling dry and cottony. He remembered enough. He remembered the bull and Mrs. Vera. He remembered the ambulance ride and being wheeled on a gurney down a long hallway in the hospital. What he didn’t remember was how he had gotten into this hospital room.

  He thought for sure he would find his mom seated next to him, but it was his dad who was there, splayed out on a chair in his emergency room scrubs, his eyes closed. Hank thought maybe his dad was asleep, but then Hank sniffled and his dad’s eyes popped open and his whole body popped up. He was at Hank’s side before the sniffle even stopped.

  Dad seemed to read his mind. “Don’t worry. Mom’s here. She stepped out to get some coffee. She’ll be right back. She’s been here all night. Lots of people have been here. I had no idea you were so popular.”

  Hank blinked and looked around the room. From his window he could see the peak of the mountain.

  Dad took his hand in his. “Are you all right? How do you feel?”

  Hank tried to speak but the words came out a croak.

  Quick as could be, Dad was filling a cup with water and handing it to him.

  Hank took a sip and tried again. “Where’s Sam?”

  “He is at Maisie’s house. He was worried about you. We were all worried about you.”

  Hank took another sip. He peeked at his dad through the corner of his eye. “And where’s Maisie?”

  Dad squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry. She’s okay. She’s helping her
parents look after Sam.

  “She brought you this.” He held up a rock that had been painted so that it looked a little like Booler’s face. “And this.” He showed Hank an envelope marked “For my friend, Hank.”

  Hank took the rock and turned it over in his hands. The a’a feeling started bubbling up as the image of Booler sailing through the sky came back to him. “Is… Is Booler okay?”

  Dad pulled the chair Hank had first seen him in closer and sat back down. “The last I heard he was about to get a bucketful of stitches. I think people were hopeful. Did he really try to save you from that bull?”

  The sight of Booler standing sturdy and strong in front of the charging bull flashed through his mind, and Hank realized that his dad was right. Booler had tried to save him. He had stood right in front of him and tried to bark the bull away, and when the bull kept charging, he did not back down. He shielded Hank with his own body. A wave of gratitude and sadness shuddered through him as he pictured Booler getting stitched up by a vet. He wanted to be with Booler right then. He wanted to pet the dog’s smooth, warm fur and tell him that everything was okay, that he would love him forever and ever.

  “We only wanted to save Booler from Mr. Jorgensen’s daughter,” said Hank.

  Dad sat back. He clasped his hands together behind his head and sighed. “So I hear.” He paused and then stood up and looked out the door. When he came back he said, “You know, your mom doesn’t want me to tell you this yet—she’s afraid you might… react poorly—but I gotta be honest with you. Mr. Jorgensen is pretty upset.”

  While his father was not using his angry voice, he was using his I-am-very-disappointed-in-you voice, the same one he had sprung on Hank after the fire.

  “You stole the man’s dog, Hank. Again. Not just that, you stole that dog’s medicine and his leash. And I know for a fact that you spent days planning this because I saw you with your camping gear. So this was not some rash, spontaneous mistake.”