Ember Read online

  For dog heroes and their people

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  A Note from the Authors

  Teaser for Dusty

  About the Authors

  Copyright

  The little yellow puppy wriggled in a heap with her littermates. She freed a tiny paw, twisted, and pushed her fuzzy snout underneath her brother’s chin. She wanted to snuggle back to sleep. It was dark under the house where the puppies dozed, always. Even during the day. But she could not settle. Something was different. Something was wrong.

  Struggling out of the pile, she stood on wobbly legs. She opened her eyes to peer into the darkness and blinked. The small puppy had only had her eyes open for a week, and she loved to gaze at dust mites, her littermates’ floppy tails, and the slow-moving spiders that lurked in the murky dark of the den. But this dark was different from the dark she knew. This dark wasn’t the cozy, warm dark that was good for napping and rolling around with her siblings. This dark smelled strange. It felt hot. And it burned her open eyes. She let out a yip and then stood still, waiting to feel her mother’s comforting lick.

  It didn’t come.

  The pup lifted her short snout and sniffed again. Even in the strange, thick air, she could scent it. Her mother was gone.

  The puppies’ mother rarely left the nest she’d made for her litter. When she did, she was never away for long—just long enough to get food or water or go to the bathroom. The yellow puppy yipped once more. She pricked up her floppy ears, listening for her mama to call back in return. All she heard were strange new noises—loud thumps, scrapes, snaps, and pops. Added to the smells, the sounds made her uncomfortable. A whimper rose in her throat. She swallowed, then let her mouth fall open as she strained to see and hear and smell more.

  At last she heard her mother’s bark, but that, too, was strange. There was a warning in it, a plea, and an urgency she’d never heard before. It also sounded muffled, as if it was coming from far away.

  The puppy yipped back to her mom, though it was useless. Her tiny bark was swallowed up by the new noises. But that didn’t stop her. She yipped again and again, waking her brothers and sisters. The other puppies joined in the cry. They struggled to their feet in turn and began yelping and yapping, adding their tiny barks to the din, calling to their mother.

  It was not enough.

  Stumbling around in the dark, the yellow puppy kept barking as she searched for a way out.

  None of the puppies had ever been out of the nest where they’d been born. Their mama dog provided all they needed—food, shelter, comfort. They had never needed to know the way out. “Out” was a place they thought they might follow their mother one day. Now, suddenly, “out” was a place they needed to find right away.

  The yellow puppy kept sniffing for an escape, searching for fresh air. The strange-smelling air stung her nose, and the strong scent was growing stronger every second. Soon it overwhelmed everything else. The little dog stopped. She could not trust her nose. She held still and focused on the sounds coming from all around her. She heard her mother’s muffled bark, her siblings’ cries, and other voices, too—human voices. One of them was deep and booming … louder than the others.

  “Wait. The dog. She’s trying to tell us something!” the voice bellowed from somewhere above her.

  “Marcus, we’ve got to get out of here. I don’t think the roof is going to hold. Grab that dog and let’s go!”

  “No. Wait,” the booming voice repeated. “See her pacing? She keeps going back to that spot. There’s something down there. And look at her belly. I think she has puppies!”

  The yellow puppy yipped in the dark and tilted her head. New noises came from above: more thumping, and then a strange scratching sound.

  “Stand back. Hold the dog!” the deep voice boomed. The scratching was replaced by a loud WHACK. Then another. And another. WHACK! WHACK!

  The rest of the frightened puppies cowered together. The whole den shook. The yellow pup stood apart. She listened to the sound of splintering wood and a strange wailing creak as one of the floorboards that made the roof of the puppies’ den was pried up.

  A hazy shaft of light flickered into the darkness, and the yellow puppy heard the booming voice again—louder this time.

  “Here!” it shouted.

  The terrified litter moved farther into a gloomy corner as a large covered hand reached through the opening, accompanied by a thick cloud of gray smoke. The gloved hand groped in the darkness, searching, as more and more smoke poured in.

  The little yellow puppy had never been close to humans before, but she sensed two things: Danger was closing in, and help was near. Circling the rest of her litter, she nudged them with her nose toward the hand that grasped each one gently and lifted them out one at a time.

  The yellow pup kept herding the litter to safety, ignoring the burning in her throat and eyes. Smoke filled her lungs. She struggled to breathe. She coughed as she pushed a brown puppy, the last one, forward and watched him disappear through the rough opening.

  “We’ve got to get out of here, NOW!” the second voice shouted above her.

  “I think there’s one more!” the booming voice shouted back.

  The gloved hand reappeared, and the yellow pup staggered toward it. Her vision grew hazy. Then, just above her, she heard a loud crack. Something split. A dark shape dropped down into the den behind her and glowing embers rained all around, lighting up the darkness even more and singeing the tiny dog’s fur.

  The pup yelped.

  The hand disappeared.

  And everything went black.

  Something or someone covered the small yellow puppy’s muzzle and pushed air into her lungs. She squeaked and sputtered as she exhaled.

  “Come on, little Ember!” The puppy recognized the booming voice from before, only now it was a low, soothing rumble. “Come on,” it coaxed. The little dog’s eyes fluttered open, and she coughed. She was outside, wrapped in the huge hand of the man with the booming voice. The air was clearer, though the smell of smoke was everywhere. Lights flashed in the darkness. There were lots of voices.

  “There you go!” the man rumbled. He gently rubbed her chest with his thumb as he cradled her. His hand was so big the little dog fit comfortably in the palm of his fire glove.

  The puppy looked past the fingers to her first glimpse of the world outside her nest. Large vehicles with bright lights surrounded them. More humans stood around in small clusters, looking at what was left of the still-smoldering building. Some of them held hoses and sprayed water, which sent up plumes of smoke and steam. The little dog looked down to see her mother and littermates. They were lying on a cloth on the ground. A woman knelt beside them.

  “You’re going to be okay,” the man said. He moved her closer to his hairless face, so close she could feel the warmth coming from his dark skin. She coughed aga
in and squirmed. She was not uncomfortable, only curious. She wanted to see what was happening. She wanted to know who these people were and what they were doing. She wanted to know everything!

  She sat up in the glove and other nearby human voices laughed and cheered. They were happy she’d made it out of the choking darkness, too. She stretched out her neck to give the gentle man who pulled her out a lick. He had given her back her breath, and this was a thank-you. Her tiny tongue found the small dent on the side of his cheek that appeared when he smiled. He tasted like the thick air and salt and something piney. He laughed. A happy rumble. She licked him again.

  Marcus Riley held the puppy gently and gazed at her with his big brown eyes while Greta, one of his coworkers, checked the burn on the puppy’s back. The little dog’s golden-yellow coat seemed to glow, even beneath the soot and ash that covered her. Marcus smiled. The pup should have been trembling, terrified. Instead, her eyes glinted with mischief or curiosity … or both. She didn’t flinch, even when Greta flushed the burn between her shoulder blades with water, dabbed it off, and placed a clean bandage over it. “You’re a glowing little Ember, all right,” Marcus chuckled. He accepted another kiss on his nose.

  “Oooh! I think she’s in love, Marcus!” Victor, one of the other firefighters, hooted. Marcus looked into Ember’s smaller brown eyes and smiled. Yes, he supposed he might be a little in love, too.

  “Looks like somebody might be taking home a new dog,” Greta teased. She elbowed her coworker before packing up the first aid equipment. Marcus grinned and watched the little puppy in his hand chew and tug on the thumb of his glove. She was sweet. And determined and unflappable. She’d nearly died, and here she was tussling with his thumb. She was a good dog, for sure.

  But Marcus’s smile disappeared when he thought of his own dog at home. Sadie. She was a good dog, too, and Marcus’s best canine friend. Her puppy days were well behind her—they had been together since Marcus was a boy. Sadie was old and a bit frail, and would be insulted by a new puppy … even one with floppy ears, a twinkle in her eye, and a diamond-shaped burn on the back of her neck. No. He could not bring this puppy home. He couldn’t do that to his Sadie.

  “You’re too little to leave your mama,” Marcus said softly to Ember. “Besides, they’ll be able to find you a good home at the shelter. That’s where people go to find dogs. Someone will definitely want you.”

  Ember looked at the man. She didn’t know what he was talking about, but she liked his voice. And she liked his glove. She liked to bite it! It felt good on her itchy puppy teeth.

  “Oh, would you look at that.” The owner of the burned house walked over to the firefighters and dogs. Her gray hair was in disarray, and she had a lost look about her that Marcus had seen before. She seemed shocked. Losing your home to flames was hard to grasp.

  The woman peered at the puppy in Marcus’s hand, and her own hands flew to her mouth as tears filled her eyes. Her house was gutted. She’d lost nearly everything. And yet lives had been spared. Even this tiny new life in the firefighter’s hand. “I’m so glad those dogs are safe,” she said. “I had no idea they were living under the house! They could have been trapped, or …”

  Greta, who was done packing up supplies, kneeled back down to pet the mama dog and the wiggly puppies squirming all around her, trying to nurse. “They were probably living under your back hall for a while,” she explained to the woman gently. “I’d say these puppies are around three weeks old.”

  “I had no idea,” the woman repeated, shaking her head.

  “How would you have known?” Greta asked soothingly. She raised a hand to wave over a man in an Animal Services uniform. She’d called Animal Services as soon as she realized that the dogs were going to need shelter.

  “I wish I could keep them,” the woman said, sniffling, “but I’m not even sure where I’m going to end up af … after …” Her eyes welled with fresh tears, and she looked from the dogs to her house. A few firefighters were still soaking hot spots, and her voice trailed off.

  “We’ll take care of the dogs,” the Animal Services man reassured her. He was experienced at assessing a scene and getting right to work. He patted the homeowner’s shoulder before kneeling down by the Labrador and her litter. “You don’t need to worry. These puppers are going to be just fine.”

  “Here, Mama.” The worker offered the mother dog a treat, which she took gratefully. Then he put a second treat in the open crate he’d brought with him and placed nearby. “More inside,” he said, and patted the big carrier box. Ember’s mom stood wearily and walked inside, her puppies bumbling along at her heels. “There you go.” The worker smiled. He glanced up at Marcus, who was still holding the yellow puppy. “Is that one yours?” he asked.

  “Afraid not.” Marcus was surprised to feel a little lump in his throat as he said it. He swallowed and bent his neck to touch his nose to the dog’s tiny muzzle. “Take care, little Ember,” he whispered into her floppy ear. He squatted down and placed her gently in the crate with her family, slipping off his glove to stroke her soft fur. Then, without really thinking, he tucked his glove in beside her so she could keep chewing on the way to the shelter. Ember looked up at the nice man before snuggling in with her brothers and her sisters and her chewy new glove.

  One year later …

  The car rolled to a stop, and Ember heard the lady behind the wheel, Nancy, let out a loud sigh. “Here we go,” she said. It sounded like she was talking to Ember, but she wasn’t. She didn’t really talk to Ember unless she was yelling. Yelling at Ember was something Nancy did almost every day.

  The tailgate of the car opened, and Ember jumped down, happy to be out of the rolling metal box. She didn’t love riding in cars, but she did love to explore new places. The parking lot didn’t have much to offer. But …

  She filled her nose and made a beeline toward the smell of dogs. Lots of dogs! She was caught short when she came to the end of her leash. It choked her.

  “Stop pulling!” Nancy yelled.

  Ember leaned toward the base of the sign—the spot the dog smell was wafting from. Then she caught another scent. The shrubs on the edge of the lot smelled of dog, too! Maybe she would be allowed to go that way. Ember bolted in the other direction. She’d gotten bigger in the last year … much bigger! She was still lean, but her legs were longer and she moved faster. And she didn’t always remember her own strength. She started to run across the parking lot and was choked to a halt. There was more yelling, and Ember looked around, trying again to figure out which way she was allowed to go.

  “You don’t listen,” Nancy hollered, following her. “That’s why … you … can’t … stay!” she puffed.

  Stay. That was a word Ember had heard before—a word she knew. She stopped. Sat. Stayed. And Nancy almost fell on top of her.

  “Oh, come on!” Nancy let out another exasperated breath and tugged Ember toward the swinging door of Arroyo Animal Services. Ember hadn’t recognized the place from the outside, but when she heard the bell over the door jangle and her feet hit the cool linoleum floor, it all came flooding back. This was the place she had come with her mother and littermates after their den caught fire. This was the place she kept returning to.

  It was here that she had watched each of her brothers and sisters get picked up and cooed over and cuddled. Where people chose them and took them home. Ember was picked and cuddled and taken away, too, after everyone else, even the puppies’ mother. And then she had come back again. And again. And again.

  Ember liked the old man who had adopted her first. He took her to his tall, tall house. He liked to give her treats and to stare at a flickering screen with her lying beside him. He knew how to scratch the spot behind her ears. Sometimes they went on walks, but not enough. Ember wanted to be outside. Outside there were smells and things to see and chase and taste. The old man liked the outside best when he was on the other side of the glass, looking at it without smelling or feeling it.

  Being inside all th
e time made Ember anxious. The screen bored her. She sniffed around the apartment and pretended she was outside. She chewed the furniture like sticks. She dug the rug like it was dirt. She peed on the couch like it was a tree. The man rolled up newspapers and swatted her to make her stop. She couldn’t stop, though. So the man brought her back. “She needs someone more active,” he said kindly. “She has so much energy.”

  The next family that took Ember home had a baby who walked in a funny, wobbly way. They were nice and let Ember eat the food the baby threw on the floor. They also made her stay on the other side of a fence in the house so she would not bump the baby and tip her over. And they made her sleep by the washing machine, where the ground was cold and damp, even through the old towels they laid down for her. She was lonely for her mother and brothers and sisters. She longed to sleep in a heap. She was so lonely she cried. She was so lonely she ate the shoes by the back door.

  “A toddler and a puppy at the same time is just too much,” the family had said sadly when they returned her. The mom couldn’t look at Ember. The dad patted her head.

  The baby waved over her mother’s shoulder as they left. “Bye, bye, bye,” she’d burbled.

  Ember’s head drooped. Yes, she remembered this place. It was the place animals came to find their “forever homes.” Only Ember’s homes hadn’t been forever. Not once.

  “We tried,” Nancy said to the woman at the desk. “Lessons. Books. Everything. It’s just not working out. I don’t know if this dog is trainable.” Her voice was high-pitched and tight. She smelled frustrated.

  Ember’s head drooped even lower.

  “Oh, Ember.” When she heard her voice, Ember remembered the woman behind the desk. Her name was Jo. She had a long black ponytail. She whistled when she was thinking about things, and she usually had a hopeful note in her voice that Ember loved. Today that note was gone. Today she sounded sad, and there was no whistling.

  Nancy held Ember’s leash out to Jo, who stepped around the desk to take it. The door jangled as Nancy went back through it without saying goodbye. Jo kneeled down beside Ember. She lifted the dog’s chin. “What are we going to do with you?” she asked. “That’s strike three. We’re running out of options.”