was full of frustration.
A circular iron plate was set into the concrete right above Geoffrey’s head. The policeman pried at it with his fingers, muttering. “I need to get a tire iron!” he bellowed. He handed the flashlight to Maya and ran off, his feet sloshing in the water.
Geoffrey was shivering with cold, and his eyes were dull when they looked into the beam from Maya’s flashlight. He had the hood of his thin yellow rain slicker pulled up over his head, offering him scant protection from the chill. “Hold on, okay, Geoffrey? You hang on; we’re going to get you out of there, okay?”
Geoffrey didn’t respond.
The patrol car’s siren came on and within less than a minute it was whipping around the corner, sliding a little as it came to a stop next to us. The policeman jumped out and ran to his trunk.
“Fire and rescue are on the way!” he hollered.
“There’s no time!” Maya shouted back. “He’s slipping into the water!”
The policeman came around the trunk with a bent piece of iron. “Geoffrey, hang on; don’t let go!” Maya yelled. The policeman went to work on the circular plate with his tool. When Maya jumped up to watch I went with her, which was how I saw the spatter of mud fall on Geoffrey’s face when the iron plate was knocked aside. He lifted his hand to wipe it away, and as he did so he lost his grip on the wall and fell into the water. For a brief second he was looking up at us, and then he was swept into the tunnel.
“Geoffrey!” Maya screamed.
I was still on Find, so I didn’t hesitate, plunging headfirst after him. The second I hit the water, the brute force of it carried me into the tunnel, and I swam in that direction.
It was dark in the tunnel, and as I bobbed up and down in the current my head struck the cement above me. I ignored all of it, concentrating on Geoffrey, who was ahead of me in the darkness, soundlessly fighting for his life. His scent was faint but there, vanishing and reappearing in the deadly waters.
Without warning the floor fell away beneath me, and in complete darkness I rolled and bounced—the smaller tunnel had joined a much larger one, the water deeper, the sounds louder. I zeroed in on Geoffrey’s scent, swimming strongly. Though I couldn’t see him, he was just a few yards in front of me.
A second before he went under I knew what was going to happen—how many times had Ethan pulled this same stunt on me, waiting until I was close before dropping down into the pond? And, just as I always knew where to find the boy in the dark depths, I now had a clear sense of Geoffrey, tumbling just below me. I dove, straining, my mouth open, blinded and battered by the rushing waters, and then I had his hood in my mouth. Together, we burst through to the surface.
There was no way to go in any direction except the way the water was taking us. I concentrated on holding Geoffrey’s head out of the water, pulling back on the hood. He was alive, but he had stopped kicking.
Some weak light from up ahead flickered on the wet cement walls—the tunnel we were in was square and six feet across, with no way out. How was I going to save Geoffrey?
The light grew stronger, and as it did my ears filled with a loud roar, echoing back toward us. The current seemed to be accelerating. I kept my grip on Geoffrey’s hood, sensing that something was about to happen.
We burst into daylight, tumbling down a cement chute and landing with a splash in a swift-flowing river. I struggled to keep us both on the churning surface, battered by the waves. The banks of the river were lined with cement, but as I tugged Geoffrey toward the nearest one, the current fought me, trying to suck us back. Exhaustedly, my jaw and neck aching from the effort, I dragged Geoffrey toward the bank, swimming as hard as I could.
Flashing lights caught my eye, and I saw men in raincoats downstream from me, running toward the bank. I would be swept past them before I could get Geoffrey to safety.
Two of the men plunged into the water. They were tied together, and the rope went back to all the other men, who braced themselves. The two men stood hip high, straining their hands out to catch us, and I put everything I had into aiming for their arms.
“Gotcha!” one of the men shouted as Geoffrey and I slammed into them. He grabbed my collar as the other man hoisted Geoffrey into the air. The rope went taut and we all thrashed our way through the water to safety.
Once I was on land, the man released me and knelt down over Geoffrey. They squeezed his little body and he vomited up a gush of brown water, coughing and crying. I limped over to Geoffrey, and as his fear drained out of him it took mine with it. He was going to be okay.
The men ripped Geoffrey’s clothing off him and wrapped him in blankets. “You’ll be okay, boy; you’ll be okay. Is this your doggy? She saved your life.” Geoffrey didn’t answer, but he looked briefly into my eyes.
“Let’s go!” one of the men shouted, and they ran Geoffrey up the hill and into a truck, which took off with its siren screaming.
I lay down in the mud. My limbs were shaking violently, and I, too, vomited, a clean pain slicing through me. I was so weak I couldn’t really even see. The cold rain pelted me and I just lay there.
A police car pulled up, cutting its sirens as it did so. I heard doors slam. “Ellie!” Maya screamed from the road. I raised my head, too tired to even wag my tail. She frantically ran down the bank, wiping at her tears. She was soaking wet, but I could feel her warmth and love as she hugged me to her chest. “You are a good dog, Ellie. You saved Geoffrey. You are such a good dog. Oh God, I thought I’d lost you, Ellie.”
I spent the night at the vet’s, and for the next several days I was so stiff I could barely move. Then Maya and I did school, only this one was all adults her age. We sat with lights in our eyes while a man talked in a loud voice, and then he came over and put a silly collar around my neck while even brighter lights, the ones like silent lightning, popped on and off all around us, the way they did when I was with Mom, after the fire that hurt Ethan’s leg. The man also pinned something on Maya’s uniform, and everybody clapped. I felt pride and love coming off of Maya, and when she whispered to me that I was a good dog I felt proud, too.
Not long after that, a new mood swept through the house. Maya and Al were excited and nervous and spent a lot of time having conversations at the table.
“If it is a boy, why can’t it be Albert?” Al asked. “That’s a good name.”
