Chapter 13

SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7, 1941

8:34 A.M.

Through the doorway was fire, raging with heat and billowing dirty-smelling smoke. In the corner was another pup, about Danny’s age, huddled and yelling as the flames closed in.

Joe’s father whistled and pointed, and Skipper followed his finger to a bundle of cloth on a shelf across the room. Just as before, it was as though she and Joe’s father were one, understanding each other perfectly.

Skipper didn’t even hesitate—she backed up, ran forward, and leaped over the flames to the shelf. She felt one or two of her hairs get singed, but she wasn’t going to whimper about a little burned-up fur. Not when she had a job to do.

Skipper grabbed the bundle of cloth in her mouth and jumped back out of the compartment. Joe’s father took it and unrolled it to reveal a heavy blanket. He whipped it into the air and let it fall over the flames—and just like that, they went out! The scared human pup got up and ran over the blanket, out of the hatch, and down the corridor.

Joe’s father turned to Skipper, petted her face, and said, “Good girl.”

Skipper had never wanted to run away less in her life. For the first time, she felt like she was doing what she needed to do: saving these humans. She and Joe’s father had already braved water, fire, and those sparking black ropes that sent buzzing pain through the water. It had been tough, but they’d saved so many human pups that she’d lost count. It was as though she and Joe’s father were speaking the same language; she would follow his whistling and pointing when he knew what to do, and he would follow her lead when she heard shouting or crying down in the corridors of the ship.

But it hadn’t all been easy. They’d been singed and shocked, slammed into walls by the rocking ship, and doused with water that reeked of fuel. Some of the pups and masters they’d found had been badly hurt, while others . . .

She couldn’t think about it. She knew that the minute that she or Joe’s father stopped to consider how scary everything around them was, they would be overwhelmed with the fear. They might run away.

Skipper turned to Joe’s father and saw that he was doing exactly that. Joe’s father planted his back against a wall, put his face to his hands, and slid down until he was sitting on the floor. Skipper barked, trying to keep his energy up. She’d heard his heart pounding away since they’d started saving humans together, and she knew he was probably becoming tired and scared.

It wasn’t his fault, Skipper knew. These humans were strong and smart in some ways but weak in others. Maybe it was because they were always throwing out the best parts of their food, like the gizzards and fat. But she was running on pure excitement, and she knew that the longer they stood still, the greater the chance that both of them would lose that strength too early and not having enough energy to continue. They’d get tired and sloppy, which would only be more dangerous for them.

Besides, she could hear more noises nearby—more crashing, fire crackling, loud swishing in the water around them. And behind all of it, Skipper could hear more sounds, the kinds humans couldn’t pick up on. There were crackling words in a different human language than she was used to. There were pulsing beeps that seemed to sweep out through the air around them, and steady clicks in patterns that she thought sounded like someone talking.

Whatever was happening, she knew it wasn’t over. The flying machines and giant metal fish attacking them weren’t done. They needed to keep moving.

Skipper saw the glazed look in Joe’s father’s eye and the way his lips shook as he breathed. Now, after they’d saved so many human pups, she wanted to protect him, to save him from his own thoughts and feelings.

Skipper remembered Joe clutching her as the attack had broken out. She walked to Joe’s father’s side, nuzzled his face, and put her head down against his chest. Joe’s father wrapped his arms around her neck and buried his face in her fur. His body shook, and he breathed heavily. Skipper stood still and let him clutch her. She had felt this sorrow before when her old master had left her, and she had howled in her fear. She knew Joe’s father was just howling in his human way.

Once he’d calmed down a bit, Skipper backed up and barked at him while wheeling her head down the corridor. They had more work to do. Joe was somewhere in this ship. They needed to find him.

Joe’s father stared at her blankly, and for a moment Skipper wondered if he was totally broken . . . but then his brow set and he climbed to his feet. His heart beat fast and strong, and the smell of fear sweat and sadness disappeared. He’d had his moment to rest and deal with his feelings, and he could now return to the task at hand.

Joe’s father put his fingers in his mouth and whistled, and they were off again.

As they continued into the ship, Skipper heard more voices. She barked for Joe’s father and led him to a door from which she could hear pounding fists and panicked screams. She barked louder and nodded at the door.

Joe’s father put his ear to the door, then tried to pull it open—but it wouldn’t budge. He gripped the handle, put his foot up on the wall next to the door, and pulled as hard as he could. Skipper watched every muscle on Joe’s father’s body tighten and strain. His neck corded, his eyes clenched shut, and—

BANG! The door flew open, and Joe’s father stumbled back. Water spilled out of the compartment as five soaking-wet humans came stumbling out, panicked and screaming their thanks. Two of them held up a third, who had a stream of blood coming from a wound in his head.

Joe’s father spoke to them. He turned to Skipper, whistled, and said three words Skipper understood: “Skipper! Out! Go!”

Skipper didn’t need to be told twice: she had to find the outside of the ship and get the hurt human to safety. She just hoped everything would be safer outside than it was in here. She could still hear flying machines buzzing away up there, and she could smell fuel and burning all around them.

She guided them through corridors and up staircases, dancing impatiently as they took their time loading the injured human up the stairs. Joe’s father was the human alpha, his orders followed by the others, but Skipper was in the lead!

They reached a passageway down which Skipper could smell and hear the outside from a distant opening—but Skipper stopped so fast that her nails scratched along the floor. Down the hall, she could see a broken tube shooting white smoke, which she knew was actually water—steam, the humans called it, water so hot it was smoke. From here, Skipper could feel the heat from it, and she knew the poor humans’ skin wouldn’t be able to take it.

Skipper thought fast. They could try to find another exit, but that could take a while, and the injured human was losing blood fast. But she could hear the steam shooting out of the pipe, and her ears followed the sound back toward the door. Through the cloud, she could make out one of those wheels on the wall like the ones these humans used to open doors.

Skipper lowered her head and ran. Joe’s father called out after her. She was scared, but she knew she needed to act fast. She couldn’t have them following her into the heat.

She put everything she had into her legs and bounded off the ground, through the cloud of steam. It was so hot that she couldn’t help but cry out, though her fur took a lot of the heat that would’ve burned the humans.

She followed the rushing sound to a wheel. When she jumped up and put her paws to it, it moved under her. Listening closely for the sound of moving metal in the pipes, Skipper jumped up and put one paw over the other through the spokes of the wheel. It turned, turned . . . and then stopped.

Just like that, the steam stopped spewing from the pipe! Skipper barked to the humans, and they came forward. Joe’s father smiled down at her and laughed, ruffling the fur on her head. Skipper looked up at him, feeling warmth in her heart. She’d done right by Joe and his father. She was a good girl.

At the end of the corridor was a door to the outside. Joe’s father put his ear to it, and after a moment he swung it wide and waved the other humans through. At the end he yelled for Skipper, and the two of them ran out onto the ship.

Skipper’s mind reeled. The top of the ship had gone from bad to worse, covered with piles of wreckage and punched full of holes. The other ships around them were burning and jetting clouds of black smoke. There were even columns of black coming out from parts of the island, across the water! It seemed that the attack was happening everywhere, that her whole world was full of fire, anger, and noise.

Joe’s father handed the humans they’d saved off to another group of masters, who ushered them into a boat. Once they were loaded on, the masters waved for Joe’s father and Skipper to join. Joe’s father waved to Skipper, and she took a step toward the boat—

BOOM!

Skipper’s head snapped up. Overhead, one of the flying machines had exploded over the ship . . . and from its belly poured fire. But this fire was different—it moved like water, pouring down onto the ship.

Everywhere the fire landed, the ship burst into flames. Slowly, the flames cascaded down the deck—right toward them!

Before they could get on, the boat lowered itself down to the water by rope.

Joe’s father turned to Skipper and screamed, “Go!”

He didn’t have to tell her twice! Skipper turned and ran as hard as she could, feeling the heat growing behind her. Side by side, she and Joe’s father bounded across the top of the ship, toward the edge . . . and the water that Skipper knew lay beyond it.