Dogged

By Carey Fessler

She crossed the line to save puppies.

Now she has to save her own skin.

 

For thirteen-year-old Karrisa, volunteering at an animal shelter sometimes means taking "work" with her wherever she goes. But little did she know that her dog-rescuing exploits would continue while a

• Language: English
• Publisher: Foeg
• Release date: Aug 11, 2020
• ISBN: 9780648733706

Carey Fessler

About the Author I grew up in a military family and moved around more often than a gypsy until we planted roots in Albuquerque, New Mexico. With my head always in the clouds, I learned to fly and parachute as well as scuba dive before dropping out of university and enlisting in the US Navy to roam beneath the seven seas in a submarine. When my hitch was up in the Navy, I unpacked my seabag in Sydney, Australia, where I worked as a postman, an international flight planner for QANTAS, and an animator for Disney before awakening my imagination and becoming a children's author. For more information, visit my website at careyfessler.com

Book preview

An ember of hope can ignite the fire of courage.

Chapter 1

How long are we going to be stuck on this island? Karrisa Greene speared her shovel into the ground. She fixed her ponytail and flicked away a couple of dirty-blond strands stuck to her fingers. When was the last time she had a shower … three days? Had she been at summer camp that long? It felt more like three weeks.

The scent of pine wafted in the light breeze. From her spot on the hilltop, she took in her surroundings. A conifer forest covered this part of Crow Island, which stretched roughly twenty miles east to west and was half as wide.

This morning, at the crack of dawn—day three of the camp—Karrisa, along with the other dozen kids from her group, had boarded a ferry on the mainland in Pacton. They suffered through a bumpy fifteen-minute ride to Crow Island, just off the coast of Maine. Everyone, including their two camp counselors, had gotten seasick and vomited their breakfast over the side. Karrisa hoped the fish had liked her Fruit Loops. After that, they had been assisting the forest service the rest of the morning by planting seedlings to give a bit of help to Mother Nature in reforesting.

A dull, thunderous boom echoed across the area. Karrisa glanced at the cloudless sky and then around at the volunteers: more camp kids, seniors, university students, housewives, and local non-camp kids, tweens, and teens.

There were more than fifty people scattered around the patch of prepped forest, digging in the dirt. A wildfire had burned out the area last year, and one of the smoke jumpers had died fighting the blaze. The place had a somber edge to it. Karrisa liked trees but hated digging holes and wanted something fun and exciting to do, like visiting the seal colony or going snorkeling.

She took a swig of water from her bottle and cringed. Warm. Camp sucks! Jiggling her leg, she pulled a loose thread from her favorite T-shirt, which read Dogs Rule! The shirt draped her skinny frame and hung low over her knee-length shorts. Back home in Bangor, she did volunteer work at the Southland Animal Rescue Shelter as a dog walker.

Hey, look. It’s the girl in the stick-family stickers, said a familiar voice.

Karrisa turned and groaned at the sight of Evie Whitaker and her coven of witches, who were working with another camp group. There were always two or three different camp companies on Crow Island at any one time. Evie was with the glampers who pitched their fancy tents on the western leeward side of the island, while Karrisa’s group slummed it on the windy eastern beach, where rafts of plastic bottles and other trash washed ashore.

Evie’s tall sidekick said, Hi, Skindiana Bones.

Eat plenty for lunch, Skeletor, said the short one.

The three girls swaggered to her. Evie stared at Karrisa’s feet. New sneakers. Plain—just like you.

The other two girls laughed, and then all three flew away on their brooms.

Boom!

Most of the other volunteers were looking at the sky now. One of them, a lady about the same age as Karrisa’s mother, tilted her head. That can’t be thunder.

No. Gunshot, said the silver-haired ranger. A badge over his breast pocket said his name was Walters.

Something chilled in Karrisa’s blood. She stiffened. What? From a hunter? She wished a deer could carry a gun and shoot back, and then it would be fair.

More likely some farmer shooting at a fox or feral dog that’s trying to eat one of his livestock—lamb or goat kid.

Abandoned dogs have to eat too, Karrisa said.

Ranger Walters either didn’t hear her or pretended not to. There are a few isolated properties out here that back against this part of the state forest. Farmers on the island don’t like outsiders snooping around their property. Leaning on his shovel, he shifted his eyes to Karrisa and the other kids. Word of warning—don’t trespass and risk getting savaged by the owner’s guard dog, or worse. Farmers here tend to shoot first and ask questions never.

What is this, the Wild West? Karrisa asked.

Might as well be, with Sheriff Gibson in charge, muttered the ranger.

Karrisa craned her neck at several black birds as they swooped across the sky and perched on the high branches of nearby trees.

Caaaw. Caw-caaaw.

She shuddered at the raspy voice of the birds. Everyone knew ravens were smart and associated them with death—like some bad omen. Maybe it was because they were predators as well as scavengers and ate almost anything. She recalled a group of crows was called a murder. Gruesome. It was one more reason why the spooky birds with ghostly eyes gave her the creeps.

She played with her two leather bracelets, a nervous habit she hated. Aren’t we supposed to be doing beach activities?

I wouldn’t mind a swim in the ocean, said Brad, her sixteen-year-old brother. His pasty-white skin hinted at how rarely he ventured outside.

Their mother had ignored her and Brad’s heated protest to stay home from summer camp this year. Mom wanted some alone time with her boyfriend, meaning without kids in the house. What had made it worse, though, was their mother had signed them up to an eco camp. She had become a greenie and gluten-free all in one year. What next, an electric car?

Ryan Kim pulled out a pamphlet from his back pocket, labeled Crow Island School Summer Break Program. I don’t see anything in here about digging holes all morning. Ryan was Karrisa’s age and of Korean descent. His long black bangs hung out from beneath a baseball cap with the interlocking NY logo.

Karrisa had the same pamphlet at home, but she hadn’t bothered to read it. Her mother had told her she and Brad were going to camp for a week whether they wanted to or not. Karrisa would rather be home hanging out with her canine buddies than be here camping in the middle of some remote rural area on an island that was mostly a national forest. She couldn’t even see the forest for the sweat burning in her eyes.

I really like your blue bracelet, Gail Carpenter said, eyeing Karrisa’s wrist. She was thirteen years old too, and lived on the island. Karrisa had only met Gail for the first time today because she wasn’t part of their camp group. The girl had yet to crack a smile. Maybe she was too ashamed of her top two front teeth, which were crowded together.

Thanks. It’s a friendship bracelet, Karrisa lied. She didn’t have a bestie, much less a real friend.

Karrisa never wore dresses, wacky tights, rings, or adorned her hair with ribbons or bows. She preferred bike riding to shopping, social networking, and selfies. This was partly why she didn’t speak to many girls at school and most likely why she didn’t have many friends. All she needed was a canine buddy like Bailey. She sighed. Who was she kidding?

Last year, Karrisa had talked her mother into adopting the four-year-old Weimaraner from the shelter. She’d sold the idea, saying a furry friend would help her adjust to their new family situation.

Cool. This one’s for friendship too. Gail wore four bracelets and pointed to the one made of red and black beads. Did you want to trade? It doesn’t mean we have to be best friends. I just, you know … like the look of it, that’s all. She slid her round sunglasses atop her tangled mop of shoulder-length raven hair, which had a streak of red. She wore matching black fingernail polish that was badly chipped. Her style sat between Goth and punk. Gonk?

Ah, I really like your bracelet, but this one has sentimental value, Karrisa said, piling on the lies.

No problem. I understand.

Sorry. A pang of guilt stabbed inside her chest. Was Gail trying to reach out and be friends?

Karrisa wanted to be friends, but never understood why she wasn’t good at making them. Was it because she liked dogs more than people? Or was it because she had such a dysfunctional family? She never liked sharing the messy parts of her life. Maybe because she was too ashamed of not having a father?

Chapter 2

Grabbing the handle of her shovel, Karrisa winced. Ow. Inspecting her palms, she gingerly touched the tender part of a blister where the flap of skin had peeled away. I hate manual labor.

Me too. Ryan waved the camp pamphlet. This is false advertising. When does the fun start?

Did you know that you’re wearing your T-shirt inside out? Karrisa asked.

Yeah.

Oh, okay. She liked that Ryan was just doing what he wanted. Good for him.

Karrisa took the pamphlet from him and read: Come aboard the Quest Camp leadership and development program. Great fun activities including hiking, beach games, sand dune fun, sea kayaking. Visit the seal colony, ferry across the Easternport Bay, two nights at Crow Island, camping and camp craft, ecology, history, leadership, outdoor education, and a whole lot more! Summer Camp: Sat June 14th to Fri June 20th.

I think this activity falls under outdoor education, Karrisa said.

Gail muttered, More like hard labor.

"You did volunteer," said Brad.

It was either this or get sent to juvie.

Juvie?

The juvenile detention center.

Oh. Trying to hide her look of shock, Karrisa wore her best poker-face mask. She’d never met a real criminal before. How long was her rap sheet?

I’m not a crim, if that’s what you’re thinking.

I wasn’t, Karrisa lied. Never play poker.

Gail gave her a dubious stare. The juvie center is on the mainland, up in Charleston.

Oh. I didn’t know that, and I’m from Bangor.

Well there you go. If I get busted again, we’ll be neighbors.

Karrisa flashed her a weak smile. Thankfully, Maine was a big state.

Gail tugged at her tattered flannel shirt that would fit a large-size man. It draped her short, stocky body. The sleeves had been ripped off and revealed arms that were caked in a thin layer of dirt and grime. Not the kind of dirt you got from an afternoon of digging holes. Karrisa half expected to see a bicep tattoo on Gonk Girl.

Underneath Gail’s shirt, her midriff top revealed even more signs of her lack of personal hygiene. She and Brad had something in common—they both seemed to avoid soap and showers. Untied red shoelaces snaked through the eyelets of her well-worn black high-top sneakers. A pink phone peeked out through a hole in the back pocket of her tattered cutoff denim shorts.

Pink? Black looked more like her favorite color. Maybe she had stolen the phone.

Gonk Girl cleaned her sunglasses with the front of her shirt. "I’m here as part of an alternative diversion program to juvie."

Ah, what’d you get arrested for? Karrisa guessed it had been for shoplifting—friendship bracelets, most likely. She had an urge to hide her phone deeper inside her backpack.

Fighting, said Gail.

Oh. Don’t irritate this bad girl. Did the other girl you were fighting get arrested too?

It was a dude. He didn’t understand the meaning of no. He had pretty teeth. Shame he had to pick them up off the ground.

Karrisa raised a hand to her mouth. She’d never been in a fistfight her entire life. In fact, she’d never even thrown a punch before. Did a slap count?

Cool. I hate bullies, said Ryan.

Karrisa agreed. Evie Whitaker always bullied her at school. Karrisa had been too ashamed and scared to tell anyone, even her mother. She’d started to hate herself and the world and dreaded starting high school next year, where the bullying would be even worse. In desperation, she had hit the internet and searched for self-defense against school bullies. It was amazing what you could find on YouTube.

Brad took the pamphlet from Karrisa’s hand and glanced over it. He wadded it up and chucked the paper ball into a hole he’d just dug. Then he dropped a seedling into the hole and filled it in with dirt.

Uh, I wanted that pamphlet back for my scrapbook, said Ryan.

Really? Brad cackled with laughter. My grandma does scrapbooking. Only girls and sissies do that.

I like collecting family memorabilia, but if you don’t, that’s okay with me.

Brad went silent, wearing a confused look.

Karrisa grinned. Well played, Ryan. Her brother moved away, as if looking for a softer target.

Karrisa sidled next to Ryan. How’d you do that—make him stop teasing you? Brad picks on me all the time. I think he has anger issues because … She pressed her lips together. She felt the urge to share her personal struggles involving her dysfunctional family to someone. Why not a camp buddy? She’d never see Ryan again. But what if he gossiped? Karrisa chewed her fingernail. The best way to keep a secret was to tell your pet.

I used to get picked on at school until I learned how to beat the mind of a bully, said Ryan.

Gail scoffed. It’s hard to have a battle of the minds with an unarmed person.

Never show you’re angry, said Ryan. Bullies feed on that.

Karrisa would rather give the bully a piece of her mind and scratch out her eyes.

Brad rejoined them, digging nearby. I could use a cold drink.

And a bag of potato chips. Karrisa’s empty stomach rumbled at the thought. It must be time for a morning break snack. She stood, stretched, and moaned. My back’s killing me from bending over so much. I must’ve planted a gazillion seedlings by now.

More like five hundred and twenty-eight, said Ryan.

I didn’t think you could count that high. Brad smirked.

Me neither. Must be due to the math tutoring class my father makes me go to on the weekends.

Brad muttered something and went quiet.

Karrisa caught Ryan’s eye, and they exchanged a knowing look. Maybe not getting angry was the secret to silencing a bully.

Seriously, you’ve been counting? asked Gail.

Ryan shrugged. What else can you do to take your mind off this tedious work? Dig, scoop, plant, bury, tug, and pack. Then rinse and repeat.

Karrisa agreed. I’m tired and bored of planting.

Me too, said Brad. We should sneak off and go exploring.

Gail dropped her voice. The beach isn’t too far from here.

Are we allowed to do that? asked Ryan.

Of course not. That’s what would make it fun.

Karrisa played with her bracelets. What if we get caught?

It’s not like they can ground us.

But you might end up in juvie detention.

Then I’d better not get caught.

I doubt anyone would even notice we were gone, said Brad.

Well? questioned Gail.

Brad chucked down his shovel. I’m in.

Okay. Me too. Karrisa left her shovel sticking in the dirt.

Can I come too? Ryan asked.

I don’t care, said Brad.

Thanks, buddy. Ryan held out his hand for a fist bump.

Brad left him hanging. I ain’t your bud.

Ryan stared at the ground.

Karrisa stepped next to him. My brother is the one who needs a buddy. You got me.

Ryan smiled. Thanks.

Gail folded her arms across her chest. Are we going to ditch this place or what?

Should we go get our backpacks? Karrisa asked.

No, said Brad. Leave them in case the counselors spot us and get suspicious.

What about trail snacks in case we miss lunch? asked Ryan.

"We won’t be gone that long," said Brad.

But I barfed up my breakfast on the ferry.

Karrisa checked her pockets even though she never carried gum or candy or—Huh? What’s this? She pulled something out of her back pocket that she’d forgotten about. It resembled a cross between a piece of beef jerky and a strap of bacon. The strap had been there since … Eww. She really should change into some clean shorts.

What’s that? asked Gail.

Half a doggie treat.

I bet you ate the other half. Brad