Into the Firestorm (10 page)

Nick glanced toward downtown. “Do you think we’ll be safe here for the night?”

“I wouldn’t count on it.” Bushy Brows knitted his eyebrows together. “If I were you, I’d head across Van Ness Avenue to Golden Gate Park.”

“How far to Golden Gate Park?”

The police officer shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe two, three miles.”

“Three miles.” Nick’s heart sank. “Isn’t there anything closer?”

“You might be fine on Nob Hill for the night, but I can’t guarantee it.” Bushy Brows pointed to a large building nearby. “See that? The St. Francis Hotel there is twelve stories. One of my buddies in the fire department tells me it’ll be gutted by morning.”

He turned away to answer another question. Nick and Annie stared at each other.

“That’s our answer, then,” Nick said. “But I don’t think your mother can walk all night to Golden Gate Park. So let’s go to Nob Hill now and hope we’ll be safe there until morning.”

As they set out across the square, they heard the police officer call out, “Hey, kid. Here’s a warning for you: don’t steal anything else. The soldiers patrolling the streets have orders to shoot looters.”

“I didn’t…,” Nick began. Then he stopped. It was pointless to argue. “All right, I won’t. Thank you, sir.”

Mrs. Sheridan nodded grimly when Nick told her what they’d discovered. He helped her up and then called to Shakespeare.

“Time to go, Shake.” Nick reached down to pat the dog’s silky back. “Hullo, you’re trembling. It’s all right, boy.”

Shakespeare got to his feet but whined, his tail wagging weakly. Nick knelt beside him and spoke into one soft, floppy ear. Shake buried his tawny muzzle in Nick’s shirt. “I know. It’s smoky and loud and getting dark. And we keep getting farther and farther away from home.”

Shake lifted his head and licked Nick’s cheek. “You gotta trust me now, boy,” Nick said softly. “We can’t stay here. We have to keep moving.”

M
ARCH OF THE
F
LAMES

“Annie, be careful with the bag of inkwells. Don’t let them touch the sidewalk or the glass ones will break,” Nick warned. “Do you want me to carry it?”

“No, I’m strong enough! It’s just so steep on this hill. It’s like we’re walking straight up into the air,” Annie panted. “Are you all right, Mama?”

Annie’s mother stopped and nodded, too winded to speak.

They kept on, moving slowly, one step at a time. Once in a while, Nick could hear Annie’s mother catch her breath in pain. But he didn’t see her cry as she struggled up the steep streets. It was only later, as they huddled in the empty doorway of a Nob Hill mansion on California Street, that he noticed her tear-streaked face.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am. It must hurt a lot.” Nick wished that the door would open and someone would invite them in to spend the night on a real bed. But the house was dark.

Mrs. Sheridan rested her back against a tall white column and shook her head. “It’s not only that. I just can’t believe the city is being destroyed like this. So many people…losing loved ones, homes, businesses, everything they have.”

“We lost our home, too, Mama,” said Annie. Nick watched her peel one of Tommy’s oranges. Had Tommy been able to drag his trunk up steep Nob Hill? Nick had kept watch for his friend all day. But he didn’t really expect to find him in all the confusion and chaos.

“Yes, we lost our home, but we have each other, Little Big Eyes,” Annie’s mother said softly, reaching over to brush away some ashes that clung to Annie’s hair.

“And Daddy, and my new brother or sister,” Annie reminded her. “Someday, maybe we’ll all live together in a house like this one.”

Annie looked up at the dark windows. “I bet they have a piano, and real china dishes, and beautiful woven rugs, all gold and red.” She pointed to the bag of inkwells at her feet. “I wonder if the gentleman and the lady each has a desk to write letters on, with one of Mr. Pat’s pretty inkwells on it.”

“It looks like the owners have already left to go someplace safe,” said Nick, patting Shakespeare to keep him from trembling. Shake had seemed more nervous the farther away they got from Jackson Street. “I’d fight to save this house if it was mine. I wouldn’t leave it.”

“Well, Nick, I believe you would leave if you had to. But perhaps the fire won’t march this far. Maybe it will spare Nob Hill’s beautiful homes.” Mrs. Sheridan closed her eyes.

But what will stop it?
Nick couldn’t help thinking. The firemen didn’t have the water they needed. And the dynamite didn’t seem to be working, either.

Shake pushed his nose into Nick’s lap. “You want scratches, do you, boy? You’re still trembling a little. It will be all right.”

Shake wagged his tail weakly. He got to his feet, his nails clicking on the stone steps.

“No, don’t go anywhere, Shake. We’re staying here tonight. Come settle down,” Nick called him back. It took a long time before Shake heaved himself down beside Nick with a long sigh.

Nick fought hard to stay awake and keep watch. Try as he might, he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Sometime later, in the middle of the night, Nick thought he heard shouts. He might have been dreaming; he couldn’t be sure. But later he remembered hearing the words “Union Square. St. Francis Hotel.”

When Nick did wake up, it took him a long time to realize where he was. A strange red glow lit the sky. He squinted. Was that the sun? For a moment he half expected to hear Gran’s voice.
Daybreak, Nicholas. Time to pick.

But then the ash and smoke in the air made him cough. Gray curtains of smoke blotted out the small red sun. Nick rubbed his eyes, still heavy with sleep. He felt bruised and sore and a little confused. Maybe that’s why it took him a few minutes to notice what he should have seen right away.

They were in worse danger than ever. The fire hadn’t stopped in the night but had kept on, devouring one building after another. Nick remembered the voices he’d heard. Probably they were real. The fire must have swept over Union Square and attacked the St. Francis Hotel. Now it was creeping up to attack the mansions on Nob Hill.

“It’s chasing us the way Bushy Brows chased me,” Nick said to himself. Even from where he sat, he could see red glowing flames licking at the roof of a three-story mansion a block away. Soldiers began to shout at other people huddled in doorways to get moving before the march of the fire.

Nick shivered and rubbed his hip. The stone step was cold and uncomfortable. All night he’d felt the warmth of the big golden dog curled beside him. But now his side felt chilled.

And that’s when it hit him: Shakespeare wasn’t there.

Nick jumped to his feet, scrambled off the steps, and scanned the street in all directions. Shakespeare wasn’t in sight. And suddenly Nick guessed what had happened.

Shake must have gotten scared in the night. And he’d headed straight for home.

Mr. Pat had said that Shake knew his way from just about anywhere in the city. Probably, Nick thought, Shake had been in this neighborhood before with Mr. Pat. Nick imagined Mr. Pat and his “faithful canine companion” delivering a crystal inkwell to a rich lady in one of these mansions—maybe the one that was burning right now. Yes, Shakespeare would know how to get home.

But not now. How could Shake get home now? Not on these streets, blackened by flames or barricaded by rubble. Not with firemen blasting dynamite. Not with soldiers patrolling with loaded rifles.

Nick looked at the approaching fire, then back at the stone steps. Annie was still asleep, curled up against her mother, the bag of inkwells beside her. If he could just get back down to Jackson Street, he might have time to find Shakespeare and bring him back.

Nick saw two soldiers coming toward him and his heart sank. There was no time. The fire was coming. And it was coming fast.

C
HASED BY
F
IRE

“Hey, kid. Time to move!” a soldier shouted at Nick.

Nick had an idea. Maybe the soldiers could take charge of Annie and her mother. He’d be able to slip away and find Shake. “Sir. I have a woman here who can’t walk very well. Can you get us an ambulance or a cart?”

“Too late for that. You should have left this part of the city yesterday,” the soldier said shortly. “Most of the downtown is in ruins. Today the fire will be eating its way through these houses.”

The other soldier gestured down the street. “You got about fifteen minutes before the fire reaches this block, kid. Less if the wind changes direction. Move along now.”

Nick felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Annie’s mother, looking disheveled and pale. She was staring down the block, her eyes wide. “My goodness, I can see fire licking at the curtains of that grand house. I can’t bear to think of all those fine things inside!”

Gran would have liked Mrs. Sheridan, Nick thought. She wasn’t at all jealous of the rich people who lived on Nob Hill, only sad for their losses.

Nick turned his back on the fire. He didn’t want to think of Shake trying to find his way back to Jackson Street. He made himself concentrate on what he had to do. He went back to the stoop and picked up the water jug. There were only two oranges left, so he stuck one in each jacket pocket.

Annie was on the sidewalk. She was staring at the house, too. “Mama, look! I can see red pricks of flame on the roof. And you can hear the crackling from here.”

“Now, Annie. We have to go now,” Nick urged, taking hold of Mrs. Sheridan’s arm. “We don’t have time to look at it. Come on.”

He walked a few steps, hoping she’d follow. But Annie was rooted in the middle of the sidewalk. “Wait, Nick. Shakespeare! Where’s Shake?”

Nick swallowed hard and stared at the ground. “Shake is gone. When I woke up this morning, he wasn’t here.”

He didn’t dare look at Annie. He heard her gasp. “But the fire’s coming. We can’t leave him.”

Nick went back to her and grabbed her hand. “We have to go. Come on. We have to help your mother. We can’t wait. The fire’s chasing us and it’s not going to stop.”

“But, Nick…you can’t leave poor Shake. He’ll be scared. He could be hiding anywhere.” Annie’s voice trembled.

Nick didn’t let go of her hand. “Shake isn’t here, Annie. I’m sure he went home, back to Jackson Street.”

Annie jerked her hand away. She planted her feet. “How could you let him run away? Why didn’t you hold on to him last night?”

“Annie, start walking now,” Mrs. Sheridan ordered in the fiercest voice Nick had heard her use. “It’s not Nick’s fault. Don’t you see he wants to go after his dog? But we can’t. There’s no time.”

Annie stood for a minute, her eyes brimming with tears. Then she flew to her mother’s right side and began to walk. Nick saw that her face was set and her shoulders trembled. They kept to the middle of the street, straggling behind other people who were, like them, fleeing before the great heat and greedy flames.

Annie was right, Nick thought. He’d been stupid. He should never have slept. If only he’d stayed awake, he could have kept Shake from running away. He could have gotten them up and moving sooner. Instead, he’d put them in danger. And he’d lost Shake. How could he ever tell Mr. Pat?

Whoosh! Crack!

Nick whirled around, startled. Annie screamed.

Down the street, the house that had been slowly burning had suddenly erupted into flames. Nick felt as if he was staring into the mouth of a furnace. Red crackling tongues of fire leaped into the air. Enormous waves of smoke rolled out of the house and spewed into the sky, darker than any storm cloud. Nick felt a rush of intense heat push over him.

There was no air. They would be smothered.

“Run. We have to run!” Nick tried to shout. But his voice came out a hoarse whisper.

Nick hurried them along as fast as Annie’s mother could walk. Every few steps, he turned to look over his shoulder. Each time it seemed to him the roar of the fire was louder. Firemen, soldiers, and frightened people swarmed the street.

At the corner, they passed more soldiers with rifles. “Keep moving. The fire’s not far behind.”

“We know,” Nick said crossly. “We’re doing the best we can.”

He felt angry and worried about Shake. He tried not to imagine Shake padding along, his tongue lolling, trying to find his way home.

Annie’s mother stopped to catch her breath. She held her side. “It hurts to talk, Nicholas,” she whispered. “Please ask them about the park.”

Nick nodded. “Sir, is this the way to Golden Gate Park? Will we be safe there?”

“You will if we can hold the fire at Van Ness Avenue. The firemen are starting to dynamite every building between here and Van Ness to try to make a break. Van Ness is wide, and it’s our last chance to save the rest of the city,” the soldier told him.

“You’re on California Street now. Just keep on this way until you get past Van Ness Avenue, ma’am.” The other soldier addressed Mrs. Sheridan. “The park is a ways past there, but someone will be able to direct you. There should be tents set up at Golden Gate Park already. The army is serving rations, and there’s a makeshift hospital.”

“Have you seen a big golden dog?” Annie piped up suddenly.

The soldiers didn’t answer her. They had already turned away to talk to an old man dragging a trunk.

“I’m not leaving it behind,” Nick heard the man say. “No matter what!”

“I don’t like those soldiers,” Annie complained as they walked away. “Especially their rifles.”

“I believe they’ve been sent to keep order and stop looting,” her mother explained in a soft voice. “It’s best to stay out of their way.”

“They better not shoot Shakespeare,” Annie said.

“Annie!” her mother scolded in a hoarse whisper. “Don’t say such things. Can’t you see Nick is upset enough about his dog?”

“Shake isn’t even Nick’s dog,” said Annie. “He belongs to Mr. Pat.”

She passed an abandoned trunk and kicked at it with her foot. She kicked so hard that she dropped the cloth doll in her hand.

Nick stopped and watched her stoop to pick it up. His stomach felt queasy. “Annie, where’s the bag? The bag with Mr. Pat’s inkwells?”

“I must have forgot it back on the steps,” she said. He looked at her face.

“Oh, Annie, Annie Sheridan! You forgot it on purpose, didn’t you?” Mrs. Sheridan’s eyes widened. “That’s a horrible thing. After everything Nick has done for us. It wasn’t his fault—he didn’t mean to let the dog go. Oh, Nick. I’m so sorry.”

Annie stared at the ground and began to walk without a word.

Nick stood still, too angry to speak. He felt like screaming at her, but no words came out. He wanted to cry. But he’d never cried much. He hadn’t even cried for Gran. Instead the tears seemed stuck inside, the way cotton seeds stick to fiber in the boll.

He let out a breath and swallowed hard. In a way, he could see why Annie had done that to get back at him.

Mr. Pat had trusted him to take care of Shake. And he had failed.