Into the Firestorm (7 page)

I could go, too, if I wanted,
Nick realized.

He didn’t have to go back to Mr. Pat’s store. He could escape San Francisco right now. Maybe the earthquake was a sign he didn’t belong here after all.

For a second Nick closed his eyes, shutting out everything else. He wished he knew what to do. He imagined himself on the ferry, turning back to look at the tall buildings as they shrank smaller and smaller across the bay.

He could make his way to another city or turn himself in at some orphanage. Mr. Pat Patterson wouldn’t miss him. But what about Shakespeare?

He’s just a dog. Mr. Pat’s dog. He’s not even mine,
Nick told himself.

Nick opened his eyes and sighed.

He took two steps and bumped into a man loaded down with belongings. “Hey, watch it!” the man cried. “You’re headed in the wrong direction, kid.”

“Sorry,” Nick mumbled automatically, pulling his cap down close over his unruly hair.

Nick broke into a trot. He pushed through the crowd and headed back to Jackson Street.

F
ORGOTTEN

Nick’s heart sank when he reached Montgomery and Jackson. No dog in sight.

“Shakespeare!” he called. He tried to conjure up the dog from his imagination, tried to will him to suddenly appear on the street, tail wagging so hard his whole body shook.

“Shakespeare,” he shouted, louder. Nick was about to turn onto Jackson Street when he heard something. It wasn’t a bark, though. Someone was calling his name.

“Nick!”

Annie appeared in the doorway of her rooming house, her cheeks streaked with tears and dirt.

Nick sprinted toward her. He felt ashamed. He’d run right by the rooming house earlier without even giving a thought to little Annie Sheridan and her mother.

A large red bump protruded on Annie’s forehead. She hiccuped. “Mama needs help, Nick. The ceiling fell on her.”

Nick’s heart pounded. He thought about the fire chief and his wife. “You’re hurt, too,” said Nick, reaching out his hand to touch Annie’s forehead.

Annie pulled away. “Where were you? Why didn’t you come sooner? I thought you were my friend.”

“I—I’m sorry, Annie…,” Nick stammered.

“Come now,” Annie urged, turning toward the door. “You are not a very good rescuer, Nick.”

“It’ll be all right, Annie,” Nick said, feeling stung. He tried to sound sure, but his words sounded halfhearted even to him.

The first thing Nick noticed as they climbed the rickety stairs was how quiet it was. No talking or laughter. No children crying, or smells of cooking, or someone playing a fiddle.

There was an eerie, deserted feel to everything. Nick figured the other tenants had been so frightened they’d thought only of themselves. No one had bothered to stop to look for people left behind.

“Annie, do you have any other friends or some family you and your mother can stay with now?”

Annie shook her head. “Just Mama. We came on the train from back east. We came to wait for Daddy.”

On the first landing, Annie stopped and pointed to a doorway. All at once Nick felt the floorboards tremble. Another aftershock.

Annie gave a little cry. Nick reached out to hold on to her in case she fell. But the shaking passed quickly.

Annie looked beyond Nick at the door, which stood ajar. “In there,” she said. “I fell out of bed and couldn’t get up. I think I bumped my head, or maybe I fell back to sleep. I’m not sure.”

“What happened next?” Nick moved toward the door.

“When I woke up and yelled for Mama, she was still on the bed. Real still. I think…I think the ceiling is on top of her.”

Nick stopped, his hand on the doorknob. He hoped Annie wouldn’t notice how his hand was trembling. “You wait here, Annie. Let me go first.”

She shook her head and fixed him with her startling eyes.

Nick pushed open the door and peered inside. Annie was right. Part of the ceiling had fallen across the bed. There were boards and beams sticking out all over. He could just make out a figure huddled under a blue blanket.

Nick’s heart was pounding so loud it made his head hurt. He kept Annie behind him, pushing his shoulder in front of her so she couldn’t see.

“Hello? Mrs. Sheridan? Ma’am, can you hear me?”

Nick drew closer to the bed.
Please be all right,
he breathed silently.
Please.

“Mrs. Sheridan, wake up,” he called, louder this time. “Mrs. Sheridan!”

A faint groan came from the bed. Annie’s mother moved her head.

“Mama!” Annie cried. “Mama, talk to me.”

Under the rubble Nick caught sight of a slender white hand with a thin gold ring on one finger.

“Annie, here’s her hand,” Nick said, relief flooding through him. “Hold on to it and squeeze it hard while I see about getting all this off her. Then maybe she’ll be able to talk.”

Nick set to work pulling off plaster and wood with both hands. The debris had left large gaps as the pieces fell. He thought there was a chance she hadn’t actually been crushed under all this rubble.

Nick uncovered the top of the bed first. “There, that’s better.”

Annie drew closer and threw her arms around her mother’s neck. It seemed to Nick the woman on the bed looked young, for a mother, anyway. Or maybe he’d just gotten used to Gran.

“Mama!” Annie said urgently.

Mrs. Sheridan opened her eyes. Nick could see where Annie got her large eyes. Unlike Annie’s, though, her mother’s were both the same color—a soft, light blue. Her face was pale and drained. She was covered with dirt, dust, and flecks of paint.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” Nick asked.

Mrs. Sheridan turned to Annie. She tried to smile. “I don’t know. I think so. What about you, Little Big Eyes?”

Annie burst into tears and buried her face on her mother’s neck.

“My name is Nick, ma’am. I’m a neighbor. I’ll see about getting you out.” Nick ran to the foot of the bed, where a section of the ceiling had fallen over Mrs. Sheridan’s ankles and calves. “It looks like you’re pinned under this, but it’s not quite touching your legs. Can you wiggle your toes?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Sheridan said. “That’s not what hurts.”

Annie was brushing dirt and specks of plaster from her mother’s hair. “Mama, the baby? Is the baby all right?”

“Yes, I think so. I can feel it moving. But something hit my right side.” Annie’s mother clutched her daughter’s hand. “Are you sure you’re all right, Annie? You were so quiet.”

Nick swallowed hard, feeling guilty all over again. Annie might have been badly hurt.

“Well, Annie does have that bump on her head as big as an egg,” Nick told Mrs. Sheridan. “But I expect she’ll be talking away as much as ever any minute now, won’t you, Annie of the North Star?”

As he spoke, Nick studied the pile of rubble. Carefully he worked at clearing it away, piece by piece. Before long he was done, except for a section of wallboard and plaster that lay across Annie’s mother’s legs.

“Ma’am, if I can lift this, do you think you can wriggle out from under?”

“Well, I…I can try.” Annie’s mother looked doubtful. What if she couldn’t walk?

Nick remembered how Gran used to rub her legs to “get the blood flowing” after she’d sat awhile. He called Annie over.

“Annie, I’m going to use a lever to lift this big piece of wall,” he told her. “Come and rub your mother’s legs so she can move them.”

Nick hoped his idea would work. He grunted, trying to lift the piece as high as he could. Finally, with Annie’s help, Mrs. Sheridan was able to pull first one leg free and then the other.

Nick and Annie helped her to sit up on the edge of the bed. She was weak and dizzy.

“Can you walk, ma’am?” asked Nick. “We’ll support you.”

Mrs. Sheridan leaned, putting weight on her feet. “Yes, I think I can. Nothing’s broken. Except—ah, my right side. It hurts, especially when I move.”

Suddenly they felt another shake. The building trembled and creaked.

“Aftershocks, Annie,” her mother whispered. She shook her head and held her side. “Sorry…it hurts to talk.”

“Mrs. Sheridan, I know it’s painful. But we can’t stay here much longer.” Nick glanced at the ceiling. He didn’t like the look of the gaping hole above their heads. “This building isn’t safe. It could collapse any minute. Everyone else has gotten out.”

“All right. Just leave Annie and me alone a few moments so we can dress. But then…but then where will we go? We have no family here.”

Nick hesitated. He wondered what Mr. Pat would say if he came home to find Annie and her mother living in his store. Nick wasn’t sure. He’d just have to make Mr. Pat understand.

“Ma’am, I’m at the stationer’s shop nearby,” Nick told her. “It’s a small brick building. And it stood up to the quake real well. You’ll be safe there.”

A few minutes later, they were making their way out of the room and down the stairway of the rooming house.

“Be careful on this step. There’s a hole right here,” Nick warned. He glanced up at the floors above. He didn’t want to be caught here by falling debris.

Every once in a while, Mrs. Sheridan breathed sharply and clutched her side. Nick wondered if she’d broken a rib. That had happened to Pa once. He’d complained for a week or more. But Annie’s mother, he could tell, was trying hard to bear the pain in silence.

As they reached the sidewalk, they heard a crash from inside.

“Wait, we forgot! We didn’t bring any of our things,” said Annie suddenly.

Annie’s mother shook her head. “Oh, Annie. It’s not safe. Maybe later.”

“What about the picture of Daddy?” Annie asked. “Will you get it for me, Nick?”

“You heard that crash, Annie. It’s too dangerous,” her mother said firmly.

Annie bit her lip. Nick saw tears fill her bright eyes. He looked back at the building.

“Where is it, Mrs. Sheridan? I can race up.”

“No. It’s too—”

“I’m quick. Was it on a dresser?” Nick interrupted. He was halfway to the door.

Mrs. Sheridan nodded. “Everything is on the floor now, I’m sure. Please be careful.”

Nick pattered up the stairs softly. “Just think of how a cat walks,” he told himself.

He tiptoed across the landing and entered the room. Annie and her mother didn’t own much—a few books, a sewing basket, and some clothes. But he could barely pick out these items from the dirt and plaster and boards that covered the floor.

Nick felt the room sway a little. He dropped down to all fours and began to crawl. But he saw nothing that looked like a photograph. He didn’t see the money jar Annie’s mother kept, either.

What if I don’t find it?
he thought. Annie’s heart would break.

He spotted a small cloth doll and grabbed it. The dresser had tumbled to the floor and broken into pieces.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, he spied something glinting under a shattered pitcher. He crawled over and reached under the broken porcelain. The glass frame had shattered, and the picture was covered with dust.

But this was it. Annie’s parents, with Annie a baby in her mother’s arms. Staring at it, Nick thought that it seemed worth the risk.

“Daddy’s picture
and
my doll! Oh, Nick, you’re my friend for life!” Annie exclaimed as they slowly made their way along Jackson Street.

“Annie, you’ve told Nick that five times in the last three minutes,” her mother whispered with a weak smile. It was hard for her to talk.

Nick adjusted his arm to better support Annie’s mother as she walked. “Mrs. Sheridan, just a few more steps and we’ll be there.”

He looked up and down the street. “I kept hoping Shakespeare would be right here waiting for me,” Nick said.

As they approached Mr. Pat’s store, Nick realized the door leading to the basement office stood open. He must have forgotten to close it when he left.

He’d lost track of time. Had the earthquake been two hours ago? Three? Mrs. Sheridan sagged a little against Nick’s arm. He was afraid she might faint.

“We’re almost there, Mama,” whispered Annie.

Suddenly they felt another shake, stronger and more powerful than before. Annie looked back at the rooming house. “It’s happening again.”

Nick looked, too, and shivered.

At the top of the stairs, Nick heard a rustling noise. He thought of the police officer’s warning about looters.

“Wait here!” he said. “Let me go first. Someone might be in there.”

Nick tiptoed down a few steps, peering into the semi-darkness of the basement.

Nick heard a thumping noise. He saw something move toward him fast, then, in a rush, he felt paws against his chest. He almost fell over.

“Shake. Hey, boy! You came home!”

T
HE
L
AST
W
AGON

“Did you say your father owns the store upstairs?” Annie’s mother asked. She flinched and held on to her side. Nick righted the sofa and helped her get settled.

“Oh, no, ma’am. I’m just watching it for Mr. Pat Patterson, the owner, while he’s away,” Nick explained.

He found a blanket on the floor and tucked it behind Mrs. Sheridan’s head. “I’m sorry you’re hurting so bad. Once my pa had an accident plowing. Gran said he must have cracked a rib. He said the sharp pain was worse than a toothache.”

“I think you may be right,” she said. “But as long as my baby isn’t hurt, I don’t mind. I can just rest here a few days and I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Nick doubted she’d be better so quickly. He suspected Annie’s mother was hurting more than she let on. Pa, Nick remembered, had just about driven Gran crazy with his complaints. “Oh, stop carrying on, John,” she’d finally snapped, “or I’ll crack the other side.” Then she’d winked at Nick to show she hadn’t really meant it.

Now Nick tried to think what Gran would have done to make Mrs. Sheridan comfortable. He found a glass and one jug of water that hadn’t been broken. He was pouring out water for Annie and her mother when he was startled by a sharp bark.

Annie giggled. “Nick, you forgot to give your dog some water. Look, he’s sitting up so nicely, just wagging his tail and hoping you’ll notice him.”

“So he is. All right, boy.” Nick found a small, unbroken bowl and watched while Shakespeare lapped noisily, wagging his tail the whole time.

His
dog. Annie had called Shake his. Mr. Greene had kept dogs on his farm. But Nick had always been afraid of them. They were mean, noisy creatures that snarled and bared sharp yellow teeth whenever he came near the farmhouse where Mr. Greene lived.

“Nick, are you here alone, then?” Mrs. Sheridan wanted to know. “Where did Mr. Patterson go?”

“He left last night. He went to Oakland on business….” Nick took off his cap and pushed his hair out of his eyes. “I…I wish I knew if the earthquake hit Oakland. I don’t even know where Mr. Pat is.”

“Don’t worry, Nick, Mr. Pat will come back,” Annie piped up. “Remember, my daddy says you can’t give up believing.”

Annie cradled the photograph in her lap, next to her doll. She sure talked about her father a lot. Over Annie’s head, Nick met Mrs. Sheridan’s eyes. He could find no answer there to the question he wanted to ask.

“I hope you’re right, Annie,” Nick said, reaching down to scratch Shakespeare’s head. “Mr. Pat will be back, won’t he, boy?”

Not long after, Mrs. Sheridan dropped off to sleep. Nick wished Annie would take a nap, too. Her chattering was back—she must be feeling better—and he was afraid she would wake her mother. Not only that, his ears were getting sore from listening.

Annie curled up on a blanket on the floor. Two minutes later, her head shot up.

“I don’t really take naps, Nick, remember? Besides, I’m thirsty again,” she announced. “And hungry. Can I have something to eat? I never ate breakfast because of the earthquake, and that feels like hours and hours ago.”

“Let’s see what I can find.” Nick gave Annie another drink of water. Then he turned to look at the rubble of overturned shelves and cabinets. “Mr. Pat left me some bread, if I can find it.”

Annie was rummaging, too. She held up a can of soup. “I found something. Let’s have soup! I like hot soup.”

Nick shook his head. “No soup, Annie.”

“Why not?” Annie squinted at the can. “It’s a little dented, but it will be all right. I can help you find the can opener.”

“It’s not that, Annie. We can’t use the stove. I heard a man say the gas mains are broken. That means it’s dangerous to use stoves now because it could start a fire.”

Nick held the water jug in his hands. It wasn’t enough to last until tomorrow. No water, no soup. He’d have to go out—or they would have to leave the safety of the little room.

Nick glanced again at Mrs. Sheridan. He wished he knew the right thing to do. Annie’s mother didn’t seem like she should be walking around the streets. If they could stay here until tomorrow, maybe Mr. Pat would be back to help.

But they couldn’t stay without more water and something to eat.

Nick got an idea. “Here, Shake.”

Shake planted himself on Nick’s feet, looking up with friendly brown eyes, just as he’d done that first day. Nick bent down and scratched behind one floppy ear. Annie giggled, and Nick realized she was listening. He chose his words carefully.

“Now, Shakespeare, I have a job for you,” he commanded. “I need you to stay with Annie and her mama for just a little bit while I go out.”

For answer, Shakespeare barked once and broke into a wide smile.

“Out?” Annie put her hands on her hips. “Why do you get to go out? I want to do something, too. If I don’t keep busy, I’ll get all squirmy inside.”

Nick pointed to the small bookcase. “You can help put Mr. Pat’s books back on the shelves and make his things nice,” he told her. “I won’t be gone long. I just want to find us something to eat and drink. You can be in charge of Shake and take care of your mother, too.”

“Well, all right. I do like being in charge.” Annie’s eyes glowed brightly, even in the dim light of the basement. “Where are you going, Nick?”

At first Nick was silent. Where
could
he go to find food or water?

“Chinatown. I’m going to Chinatown.”

Nick walked down Montgomery to Washington Street, turned left at the corner, and then headed toward Chinatown. He caught an acrid smell in the air. He could see spirals of smoke in the distance, rising dark and thick above the crowded buildings.

Boom! Boom!

Nick jumped, startled.

“What’s that sound?” he asked a man standing on the corner.

“Dynamite,” the man answered, wiping beads of sweat from his face with his handkerchief. “That’s why I’m dragging my trunk outta here.”

Nick frowned. “What’s the dynamite for?”

“Firemen are blowing up buildings in the fire’s path to contain it, make a firebreak. Or at least they’re trying to.”

“Trying to?”

“Well, I tell you. I’ve done some mining in my day—used dynamite and explosives for years.” The man shook his head and stuck his handkerchief in his pocket. “Now I just saw these firemen set a building on fire instead of bringing it to the ground. You got to be smart about it—you got to create obstacles for the fire, not feed the dang thing.”

“Can’t you help—show them how to do it?”

“I went up to one fellow, but he didn’t listen. So that’s it. I’m leaving while I can.”

“My street still seems safe.”

The man just shrugged. “But for how long?”

Nick kept on toward Chinatown, quickening his steps. The man’s words echoed in his mind.
How long?

San Francisco was an enormous, modern city. The firemen must know how best to stop the fires.

“Where you headed, kid?”

Nick stopped in his tracks. Right in front of him, a policeman emerged from the door of a building. He was, Nick noticed, the opposite of Bushy Brows.
Skinny as a string bean,
Gran would have said.

“I…I just want to see a friend…in Chinatown.”

“A friend?” scoffed the officer, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. Nick stared at his feet. He hoped he wouldn’t have to run from this man. He was sure to be faster than Bushy Brows. “You can’t come into Chinatown now. We’re starting to evacuate everyone here.”

“Evacuate?”

“These flimsy wooden buildings don’t stand a chance if fire spreads this way.”

The man looked away to wave a wagon and a horse through. Nick saw his chance. He slipped by and then turned the next corner.

Evacuating. Dynamite.
Nick cast quick glances at the sky. Yes, there was definitely more smoke now. He began to walk faster.

Chinatown was bustling with horses, wagons, and people scurrying here and there, hauling trunks and satchels. At first Nick wondered if he’d be able to recognize Tommy’s store again.

And he might not have. But then he caught sight of Tommy, loading a box onto a wagon.

“Hullo, Tommy! Are you leaving now?”

Tommy stopped in surprise. For a moment he seemed not to recognize Nick. Then he bowed and a smile lit his face. “Ah, the cotton boy. Hello, Nick. I hope you are not in trouble again.”

Nick was about to answer when a man came out of the store, his arms full of bags and boxes. This must be Tommy’s cousin.

Nick drew back a few steps. Maybe he shouldn’t have come. He’d arrived at the wrong time. Tommy and his cousin were already packed up and ready to leave. There wouldn’t be a chance to ask for help.

All at once Nick saw the cousin wave his hands and shout at Tommy. Tommy seemed to be arguing back, though Nick could not understand the words. Suddenly the older man pushed him aside, hopped onto the wagon, and motioned for the driver to go. There was a clatter of hooves on the cobblestones, and then they were gone.

Nick took a few steps toward Tommy. He could see tears fill his eyes. Tommy ducked his head and rushed inside.

Nick bit his lip. He stood still a minute and then followed Tommy into the store. It seemed empty at first.

“Tommy?”

Nick heard a noise and went to the back. Tommy was bent over a battered trunk, his fingers fumbling with one of its leather straps.

Nick shifted from one foot to the other. He hoped Tommy would speak first, but the older boy ignored him. “I…I’m glad to see you made it through the quake.”

Still no answer. Tommy wasn’t making it easy. Nick spoke softly. “Was that your cousin?”

All at once, like a cord snapping, Tommy straightened up and threw out his arms toward the shelves. His voice sounded flat and bitter. “Are you here for food again, Nick? I don’t have much to give you. As you can see, the shelves are mostly empty. My cousin has taken the merchandise.”

Nick flushed and took a step back. “It’s…it’s not for me. It’s for a little girl and her mother. But I didn’t just come to beg. I would’ve come to see you, anyway, to thank you. And to tell you I found a job—with Mr. Pat Patterson, a stationer on Jackson Street. He even gave me a place to stay.”

Tommy shrugged, as if to say this had nothing to do with him.

“Tommy, I’m sorry. I really did want to come and see you again. But I don’t understand. Why…why didn’t your cousin take you in the wagon?”

“My cousin said he didn’t have enough money for us both to ride.” Tommy spat the words out quickly. “Wagonloads cost one hundred dollars right now. Everyone wants to get out.”

“He’s leaving you behind, just like that?”

“He said since I speak English and am an American, I should be fine on my own.” Tommy hung his head. “My father…”

Nick swallowed hard. Tommy’s greedy cousin had used the earthquake as an excuse to take everything.
He walked away, just like Pa.

Tommy ducked his head again so Nick couldn’t see his face. After a minute he sighed and went to a shelf. “My cousin took all he could carry on the wagon. But he left these oranges behind.”

He held out a bag to Nick, his voice softer now. “Take them. It’s all right. And this jug of water, too.”

“Why don’t you come back to Jackson Street with me?” Nick urged as he struggled to balance the jug and the bulging sack of fruit. “There aren’t any fires near there. I think the man who hired me will come back soon. He’ll help us. You too.”

Tommy shook his head. “No. I’ll pull my trunk up Nob Hill along with the others who must walk.”

“Where will you go?”

“I want to leave the city if I can.”

“Will you go away?” Nick asked. “Will you try to find your mother?”

“In China?” Tommy shook his head. “No. But my father has distant relatives in Oakland. I will try to get there. For now, though, I will go to the Presidio, the army base. My neighbor said there may be a camp for Chinese set up there. It’s a long walk.”

He paused a minute, looking at the trunk. His shoulders slumped, and the anger seemed to drain out of his voice. “It won’t be easy to drag my father’s trunk alone. It would be better with two.”

Nick stared at the trunk. Tommy was inviting him along, he realized. Maybe, after all, Tommy didn’t just think he was a nuisance or another mean, teasing boy.

“I…I wish I could go with you, Tommy. But I can’t. My boss might already be back.”

“Back? What makes you think he’ll come back?” Tommy asked. “He might be dead, or maybe he only cares about saving himself. He has known you just a few days. Why should he care or come back for you?”

Would Mr. Pat want to come back to the city? Would he even be able to get back in? Nick took off his cap and twisted it in his hands. His hair fell over his eyes, and he brushed it away.

“Well, you’re right. He might not care about coming back for me,” Nick said at last. “But he left his dog here. And there’s his store, too. I think…I think those things matter to him.”

Nick sighed. “Besides, I can’t leave my neighbors. I should have gone to check on them earlier, and I didn’t. I have to go back to them.”