“Okay!” I told him, holding up a hand. “Okay.”
But as soon as he turned, I got up, brushed myself off, and sauntered away—and around, into the shadows. I checked to be sure Nora wasn’t following me, then I dashed behind the barn. The doors were locked from the inside, but I knew the tack room had a window. I picked up a brick and threw it at the window, shattering it. Then I grabbed an old bench, pulled it over, and used it to stand on so I could kick out the rest of the glass and get inside.
It was dark and smoke was beginning to roll in. Rushing over to the sink in the tack room, I turned on the water. Then I yanked off my sweatshirt and my long-sleeved T-shirt, which I soaked under the faucet. I put the sweatshirt back on and, holding the wet shirt over my face, felt my way past the shelves I’d made into the central hallway.
My heart beat double time high in my chest. Already I had trouble breathing. The swirling smoke was rapidly filling the barn. But what happens is that smoke and fire gases rise until they get stopped by a ceiling or a roof. They kind of hover there and go horizontal before they fall back down. We’d just learned this—in this very barn! If you got low you could still find air. So I squatted and, walking like a duck, made my way down the hallway, one hand against the wall, the other pressing the wet T-shirt to my face. I heard Fuego shriek and kick the wall. The other horses were frantic, too. They made a desperate noise I’ll never forget and the floor shook from their crazed, heavy hooves.
I duckwalked my way to one door, reached up, pushed the bolt to one side, and flung open the door. A white horse named Nugget charged out and ran toward the front door.
The stall next door to Nugget was a pinto named Diablo. I opened his stall, too, then sat back on my heels to keep from getting trampled. But no horse ran out and I couldn’t see through the smoke. “Come on!” I hollered, but I couldn’t wait.
Fuego was in the stall across from Diablo. I made my way over, reached up, slid the bolt, and pushed open the door. “Fuego! Go, man! Run for your life!”
But he didn’t come. I couldn’t see him, but I heard his terrified noises just a few feet away. I remembered us learning that in a fire horses might be too scared to leave their stalls. They’d want to stay in the last safe place they knew, which is why we might have to cover their faces and lead them out.
It was hard to breathe, let alone see, but I stepped deeper into Fuego’s stall. One hand on the wall, I inched forward until I saw the horse in front of me, backed into the corner. He neighed and pawed at the floor. Did he know I was there?
“Fuego! Hey, boy!” I was struggling to breathe and my heart couldn’t beat any faster. “It’s me!” I said, my words muffled by the wet shirt. I took it away. “It’s me!” I said, trying to sound calm. “Let’s get you out of here! Okay, boy?”
It was crazy talk, but it helped get me close enough to throw my shirt over his eyes. I grabbed the material underneath and held on tight when he reared up. I was lifted off the ground and my feet came down with his and I had to sidestep fast so’s not to get stomped on.
With the same hand that held the shirt over Fuego’s face I grabbed the edge of his halter and tightened my grip. “Come on!”
But Fuego pulled back, planted his feet, and froze like a statue.
“Come on!” I hollered. “Move!” I jerked on his halter.
Suddenly, the horse reared up a second time. I had to let go and fell to the floor. I scrambled in the hay and manure to get away from his hooves. But when I tried to push myself up I couldn’t. I had no strength and couldn’t catch my breath. Smoke was everywhere then, burning my eyes, stinging my lungs. I was dizzy and for a second, I forgot where I was. I knew one of those poisonous fire gases could knock you out flat. It’s what killed a lot of people in fires. Desperate, I covered my nose with one hand and forced myself to crawl out of there. In the hallway, bright new flames ate up the wall near the tack room so I veered left. On my feet, but hunched over, I inched my way, low along the wall, in smoky darkness.
Somehow I made it to the front doors, where I collapsed. A firefighter ran up and dragged me over to the side. “I told you not to go in there!”
While I sucked in air, he shouted. “We need oxygen over here!”
Clear, sweet air.
“You okay?”
I was coughing so hard I couldn’t answer.
He would never understand, but that firefighter must have had half a heart. He roughed up my hair and said, “You did a helluva job, kid. You got the last two out. But you’re a stupid son of a B, you know that?”
Turns out I didn’t need that oxygen. Just some fresh air. Lots of it.
“Did that . . . that stallion come out?” I managed to ask him.
“The pinto? The black and white? Like a rocket!”
“No. No, the stallion. He’s reddish with a gold mane.”
“I’m not sure.” He shook his head. “The other one was white.”
I tugged on the edge of his coat. “He’s still in there then!”
The firefighter kneeled beside me. “You need to call it quits, son.” He gave me a bottle of water. I squeezed my eyes shut. I drank the water. I coughed hard.
And fresh tears soothed my burning eyes.
—
There wasn’t anything else I could do but watch, and wait. A few minutes later, I looked across the fire-lit yard and saw Miguel. Our eyes met and when they did, he turned on his heel. I got up, brushed hay and manure off my hands, and started to follow him.
Suddenly, an explosion shook the ground. Another huge burst of flames shot skyward and sideways, sending sparks and cinders in all directions as the entire barn caved in. Knowing there was one horse that didn’t make it out, it felt like my heart caved in, too. I caught sight of Nora then. A few feet away, she held her head and cried for Fuego.
Sadness quickly turned to anger as I swung my head around and searched for Miguel again. I saw him lifting the bike he always rode to the farm. But he didn’t make it onto that bike because I got there fast and tackled him from behind.
We sailed over his bike and hit the ground hard, then rolled, over and over, across the dirt driveway and onto the grass. When we stopped, I let him go and as he turned over, I balled up my fist and smacked him one. I knew I’d busted his nose. Blood spurted all over and he never fought back.
“That’ll teach you to smoke cigarettes at this farm!” I hollered at him.
When I walked away, Miguel was on his knees, his bloody hands clutching his face.
—
Returning to the crowd, I saw Mrs. Crawford coming toward me. She gave me a hug. “Thank you so much, Gerry,” she said. She hadn’t seen the fight, only my effort at getting the last three horses out. “It’s all my fault,” she kept saying. “It was the hay in the loft. All my fault!”
I put an arm around her shoulders. “It wasn’t your fault!” I told her. “It was Miguel. He’s been smoking!”
“No. No. The fire started in the loft where we stacked the wet hay.”
Nora came over.
“Tell her, Nora. It’s not her fault. Miguel’s been smoking.”
Nora wiped tears off her cheeks with the palms of both hands. “The fire chief says it was the wet hay.”
“What are you guys talking about?”
“The fire started in the loft where you boys stacked the wet hay.” Mrs. Crawford leaned toward me. “We never should have stacked it before it dried.”
“I know! I told you that!”
“So, why don’t you stack wet hay?” Nora still had to yell to be heard.
I shrugged. I didn’t know. Why were they asking? “Because it’ll rot?”
“No! Because when it dries and cures, it creates heat!” Nora shouted. “The wet hay stacked in the loft caused the fire. It’s called spontaneous combustion!”
CHAPTER TW
ENTY-THREE
* * *
KEEP RUNNING
I felt like such a loser. A complete and total loser.
First, I had risked my life and had zero to show for it, except how stupid I looked. Then I’d punched out Miguel for nothing which was proof positive that I could never change. When I get angry, I lash out. It’s just who I am.
In the past, none of these things would have bothered me a lick. I would have figured, what the heck, it was just a dumb horse that died. And Miguel? He had it coming anyway! But something inside of me shifted that night. I’d gone from driving hard to neutral, and I was coasting downhill on an empty tank. . . .
Exhausted and numb, I stood in a pasture in the eerie half-light from the dying fire, running my fingers through Diablo’s black and white coat to be sure no lingering cinders burned his skin. Beside me, Nora searched for burning embers on the two donkeys.
We stayed at the farm for hours after most people left, tending to the horses while one fire crew remained to hose down what was left of the barn. A couple firefighters walked around kicking the blackened clumps of hay apart, soaking all of it so the fire wouldn’t start again. I’d overheard one of them say if they hadn’t been together at the firehouse having their chicken barbecue, they wouldn’t have gotten there in time to save any of the horses. They were volunteers after all. Normally, they’d rush to the firehouse when they heard the siren go off.
Nora cried hard about Fuego. Afterward, she was quiet while we sat together on a bench near the farm’s parking lot. “It’s because Fuego didn’t trust anyone,” she said finally. “Remember what they told us? That stall was the last safe place he knew and he wasn’t going to leave it.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I remember.”
“A little more time,” Nora kept saying. “He just needed a little more time.”
She was right. But that horse was still so mad at the world that he couldn’t trust the one human being who came to save him. I understood—I really did. He was backed into a corner feeling there was no way out. I even wondered if people—if kids like me—could be the same way. Not trust anybody and so never take a chance on change, just stay on the same path to nowhere ’cause it’s the only path they knew.
When Mrs. Crawford found us sitting on the bench and asked for help in checking the horses for cinders we got up right away. While we walked toward the paddock I said how sorry I was I couldn’t save Fuego. “I tried,” I told Mrs. Crawford. “I really tried.”
She stopped and touched my arm. “I know you did! Sometimes that’s all we can do is try, Gerry. But look, as far as I’m concerned you were a hero tonight—even though you never should have gone back in that barn the way you did. We lost Fuego, yes, but we have Nugget and Diablo.”
It’s true. At least I saved those guys.
The three of us walked on and Nora asked Mrs. Crawford what would happen to the horses now.
“I’ve got some volunteers with barn space,” she replied. “The others can stay out in the pasture until I find homes.”
Later, I wondered what would happen to me. Pretty obvious my work at the farm was over. No job and a lot of guilt for busting Miguel’s nose.
When I finished going over every inch of Diablo that night, I moved the lantern that was giving me some light and helped Nora finish one of the donkeys.
“Have you found any hot spots?” I asked.
“Actually, I did,” Nora said. “Two cinders on Earl.”
We worked in silence for a moment.
“You’re still coming with us, aren’t you?” Nora asked.
I lifted my shoulders and let them fall. “I don’t know.”
“You have to,” Nora said, disappearing as she examined the donkey’s leg all the way down to his hoof. “There’s nothing for you here anymore.”
“It won’t feel right, Nora. I don’t have any money to contribute.”
“What about all the money you saved?”
“Woody stole it.”
Nora’s head popped up. “What?!”
“Woody stole it all and gambled it away.”
“When?”
“Sometime yesterday.”
“No way!” Nora was pretty horrified. “What a crook!”
“Yeah. That’s what I said.”
She narrowed her eyes. “He’s addicted, you know. Gamblers, they get addicted to it and they can’t stop. I’ll bet it’s at the heart of all his problems.”
“Yeah, well, it’s kind of at the heart of my problems right now, too, ’cause I don’t have a red cent. It’s not his only problem either,” I went on. “I never told you this, Nora, but I found out ole Woody is using a fake name. And so is Luke. They’re running from something.”
“From what?”
“I don’t know. I could be wrong, but I think Woody is one of those parents who kidnaps his own kid, you know what I mean?”
“Oh, my gosh. That would make sense, though, wouldn’t it? Luke told me once that he wasn’t allowed to talk about his mother. We should have gone online and checked the missing kids site!”
“I know. We still can,” I said. “I also thought of saying something to Luke’s teacher. Seems like she really cares about him. She could take the information to the police.”
“We’ll write that note together, Dig. Before we leave for Nevada next week.”
I let my eyes drop. I didn’t want to tell her again that I couldn’t go. Not without any money of my own.
“Guess I’m right back where I started when I first got here,” I said instead. “I don’t have nothin’ except a few new clothes and a dog I never wanted.”
Nora reached over the donkey’s back and took my hands. “I disagree,” she said, forcing me to look at her again. “Remember how down and out you were with all that poison ivy on your face? Look at you now! You’re strong. You’re healthy! Maybe you don’t have the money you earned, but you have me!”
I had to smile at that, and I squeezed her hands.
“You’ve got a tough shell, Dig, but there’s a good heart underneath it. And you know what?”
She waited until our eyes met.
“What?”
“Two things. First, you really need a haircut, which I’m happy to do. And second,” she said, pausing just a bit, “I wanted to tell you that I love you.” The corners of her mouth lifted when she said that and shadowy light from the lantern reflected off her sooty, tear-stained cheeks.
What a night, I thought. I squeezed her hands again, then lifted them up to my face and kissed her knuckles.
—
By the time I finally returned to the campsite, it was Sunday morning. I was pretty wiped out.
Luke was waiting. “What happened?” he asked, rushing down the road to meet me, Buddy at his heels.
I told him all about the fire, but said we got the horses out in time. I didn’t see any point in telling him about Fuego—or what I did to Miguel.
“Is your dad back?”
Luke shook his head no.
“Well. Don’t worry.” I begged Luke then to let me sleep for a while. “Think you can hang out with Buddy?”
When Luke said “sure” I crawled into my tent to sleep.
I didn’t hear Woody’s truck when he came back that afternoon. Nor any of the police cars that pulled in after it. That’s how deep asleep I was.
“Wake up!” Luke said urgently, shaking my shoulder. “Wake up!”
Startled, I rolled over and sat up. Now what? I wondered.
“The police are here! I’m scared!”
I peered out through the tent opening and saw it was daylight. I also caught a glimpse of Woody’s truck with red and white lights blinking behind it.
Unbelievable. I sprang out of bed, grabbed my boots, and hightailed it out of the
tent, through the campground, and down the path that went to the river. At the shoreline, when I paused to pull my boots on, I could hear a police radio crackle. I figured I’d cross the river again by hopping the boulders. Police didn’t look for me there the last time; maybe it would work again.
The water was up in the river, deep, dark, and cold as it rushed around the boulders. I was extra careful as I jumped from one rock to the next. When I got to the far side, I looked back. I didn’t see anyone following me so I sat down to figure out my next step. Good thing I’d slept in my clothes, I thought, just then realizing how much they smelled like smoke. I patted my pants pockets. The jackknife was still there and in the other pocket, the news article and the white card from Cliffside. It was wet, and on the back side, the only words you could read were the first four: I will help others . . .
Weird how things happen sometimes. I read that, then I glanced back across the river and saw Luke and Buddy about a third of the way across, hopping from rock to rock.
I jumped to my feet. Couldn’t he see how high and fast the water was? One slip and he’d be swept away.
“Go back, Luke!” I yelled from the shoreline. “Go back!”
But he didn’t. Then I remembered he couldn’t swim. I never did give him those swimming lessons. I didn’t even think about what to do next. I ran back over the rocks, hollering, “Luke, stop!”
We met about halfway and I grabbed him by the arm.
“What the hell are you doing?” I screamed at him.
Luke was crying. “Going with you. I’m scared.”
“Scared? Of what?”
“The police that came took my daddy.”
“They took Woody?” Why would they take Woody? And did that mean they weren’t after me?
“They put handcuffs on him,” Luke said. “The police said he robbed the gas station. When they put him in the backseat of the police car, I ran away.”
I rolled my eyes and wondered if Woody was after more gambling money—or was he trying to get money to pay me back? Who knew?
The Journey Back Page 17
