“He left,” Morris said.
“He didn’t try to get me out? He just took off without me?”
Morris and Leo looked at each other.
Neither wanted to say the truth: that Fletch had left Wilkie for dead in the rubble.
But Wilkie figured this out. His expression suddenly changed to fury. He picked up a brick and hurled it toward the pile of rubble that had been the saloon. He did it again, and again, and again. His eyes bulged. He grunted and growled like the rabid dogs that roamed the alleys.
And then finally Wilkie slumped down onto the ground, out of breath.
He looked up at Leo and Morris. His eyes, set deep in his chubby face, were filled with confusion. His lip quivered, and Leo thought he might burst into tears.
“When I was at that work camp in Seattle, a man came and said I should play football,” Wilkie said. “There’s a fancy school up there, where rich kids go. And he said I could go for free, that he’d teach me everything I needed to know. He said I could be a champion. But I wouldn’t go! Because I’d never leave Fletch. I went to jail because of Fletch. I stuck by him all these years. And where did it get me? Under that pile of bricks.”
Leo had no idea what to say.
But Morris did. “Come with us,” he offered.
Wilkie looked at Morris and then at Leo.
Leo got the idea that Wilkie had never really seen them before.
He wiped the tears from his face and took a deep breath.
He picked himself up.
“We should get your gold back,” he said.
“Fletch said it was gone,” said Leo.
“Never believe Fletch,” Wilkie said. “He has it. And I know where he went.”
Leo looked at Morris.
“Let’s go,” Morris said.
Wilkie led them back toward Market Street.
Wilkie was sure Fletch had gone back to the abandoned house where they stashed their loot.
“That way if the police got us,” he explained, “they wouldn’t find it.”
They zigzagged through the crowds of people. Most of them were heading away from where Wilkie was taking them. And no wonder. The damage was worse the farther south they walked. One boardinghouse was split in half. Another had been swallowed by the earth almost to its rooftop. Trolley tracks were twisted like pretzels. On one block, men were trying to hoist a horse out of a hole in the street.
Leo tried not to look at the collapsed buildings, but he couldn’t stop thinking about who might still be inside.
The fires were worse down here. With every step the smoke was thicker, the air hotter. Leo’s lungs started to ache.
They were about to cross Market Street when a fire wagon clattered up and stopped in front of them. The two huge horses pulling the wagon wheezed and snorted. Sweat soaked their bodies. Two firefighters jumped off, dragging a thick hose. They hooked it up to a hydrant, but only a trickle of water came out.
A man in a bloodstained shirt rushed up to the firemen.
“Please help me,” he begged. “Everything I own is in my house, and a fire is moving toward it.”
He pointed across the street, where the roof of one house was on fire. Next door, men were leading horses out of a stable.
“I’m sorry sir,” said the taller of the firemen. “The quake broke our water mains. We’ve been up and down Market. We can’t find any water to fight the fires.”
“You’re just going to let the city burn?” the man exclaimed.
The firemen said nothing. But their eyes — weary and scared — told the answer.
San Francisco was burning. And nobody could stop it.
The firemen rolled up their hoses, climbed into their wagon, and continued down the street.
Leo knew they should get out of here. Morris was right.
But suddenly Morris gasped.
“It’s Fletch!” he cried, pointing across the street.
Leo saw him. He was carrying a small, tattered flour sack.
“Fletch!” shouted Wilkie.
His voice boomed through the smoky air.
Fletch turned, took one look at Wilkie, and bolted down the alley next to the burning house.
To Leo’s amazement, it wasn’t Wilkie who took off first after Fletch.
It was Morris.
They both disappeared into the alley.
Leo and Wilkie started after them.
But they had barely crossed the street when the ground jolted with another aftershock.
People screamed and ran into the street.
There was a deep cracking noise right above them.
A piece of rooftop from the burning house crashed onto the sidewalk. Garbage on the ground erupted into flames. The alley was now blocked by a wall of fire.
Leo stepped toward the alley.
Wilkie grabbed him by the back of the shirt.
“No,” he said. “There’s no way out of there!”
“What do you mean?”
“That alley doesn’t cut through,” he said.
“How do you know?” Leo said.
“I know every alley in this town,” Wilkie said. “That one is useless.”
But Leo had to do something. He couldn’t let Morris die in that alley.
How could he help? Leo searched his mind for ideas. And as usual, his thoughts turned to Grandpop.
He remembered that terrifying story of the forest fire in the Sierras. He’d only heard it a few times. But he remembered every detail.
Grandpop had finally crossed into California. In just a few more days, he’d be in gold country. He’d left his horse and wagon at a trading post. He’d headed up into the woods to hunt for rabbits. He would need their skins to trade for gold-mining tools.
It had been a hot and dry summer. Everywhere he looked there were dying trees, their leaves brown and papery. Dead grass and weeds crunched under Grandpop’s boots.
There was hardly a speck of green anywhere.
Grandpop roamed the woods. He bagged a few rabbits.
And then clouds rolled in. Grandpop had smiled up at the sky. A cool rain was just what he needed.
But only a few raindrops fell.
Meanwhile, lightning sliced through the sky.
And then —
KABOOM!
A lightning bolt struck a dead tree, turning it into a burning torch.
More lightning bolts shot out of the clouds, stabbing the ground like burning spears.
Soon there were fires everywhere.
A powerful wind fanned the flames. Within just a few minutes, Grandpop was stuck in the middle of a ring of fire.
The heat was so strong that the metal on his belt started to melt.
Grandpop had no idea what to do.
He got down on his hands and knees. Down low the smoke wasn’t as thick, and he could see where he was going.
He almost didn’t see the stream until he’d crawled into it.
It was practically dry, with just a few inches of water covering the muddy bottom. But there was enough so that Grandpop could lie down and soak his clothes. He took his kerchief and drenched it in water.
He put the soaking kerchief over his head, filled his lungs with air, and dashed through the flames.
Seconds later, when he came out the other side, his pants and the back of his coat were on fire.
He rolled into the dirt and put them out.
Then he ran for his life.
When he staggered back into the trading post, nobody recognized him. His beard and eyebrows were singed off. His face was black with ash, his fingers blistered red.
But once again, his quick thinking and calm head had saved him.
“I need to find some water,” Leo said to Wilkie now.
“You heard those firemen,” Wilkie said. “They can’t even find any.”
Leo thought for a minute. He remembered the men leading those horses out of the stable.
Where there were horses, he thought, there had to be water.
&
nbsp; Wilkie followed Leo as he dashed into the stable.
Sure enough, there was a trough filled with dirty water.
There was also a blanket.
Wilkie watched as Leo climbed into the trough of water and soaked himself from head to toe. Then he soaked the blanket so it was dripping wet.
“What are you doing?” Wilkie said.
“This water is going to protect me,” Leo said, out of breath, “when I run into the alley.”
“You can’t go in there,” Wilkie said. “That little bit of water isn’t going to do anything.”
“I’ll make it,” Leo said. “I’ll make it.”
He repeated those words in his mind, trying to believe them, as he ran back outside. At the entrance to the alley, Leo put the blanket around his body and over his head.
And then Wilkie grabbed him again.
“Let go!” Leo shouted. They had no time to waste!
But Wilkie wasn’t trying to stop him.
“I’m going with you,” he said.
Leo opened his mouth to tell Wilkie no, to tell him to stay where he was.
But there wasn’t time to argue. And from the look in Wilkie’s eyes, he understood that there was no stopping Wilkie.
They were in this together.
Leo had to stand on his tiptoes to get the blanket around Wilkie. “Make sure your face is covered,” Leo told him. “On the count of three, take a deep breath and run as fast as you can!”
Leo filled his lungs and put the blanket over their heads.
“One, two, three!”
Leo and Wilkie rushed into the fire.
Their leap through the flames took just seconds.
But Leo knew that for as long as he lived, he would never forget the feeling of that scorching heat. The fire seemed to pull at the blanket like a beast hungry for Leo’s flesh.
When they came out, Wilkie’s pant leg was on fire. “Look out!” Leo called.
Leo grabbed the blanket and patted out the flames.
They looked at each other in shock: They’d made it!
But still, the smoke was thick, and it hurt to breathe.
“Do you see him?” Leo shouted.
“I can barely see anything,” Wilkie said.
Leo remembered Grandpop, crawling through the brush looking for the stream.
“Get down,” Leo said, dropping to his knees.
The air was clearer closer to the ground. But the heat was searing. The wall of fire roared behind them.
People shouted from the street.
“Get out!”
“It’s all burning!”
“It’s too late!”
They had just a minute or two to find Morris and get out, Leo knew.
Bits of glass from shattered windows cut into Leo’s hands and knees as he crawled. His heart pounded with fear. He felt dizzy from the smoke.
He and Wilkie screamed Morris’s name.
But with the shouting of the crowd and the roaring of the fires, it was almost impossible to hear anything.
Until, finally, they heard a voice.
“Leo! Over here!”
The voice was weak.
Leo moved forward … and then his heart gave a wild jump.
All he could see was Morris’s head, on the ground.
Only his head.
His body was gone.
Wilkie came up behind Leo and gasped. “What the …”
Leo almost jumped up and ran in horror.
But then he understood. Morris’s head hadn’t been cut off. He’d fallen into some kind of hole. Only his head and one arm were sticking out.
“I’m stuck,” Morris said. “I can’t breathe.”
Wilkie rushed over and grabbed Morris’s arm with both of his hands.
He gave a mighty tug. But Morris barely budged.
“It’s tight in here,” Morris said. “Go slow.”
Inch by inch, Wilkie pulled Morris from the earth, like a farmer pulling a gigantic carrot from his garden.
With each second that passed, the crackling roar of the fire grew louder. Sweat poured off of Leo’s body.
Wilkie finally got Morris out of the hole. Leo grabbed hold of Morris, who wobbled on his feet. He held on to Morris, even after Morris was steady.
“I’m okay,” Morris said. “We need to get out.”
Morris pointed to an open window just above a heap of garbage.
“That way,” he said. “That’s how Fletch got out. He knew I was stuck. I kept calling him. But he just kept going.”
Anger rose up in Leo. But there was no time to think about Fletch now.
They all climbed up the heap of garbage. Wilkie got to the top first. He clambered through the window, and then reached out to help Morris and Leo get in.
They were in somebody’s bedroom. A dresser had smashed down on top of the bed. It looked like it had dropped through a giant hole in the ceiling. Luckily it seemed that the person who lived here had escaped.
The heat was very strong, and Leo was sure that some of the rooms of this building were burning. He prayed they could make it down in time, before the fire reached them or the building collapsed on top of them.
They found the stairs and began to make their way down. They walked lightly. But with each step, the stairway swayed. The wood groaned and creaked. One small aftershock and this whole place would tumble to the ground.
Wilkie suddenly stopped short.
“Hurry, Wilkie,” Leo said.
But then he saw it. A body was lying on the floor.
At first he thought it was the person who lived here.
But then came the rasping voice.
“Wilkie,” the body groaned.
It was Fletch.
Fletch looked at Wilkie with a sweet smile painted on his face. “I knew you’d find me, old pal. I knew it. I was sitting here praying. And here you are.”
Fletch was clutching that white flour sack.
“Here,” he said, holding it out to Wilkie. “See? I saved it for you. I was going to come look for you. I swear I was.”
“Sure you were, Fletch,” Wilkie said in a weak voice. “I know you didn’t forget about me.”
Leo and Morris looked at each other, unsure of what was happening.
Did Wilkie really believe Fletch’s lies? Was he going to join back up with him?
“Come on,” Fletch rasped. “We can share with your new buddies too, if that’s what you want. Whatever you say, pal. Whatever you say.”
“I’ll take care of you, Fletch,” Wilkie said.
His voice didn’t sound weak anymore.
“Of course you will,” Fletch said. “We’re a team, you and me. We take care of each other.”
Wilkie snatched the flour sack from Fletch. He handed it to Leo.
“Your gold is in there,” he said. “Take it.”
“Sure,” Fletch said. “Sure thing. Let the kid have his gold back. We’re all friends now.”
Leo rummaged through the sack. It was filled with money — bills and coins, watches and wallets. He found his gold nugget. It felt warm, as though it had been in Papa’s hand just moments before. He handed the flour sack back to Wilkie.
Wilkie stepped back and stared at Fletch.
“You left me for dead,” Wilkie said.
“No!” Fletch cried. “I was coming back for you. That’s where I was heading. I swear it.”
Leo could see the rage on Wilkie’s face. It was as though the heat and fury of the fire had taken control of him. Wilkie grabbed a splintered piece of wood. He raised it up, so it was over Fletch’s head.
Leo and Morris both leaped forward.
“No, Wilkie!” they both shouted. They each grabbed one of Wilkie’s massive arms.
Wilkie shook them off like they were butterflies.
He glared at Fletch. He was set to smash that wood over Fletch’s head.
But Morris moved so that he was between Fletch and Wilkie.
“We don’t have time for this,” M
orris said, in his matter-of-fact voice. “We have to go.”
Leo stood frozen, afraid that Wilkie might hurt Morris. Then what would happen?
But somehow Morris could always get people to pay attention, whether they wanted to or not.
Leo reached up and took hold of the wood. Wilkie held it tight, but finally he let Leo take it.
Wilkie grabbed Fletch roughly by the arm and stood him up.
Fletch cried out in pain. Leo could see that his leg was horribly twisted. He needed to get to a hospital.
Wilkie didn’t care. He dragged Fletch, yelling and limping, out into the street and tossed him onto the sidewalk.
There were two policemen just up the street.
“Maybe they’ll help you,” Wilkie said.
Then he spat on the ground and stormed away.
Leo and Morris hurried after him.
None of them looked back at Fletch.
But they could hear his rasping cries echoing behind them.
They’d walked just a few blocks when they passed a woman standing in front of a ruined, burning house. Her four little children were gathered around her, their clothes tattered and covered with ash.
The woman was sobbing to a soldier.
“I’ve lost everything!” she wailed. “My husband! My house! Everything! What will we do? What will become of me and my children?”
The soldier patted the woman’s arm but then moved on.
Wilkie stopped short. He went to the woman. Without a word, he handed her the flour sack. Then he turned and hurried back to Leo and Morris.
Leo could see that Wilkie’s face had changed. The blazing look was gone. A peaceful look had come over him. He didn’t look back at the woman. But Leo did. He watched her open the bag and look in. Leo knew he’d never forget the look of amazement on her face.
With every hour they walked, they heard of new fires, new neighborhoods destroyed — all of the streets south of Market, Rincon Hill, downtown, Chinatown. City Hall was gone. So was the library, with its one million books. Morris got tears in his eyes when he heard that.
Hundreds of little fires had joined together into huge firestorms that raced through the city. No neighborhood was safe. And so they just kept walking.
Leo had never been so tired. Or thirsty. His entire body ached. His eyes burned. He had cuts all over his hands. He had no idea where they’d end up.
I Survived the San Francisco Earthquake, 1906 Page 3