by Peg Kehret
“Help!” Alex screamed. He hadn’t heard any fire trucks arrive, so he didn’t think anyone was near enough to hear him, but he shouted anyway. “Help! I’m trapped in here!”
14
Pete flattened himself on the tree limb. He watched as the man approached Alex. He saw Alex get in the man’s car. He watched the taillights disappear down the street.
Pete clung to the branch and howled. In his terror at the sound of the gunshot, he had climbed higher than he had ever gone before. The branch beneath him, already bent downward from Pete’s weight, dipped lower when he tried to turn around.
Behind him, he heard Mr. and Mrs. Kendrill call Alex’s name again and again.
“Out here!” Pete shrieked. “Come out here and look. There’s another fire!”
But the people did not come. He would have to climb down by himself.
The branch was too narrow for him to turn around on, so Pete backed cautiously toward the tree trunk, his claws digging into the bark. He had gone only a few feet when he saw headlights race toward the burning house. Pete lay motionless, his blue eyes wide.
Peering through the leaves, Pete saw the man take rope from the trunk. He saw Alex get out of the car, then run toward the tan house. The man followed him inside.
Soon the man came out alone, without the rope. He got a gasoline can from his car. He ran inside the house, then returned and went to the rear of the building. Pete couldn’t see him then, but he knew what the gasoline was for.
Alex is in there! Pete thought. He hasn’t come out. That horrid man is starting another fire, and this time Alex is inside the house.
Hoping that the man would not see his white fur, Pete backed quickly toward the tree trunk. In his haste, he was not as cautious as he should have been, and his hind feet slipped off the narrow branch.
Pete dangled, his body swinging in the air as his front claws dug desperately into the branch.
He managed to hang on while he swung one hind foot and then the other far enough up to get a grip.
When all his paws were back on the branch, he stretched out as low as he could get and waited for his heart to quit racing. That had been close. Too close.
Pete peered downward, stunned by his narrow escape. The ground seemed so far away that it made him dizzy to look.
Humans were fond of saying that a cat always lands on all four feet, and most of the time that was true, but if a cat fell by mistake from this height, the cat would be in bad shape, no matter how it landed.
Pete yearned to stay still, and wait for Mr. Kendrill to bring a ladder from the house, and climb up, and carry him to safety—but he couldn’t stay in the tree and wait to be rescued. He had to help Alex.
Pete concentrated on feeling his way along the branch, making sure each paw was in a stable spot before he put his weight on it. He finally reached the trunk of the tree, where he was able to turn around. He yelled for help, feeling more secure now that he was off that wiggly branch.
“Come this way!” he yowled. “Alex is in the burning house!”
Where were his people? Why didn’t they come looking for him and Alex?
His cries brought no response, and Pete knew he could not wait any longer to be rescued. Gripping the tree trunk with his paws, he lowered his head and started down the tree face first. Quickly, before he lost his courage, he half slid, half climbed down the tree trunk.
Six feet above the ground, he let go with his front paws and shoved off with his hind feet, leaping into the tall grass. Even before he landed, his legs were running toward home. Behind him, he heard the car drive off again.
Pete raced past the rest of the trees, moving faster than he had ever run before. He leaped onto the back porch, already shouting for help.
“Come out!” Pete cried. “Alex needs help!”
The door opened immediately.
“Pete’s back,” Mrs. Kendrill said. She called out, “Alex? Alex, come home. Pete’s here!”
She held the door, but Pete turned and ran down the steps.
“Pete!” It was Mr. Kendrill this time. “Bad cat! Come back here.”
“Something isn’t right,” Mrs. Kendrill said. “It’s after eight o’clock. Alex wouldn’t just take off like this in the dark, without telling us.”
Pete crept back toward the porch, staying far enough away that he could escape a quick lunge toward him.
Alex’s parents looked at each other for a moment.
“Let’s catch Pete, since he’s here,” Mr. Kendrill said. “Then we’ll look for Alex. I’m sure he’s just walking around calling the cat, but I’ll feel easier when he’s home.”
Mrs. Kendrill grabbed a flashlight. “We’ll be back in a minute, Benjie,” she called.
“I’m coming, too,” Benjie replied as he ran after his parents. “Maybe the red-white-and-blue monster monkeys have kidnapped Alex. They wear costumes to make it look as if they’re patriotic citizens, but underneath they’re wicked and they steal children and turn them into garbage cans. Or maybe the silver snakes from Saturn have come to Earth disguised as ribbons and Alex had one tied on a present, and when he untied it, it bit him and spit poison up his nose.”
For once, Mr. and Mrs. Kendrill paid no attention to Benjie’s chatter. Instead they followed Pete across the back lot and into the maple grove.
Firelight flickered beyond the trees.
“Look!” Mrs. Kendrill said. “There’s another fire! It’s one of the vacant houses.”
“I’ll go back and call the fire department,” Mr. Kendrill said. “You see if you can catch Pete.”
“Call the police, too!” Pete screeched. “Rescue Alex! He’s still inside one of the houses.”
“Good boy,” Mrs. Kendrill said. “Stay still, and let me pick you up.” She moved slowly toward the cat.
Pete longed to sit quietly while Mrs. Kendrill approached him; he wanted to allow her to carry him home where it was safe. He wanted to hunker over his crunchies for a bedtime snack and then stretch out on the carpet and wash his whiskers. Even more, he wanted to lie on Alex’s bed and get a cat massage.
But he couldn’t go home. Not yet. Not when Alex was inside a burning house. Somehow he had to let the people know where Alex was.
He sat as still as a stuffed toy cat while Mrs. Kendrill came closer.
“Good boy,” she murmured. “Good Pete. No wonder you’re skittery, with houses burning down all around us. I’m going to take you home and give you some kitty num-num.”
Pete’s tail twitched. Kitty num-num was his favorite treat in the whole world. It came in a small can and tasted of tuna and whitefish. Usually Pete got kitty num-num only on Christmas or when Alex decided it was time to celebrate Pete’s birthday. (No one, not even Pete himself, knew what date he had been born, so Alex had chosen an approximate date, and then sometime during that week each year, whenever it was convenient, he made a fuss over Pete, singing “Happy Birthday” and feeding him treats.)
Pete waited until Mrs. Kendrill bent over to grab him, then he bolted toward the house where Alex was held captive.
“Hold still, Pete!” Mrs. Kendrill said. “There will be loud sirens and trucks and people here soon, and they’ll scare the fur off you. Now come back here and let me take you home.”
Pete backed toward the tan house. From inside it, he heard Alex’s voice: “Help! Somebody please help me!”
Pete looked to see if Mrs. Kendrill had heard, but she continued to scowl at Pete as she approached. Humans don’t hear as well as cats do—more proof of the superiority of cats. He would have to go closer to the burning building.
He felt the heat from the flames; he heard the crackling sound of wood splintering. Thick smoke billowed around him, making it hard to breathe and even harder to see where he was going. Pete’s heart thudded as if he were being chased by a Doberman, but he moved closer to the fire.
A siren rose and fell in the distance, getting louder. Mrs. Kendrill stopped pursuing Pete; she ran toward the intersectio
n of Alder Court and Valley View Drive. “This way!” she cried, waving her arms as she came to the corner. “This way!”
The fire engine slowed just enough to turn the corner, then raced to the end of the street. Shouts filled the night air as the three firefighters, wearing bright yellow slickers, leaped down.
Trembling with fear, Pete watched them approach. He hated loud noises and quick movements. At any other time of his life, he would have streaked for home at even a hint of such commotion.
This night, he stayed where he was. Dwarfed by the tower of flame behind him and the huge equipment before him, Pete arched his back, stood all his fur on end, and opened his mouth wide.
“Over here!” he screeched. “Come to this house first. Alex is inside!”
His cries were drowned out by the shouting firefighters and water gushing from the hoses.
“Pete! Here, Petey, Petey.”
Pete blinked and squinted into the smoke toward Benjie’s voice. He saw Benjie running toward him.
“Hey, kid! Get away from there!” One of the firefighters had spotted Benjie, too.
“I have to get our cat,” Benjie yelled.
“No! It isn’t safe!”
Benjie kept going.
Pete backed farther away from him.
15
Rocky walked around the exterior of his new house, but it was too dark to see anything. He wished he had a flashlight so he could shine it in the windows. He glanced at his watch: 8:15. Where was Mrs. Woolsey?
“She must have forgotten,” Blake said. “Let’s go back to the motel; I’ll call her and set a time for tomorrow morning.”
As Blake and Rocky started toward their car, a car drove up and a man jumped out and hurried toward them. “I’m Thurgood Woolsey,” he said. “Sorry you had to wait.” He sounded out of breath, as if he had been running. “My wife was detained, and I didn’t know about this appointment. She just called me.”
He kept looking over his shoulder, as if someone were following him.
“Did the arson squad learn anything?” Blake asked.
“What?” Mr. Woolsey looked as if he didn’t know what Blake was talking about. “Oh. Oh, that. I haven’t talked to them. I haven’t been home.”
“I didn’t hear from them today either,” Blake said.
“Can we go inside?” Rocky asked. “I want to see my room.”
Mr. Woolsey fumbled in his pockets. “Oh. I don’t have the key to this house. Can you wait while I drive to my office to get it? It’s only a few blocks away.”
“Why don’t I follow you,” Blake said, “and get the keys. That way you won’t have to come back here.”
“Good idea,” Mr. Woolsey said. “Yes, I won’t have to come back here. Let’s go, then.” He got in his car and, without waiting for Blake to follow, took off.
“It’s a good thing I know where his office is,” Blake said as Mr. Woolsey’s car sped away.
“Is it okay if I wait here?” Rocky asked. “It’s such a nice night; I’d rather walk around than go to Mr. Woolsey’s office.”
“Stay close by,” Blake said. “I’ll be back in ten minutes.” He got in his car and left.
Rocky walked to the corner, then turned left intending to walk to Elm Lane, the street where he had lived for six days. He was curious to see what the burned house looked like in the dark. Before he got to Elm, he heard a siren approaching.
Rocky listened as the sound came closer. He could tell when the vehicle turned off the main road and entered Valley View Estates.
Was it a police car? Rocky’s stomach twisted into a knot. Had last night’s fire been traced to the mob who smuggled drugs, the mob whose leader Rocky’s mom had testified against? Were the police chasing Mafia members, men who were after Blake and Rocky?
Don’t be paranoid, he told himself. But it was hard not to be when he knew his life was threatened.
A fire truck roared into view, then turned down Alder Court.
Not another fire! Rocky thought. Which house this time?
He ran after the truck and soon saw the leaping flames. It was like having a terrible nightmare repeat itself two nights in a row.
Rocky saw three firefighters jump from the truck, unroll their hoses, and attach them to a bright red fire hydrant that squatted at the end of the street. The hoses expanded like giant boa constrictors as the water coursed through them.
He saw Mr. and Mrs. Kendrill on the far side of the street, watching. Alder Court was just one block over from Elm Lane; they must have seen the fire from their backyard and called the fire department. He wondered where Alex and Benjie were.
Rocky saw that it wasn’t just one house on fire this time, it was two. The gray house was fully aflame, the tan house much less so. A third house, to the left of the gray one, seemed okay.
Mr. Kendrill ran toward one of the firefighters, shouting, “All three houses are vacant! It’s new construction that hasn’t sold yet.”
That firefighter quickly alerted the others that none of the property was occupied.
The firefighters split up, with two of them concentrating on the left side of the gray house, apparently to keep the flames from spreading to the third building. The other firefighter sprayed water on the front side of the tan house.
Rocky stayed in the trees on the uncleared land across the street from where the Kendrills stood. If they saw him, they would ask if his family had found a place to live, and then he’d have to tell them which house he was going to move into.
He planned to stay away from Alex and Benjie in the future. Eventually, Alex would find out where Rocky lived, but by then he would have caught on that Rocky did not intend to become friends.
As Rocky watched the great hoses spew water onto the flames, something bright red caught his eye. Squinting through the smoky haze, Rocky saw Benjie, wearing a red jacket, running toward the burning houses.
He heard a firefighter yell at Benjie to go back, but the little boy kept going. Rocky had talked to Benjie only twice; both times Benjie had told him a wild story about Martians and a yellow dragon that ate naughty children. Was Benjie acting out one of his imaginative stories? If so, he was playing with danger.
Rocky was closer to Benjie than any of the firefighters were. He took off toward the boy. As he got closer, he saw that Benjie was chasing Alex’s cat.
He couldn’t believe that the cat would go toward a burning building that way. Usually an animal’s natural fear of fire would send it streaking in the opposite direction. But the fool cat kept going closer, yowling like crazy, while Benjie tried to catch him.
“Get back, you kids!” the firefighter hollered. “Both of you!”
Rocky realized the man meant him as well as Benjie. He stopped. “Benjie!” he yelled. “Come this way! Come with me!”
“I can’t! I have to save Pete!”
“Pete can save himself,” Rocky shouted. “He’ll run to safety if you leave him alone.”
“Follow me,” Pete yelled as he turned the corner to the back side of the house. “Come this way!”
“Help!” Alex screamed. “I’m inside! Help!”
“Listen!” Pete screeched. “Don’t you hear him?”
His fur felt scorched, and every time he yowled, the smoke burned his throat. What was wrong with the humans? Why didn’t they hear Alex?
Benjie lunged for Pete, tripped, and fell on his face. He lay, crying, on the ground, his breath coming in great gulps.
Pete watched the firefighter who had yelled at Benjie run to the boy. Pete backed away from Benjie. It took all his willpower to stay quiet, but he wanted the fireman to hear Alex.
The fireman reached Benjie, bent down, and lifted the crying boy over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“You could have been killed, running at a burning building that way,” the fireman said. He carried Benjie toward the street, where Mr. Kendrill met him. The fireman handed the boy to his father, then returned to his duties without saying a word.
&nbs
p; Pete stared at the people. What could he do to make them come after him? They had to come this way, to the back side of the house, to hear Alex.
Pete’s eyes and nose filled with smoke. He coughed. When he inhaled, he felt the hot smoke fill his chest. Panic-stricken, he stood in the weeds, listening for Alex’s voice.
Above him, a piece of cedar siding ignited, broke free from the house, and dropped.
Pete did not see it coming. The burning wood landed with a sickening thud on the back of his head.
Pete crumpled. He lay motionless with the burning wood across his neck.
16
Sweat dripped from Alex’s face. His voice grew hoarse from shouting, the inside of his nose hurt from inhaling the smoke, and his eyeballs felt scorched.
Alex heard the voices of the firefighters outside, and once he thought he heard Benjie calling Pete, but nobody heard his rasping cries.
Pieces of flaming wallboard broke free and fell around him, hitting the ceramic bathtub. The light fixture, its wires melted, crashed into the sink. So far nothing had hit him, but Alex knew he couldn’t escape the falling pieces much longer.
He lay down in the bathtub, then rolled onto his stomach. If parts of the burning house dropped on him, and his clothes caught on fire, he planned to roll from his stomach to his back, and then to his stomach again. He would keep rolling, over and over, to put out the flames.
But what if his hair caught fire? What if so much burning debris dropped into the tub that he had no place left to roll?
If they don’t rescue me soon, Alex thought, I’m a goner. “Help!” he cried, forcing his voice, even though his throat throbbed and his cries were more squeak than shout. “Somebody, please help me!”
A wooden towel bar caught fire, fell off the wall, and landed on Alex’s arms. He gasped as the flames singed his skin. His hands jerked upward, throwing the towel bar off his arms. He rolled over, sat up, and kicked the towel bar to the end of the tub, where it smoldered like a small log in a fireplace.
When Alex tried to yell again, he coughed instead. He was breathing too much smoke, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it.