by Peg Kehret
He sat in the bathtub, coughing, choking on smoke. A wall of fire engulfed the bathroom door. The outside wall beside the tub burned high now, too. Even if his feet weren’t tied, even if he could run, there was no place to go except into the blaze.
* * *
Across the street, Mr. Kendrill scolded Benjie. “You scared the life out of us, running toward a fire that way. Where was your brain?”
“Pete’s over there,” Benjie sobbed. “Pete’s going to get burned up in the fire.”
“Pete will run away from the fire,” Mr. Kendrill said. “He’ll take care of himself.”
“Rocky’s over there, too. He yelled at me to go with him.”
“Rocky Morris?” Mr. Kendrill said.
“I’ll bet he set this fire, too,” Benjie said. “I told you he was bad.”
“I wonder if the Morrises have moved into one of the other vacant houses,” Mr. Kendrill said.
Mrs. Kendrill said, “It’s odd that Alex hasn’t returned. He wouldn’t go out of our neighborhood to look for Pete, and surely he heard the fire truck.”
“Maybe he came home but doesn’t know where we are. We’d better check.”
“Come on, Benjie,” Mrs. Kendrill said.
“I want to stay here and watch the fire,” Benjie said.
“You’re coming with us,” Mrs. Kendrill replied. “You can’t be trusted to stay put.”
Benjie followed his parents away from the excitement. He walked on the edge of the curb, pretending it was a tightrope stretched high in the air above a pool teeming with bright green sharks. Their gold teeth glittered as they snapped at his feet.
Something caught Benjie’s attention. Forgetting the sharks, he stepped into the street.
“Mom! Dad!” he called. “I found Alex’s watch.”
He ran to catch up with his parents, then held out the watch. “It was lying in the street.”
“If Alex isn’t in the house,” Mr. Kendrill said, “we’ll drive around the neighborhood.”
“If we don’t find him right away,” Mrs. Kendrill said, “I’m calling the police.”
A second fire truck roared up. The firefighters rushed toward the tan house.
* * *
Rocky continued to watch the fire, puzzling over the odd behavior of Alex’s cat. He walked along the edge of the trees until he could see the back side of the house, where Pete had gone. He got there just in time to see a flaming board fall from the house and land on top of Pete. The cat lay still.
Rocky rushed toward Pete, stripping off his shirt as he ran.
He smelled burned fur even before he reached the cat. Rocky kicked the blazing board off Pete, then dropped to his knees beside the motionless brown-and-white body. He threw his shirt over Pete, patted it to put out the flames, then tossed the shirt aside.
Looking closely, he saw that the cat’s collar was burned through, and his fur was scorched, but the skin did not appear badly burned.
Pete’s eyes remained closed, and Rocky could not tell if the cat was still breathing. How do you feel a cat’s pulse? he wondered.
Rocky and Nathan had taken a first-aid and CPR class as part of a Boy Scout training session, back when Rocky was still Clifford, so he knew how to help a person who had stopped breathing, but he wasn’t sure how to help a cat.
I have to try, he thought. The memory of Alex stroking Pete’s fur while he said, “Pete is the best friend I have,” flashed into Rocky’s mind. Alex loves his cat as much as I loved my dog; I can’t let Pete die.
Maybe he could do artificial breathing on a cat, the same way it was done on a person.
Knowing he had nothing to lose, Rocky opened Pete’s mouth and made sure there wasn’t anything in it. He put his thumb and forefinger on the small pink tongue and pulled it forward so Pete wouldn’t choke on it. He closed Pete’s mouth.
Rocky took a deep breath, leaned his face close to Pete’s, and put his mouth over the cat’s nose. Gently he blew a puff of air into Pete’s nostrils. As he did, he placed his hands on Pete’s side; he felt the cat’s chest expand as the air entered his lungs. Rocky lifted his mouth, inhaled, then blew into Pete’s nose again.
Each time he blew, the cat’s chest rose, then fell back when Rocky removed his mouth. He waited four seconds in between each puff. Inhale, blow. One-two-three-four. Inhale, blow. One-two-three-four.
After blowing seven times, he felt Pete’s side rise by itself before he blew the next puff of air. Rocky waited, keeping his hands on the cat’s side. “Yes,” he whispered. “Breathe by yourself.”
Up, down, up, down. Pete’s side rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm.
“Yes!” Rocky said. Wait until I tell Nathan I used my Scout training on a cat, he thought—and immediately realized he could never tell Nathan.
Heat from the flames slapped at Rocky’s face. He had to move Pete away from the fire.
Carefully, Rocky slid both hands under the still body, lifted it gently, and cradled it against him.
“Hang on, Pete,” he whispered. “We’ll get you to a vet right away, and you’ll be home with Alex before you know it.”
Holding Pete against his bare chest, Rocky stood up. As he started away from the fire, he heard a faint voice.
“Help!”
Shock sent tingles across Rocky’s scalp and down his arms. That was Alex’s voice, and it came from inside the burning house.
“Alex!” he yelled. “Where are you?”
The voice sounded weak and scratchy, like a car radio when reception was bad. “In here!” it said, then started coughing.
Clutching Pete, Rocky ran to the front of the house.
The closest firefighter shouted, “Get back! Stay away!”
“Alex is inside!” Rocky yelled. “My friend is trapped in the house. I heard him call for help.”
Three firefighters rushed to the back side of the house.
“Help!”
“That small window,” one of them said, pointing. “Probably a bathroom.”
“We’re going in,” another said into her radio. “There’s a child inside. Send an ambulance. Repeat: we’re going in.”
Rocky crossed the street. He knew he couldn’t help Alex now, and it was important to help Pete. He carried the inert cat past the grove of trees and into the Kendrills’ yard. Pete was breathing, but he still needed help. Fast.
Rocky pounded on the Kendrills’ back door. Nobody answered. They’re probably out looking for Alex, he thought.
He wasn’t sure if he should wait there for the Kendrills to return, or if he should carry Pete back to his own new house. Blake would be there by now; he would drive Pete to a veterinarian.
Rocky started toward his new house, but he had gone only half a block when Blake drove up. The Kendrills were right behind him.
All of them jumped out when they saw Rocky carrying Pete. Benjie burst into tears. “I knew Pete was going to die if I didn’t catch him,” he sobbed.
“Pete got too close to the fire,” Rocky said, “and was knocked out by a piece of siding that fell.”
“Have you seen Alex?” Mr. Kendrill asked.
“Alex is trapped in one of the burning houses,” Rocky said.
The color drained from Mrs. Kendrill’s face. “Alex?” she whispered. “Are you sure?”
“I heard him call for help while I was giving Pete mouth-to-nose resuscitation,” Rocky said. “The firefighters have gone in to get him.”
Mr. Kendrill ran toward the fire.
“The red-white-and-blue monster monkeys got Alex!” Benjie wailed. “They’ve fried him like toast, and they’ll put jam on him and eat him for breakfast.”
Mrs. Kendrill hesitated, looking at Benjie. “Hush now,” she said. “We have to go. Alex needs help.”
“Benjie can stay with us,” Blake said. “We’ll find a veterinarian for your cat, and then we’ll come back here.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Kendrill said. “There’s an emergency veterinary clinic at the junction
of Highway 50 and East Road.”
Mrs. Kendrill rushed down the street after her husband.
“Get in my car, Benjie,” Blake said softly. “Rocky and I need you to help with Pete.”
“Will Alex be okay?” Benjie asked. “Can they get him out?”
“Alex will be fine,” Rocky said. “Those firefighters know exactly what to do, and the house Alex was in wasn’t burning as badly as the other house was.” He tried to sound confident, but he wondered if Alex would survive such an inferno. Even if the firefighters could reach him, he would probably be badly burned.
I told the firefighters my friend was inside, Rocky thought, and it’s true. I care about Alex; I want him to be okay.
Rocky got in the backseat so Benjie could sit beside him. He laid Pete across his lap, trying to move him as little as possible.
The little boy put his hand in front of Pete’s nose, as if hoping the cat would recognize the smell.
“Wake up, Petey,” Benjie pleaded. “Please wake up.” Tears made wet paths through the smudges on Benjie’s cheeks.
Rocky remembered his own tearful ride when he had left his dog behind forever. He hoped Pete would recover; he hoped Benjie would not have to say good-bye.
17
Alex heard shouts outside.
“In here!” he called. Cough, cough, cough. “I’m locked in!”
Water gushed from hoses that were now aimed at the outside bathroom wall. The flames hissed into steam as water cascaded over them.
At the same time, axes chopped at the burning bathroom door, splintering the charred wood.
Alex sat on the edge of the tub, his breathing shallow as he tried not to inhale more smoke. His eyes smarted; his throat felt raw; his arms throbbed where the towel bar had burned them.
Sparks erupted as pieces of the door hit the tile floor. Two firefighters pushed through at the same time. Alex stood and stumbled toward them.
“He’s tied!” one of the them said. “It will be faster to carry him out.”
One firefighter put his hands under Alex’s arms; the second firefighter grasped his legs. Flames nipped their ankles as they carried him across the blazing living room.
Just as they went into the yard, the roof on the back side of the house caved in. Ceiling joists, trailing streamers of smoke and flame, collapsed to the floor. One landed directly in the bathtub.
Alex saw the roof fall. If he had still been in that bathtub, it would have landed on him, and no amount of rolling back and forth would have saved him.
The next few minutes blurred together. Someone untied his hands, then his feet. Someone else asked his name and phone number. He was helped onto a gurney and given oxygen. Medics took his pulse, looked in his mouth, and checked the severity of his burns.
The noises of the fire filled the night—wood crackling and splitting, water spraying, two-way radios giving and receiving instructions, people running and shouting.
Alex couldn’t stop shaking.
One medic spread a blanket across him, keeping Alex’s arms on top of it.
Alex’s parents rushed to his side. Questions piled on top of each other: “Are you all right?” “What happened?” “What were you doing in that house?”
“He’s in shock,” the medic said, “and suffering from smoke inhalation and second-degree burns. Are you his parents?”
“Yes.”
“We need to get him to the hospital.”
“Of course. We’ll follow you.”
A police officer arrived and hurried to Alex’s side as the gurney was lifted into the ambulance. “The medics said your hands and feet were tied when they found you,” the officer said.
“Mr. Woolsey tied me,” Alex rasped. “He started the fires.”
“Mr. Woolsey?” Mrs. Kendrill said. “Are you sure?”
“I saw him do it,” Alex said. “I couldn’t tell who it was—cough, cough—so I tried to get his license number. He saw me, and shot at me, and made me go—” He stopped, overcome by a fit of coughing.
“He shot at you!” Mr. Kendrill said.
“Save your voice, son,” the officer said. “You’ve told me enough for now.” He turned to Mr. and Mrs. Kendrill. “Who is Mr. Woolsey?”
“Thurgood Woolsey, the man who built all of these houses.”
The medics closed the ambulance door.
“His phone number is on the FOR SALE signs,” Mr. Kendrill said, pointing. “We’ll be at the hospital with Alex.”
“I’ll contact you later. I’ll need to talk to Alex again, but it can wait.”
Mr. and Mrs. Kendrill ran to their car. The ambulance pulled out of Alder Court and headed down Valley View toward the highway into Seattle. The red lights and siren remained off.
One of the medics said, “Take deep breaths of the oxygen, Alex. Try to get that smoke cleared out of your body.”
At the hospital emergency room, Alex received intravenous fluids and humidified oxygen. He finally quit shaking and coughing.
Small blisters puffed on the underside of his arms where the burning towel bar had landed. The skin under the blisters looked red and swollen.
“We’ll keep you a couple of hours,” the doctor said. “I don’t want to put anything on your arms yet.” He turned to Mr. and Mrs. Kendrill, who stood beside Alex’s bed. “Much longer in that smoke, and your son would have had serious lung damage,” he said. “He’s lucky to be alive.”
“Can you talk enough to tell us what happened?” Mr. Kendrill asked.
“I was trying to catch Pete,” Alex said, “and he ran toward where Mr. Woolsey had set fire to the gray house.” He gave a quick synopsis of the events that followed. “Did Pete come home?” he asked.
“Is Pete your brother?” asked the doctor.
“He’s my cat.”
“Pete got too close to the fire and was hit by a piece of siding that fell,” Mrs. Kendrill said. “Rocky heard you call for help when he tried to rescue Pete. He alerted the firefighters.”
“Rocky saved my life,” Alex said.
“He may have saved Pete, too,” Mr. Kendrill added. “Pete was knocked unconscious; Rocky did mouth-to-nose resuscitation to revive him, and now Mr. Morris is taking Pete to the emergency veterinary clinic.”
“Somebody did mouth-to-nose on a cat?” the doctor said. “That’s great! Wait till I tell the nurses.” Chuckling, he left the room.
“I let go of Pete when Mr. Woolsey shot at me,” Alex said. “I wonder why he went back toward the fire instead of running home.”
“Maybe he was following you,” Mrs. Kendrill said.
“It’s a good thing he didn’t come home,” Mr. Kendrill said. “If he had, Rocky would not have heard you call for help.”
“I hope Pete’s okay,” Alex said. He closed his eyes, trying not to let tears form. If Pete doesn’t make it, he thought, it will be my fault. I shouldn’t have let him run loose, no matter how much he wanted it. I should have kept him safe.
18
Pete opened his eyes.
“He’s awake!” Rocky said. “Pete woke up.”
“Where am I?” Pete asked. He lifted his head and looked around.
“Hi, Petey,” Benjie said.
“Why am I riding in a car?” Pete said. “The only time I go in the car is when they take me to the vet. I don’t want to go to the vet. I already had my shots this year. Let me out of here!”
He struggled to get out of Rocky’s arms.
“Settle down, Pete,” Rocky said. “It’s okay.”
“He’s scared,” Benjie said. “He probably knows we’re taking him to the vet.”
“I knew it! I knew that’s where we’re going. I refuse! The vet grabs my tail and sticks a thermometer in me. It’s humiliating.” Pete dug his front claws into Rocky’s jeans and tried to climb down Rocky’s leg.
“Ow!” Rocky said. He held on to Pete’s middle, trying not to touch the area on the cat’s neck where the fur had been singed. “He’s clawing my leg.”
“Stop that, Petey,” Benjie said.
“Easy for you to say,” Pete replied. “You aren’t the one heading toward doom.”
“I’m going to pull over,” Blake said. He stopped on the side of the road, then leaned into the backseat.
Pete growled at him.
“For a cat who just regained consciousness, he is plenty strong,” Rocky said.
“I’m a mighty jungle beast!” Pete said.
“Maybe we don’t need to take him to the emergency clinic,” Blake said. “He doesn’t act injured.”
“I’m going under the seat,” Pete said. “You’ll never get me out of there.”
“Let’s take him home,” Benjie said.
“Yes! Take me home!” Pete continued to claw at Rocky’s pants.
“I can’t hold him much longer,” Rocky said.
“We have a cat carrier at home,” Benjie said. “When we take him to the vet, he rides in that.”
Pete twisted sideways, shoved off with his hind feet, and jumped to the back of Blake’s seat. He put his face next to Blake’s ear and yowled, “Turn this car around!”
“I’m taking him home,” Blake said. “When your parents return, Benjie, they can examine Pete and decide if he needs to be seen by a veterinarian tonight. Clearly, it is not a matter of life and death, and it isn’t safe to drive with Pete leaping around the car. He’ll do better in his carrier.”
“No, I won’t!” Pete said. “I detest that carrier. I don’t need to see the vet. I’ll bite his hand. Except for a headache, I’m strong as a panther.”
Blake turned around at the next intersection and headed back to Valley View Estates.
Pete jumped back into Rocky’s lap, draped himself across Rocky’s knees, and lay still.
Rocky stroked him gently.
As the car started down Valley View Drive, Benjie said, “I thought you were a bad boy, Rocky, but you aren’t. You’re nice.”
“Thanks,” Rocky said. “You’re nice, too.”
“I know who started the fires,” Benjie said. “It was the red-white-and-blue monster monkeys. They ride on giant burros and they kidnap children and turn them into garbage cans.”
Headlights shone in the car through the side window.