Free Into the Firestorm by Deborah Hopkinson

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