Free Into the Firestorm by Deborah Hopkinson Page B

Annie,” her mother whispered. She shook her head and held her side. “Sorry…it hurts to talk.”
    “Mrs. Sheridan, I know it’s painful. But we can’t stay here much longer.” Nick glanced at the ceiling. He didn’t like the look of the gaping hole above their heads. “This building isn’t safe. It could collapse any minute. Everyone else has gotten out.”
    “All right. Just leave Annie and me alone a few moments so we can dress. But then…but then where will we go? We have no family here.”
    Nick hesitated. He wondered what Mr. Pat would say if he came home to find Annie and her mother living in his store. Nick wasn’t sure. He’d just have to make Mr. Pat understand.
    “Ma’am, I’m at the stationer’s shop nearby,” Nick told her. “It’s a small brick building. And it stood up to the quake real well. You’ll be safe there.”
             
    A few minutes later, they were making their way out of the room and down the stairway of the rooming house.
    “Be careful on this step. There’s a hole right here,” Nick warned. He glanced up at the floors above. He didn’t want to be caught here by falling debris.
    Every once in a while, Mrs. Sheridan breathed sharply and clutched her side. Nick wondered if she’d broken a rib. That had happened to Pa once. He’d complained for a week or more. But Annie’s mother, he could tell, was trying hard to bear the pain in silence.
    As they reached the sidewalk, they heard a crash from inside.
    “Wait, we forgot! We didn’t bring any of our things,” said Annie suddenly.
    Annie’s mother shook her head. “Oh, Annie. It’s not safe. Maybe later.”
    “What about the picture of Daddy?” Annie asked. “Will you get it for me, Nick?”
    “You heard that crash, Annie. It’s too dangerous,” her mother said firmly.
    Annie bit her lip. Nick saw tears fill her bright eyes. He looked back at the building.
    “Where is it, Mrs. Sheridan? I can race up.”
    “No. It’s too—”
    “I’m quick. Was it on a dresser?” Nick interrupted. He was halfway to the door.
    Mrs. Sheridan nodded. “Everything is on the floor now, I’m sure. Please be careful.”
    Nick pattered up the stairs softly. “Just think of how a cat walks,” he told himself.
    He tiptoed across the landing and entered the room. Annie and her mother didn’t own much—a few books, a sewing basket, and some clothes. But he could barely pick out these items from the dirt and plaster and boards that covered the floor.
    Nick felt the room sway a little. He dropped down to all fours and began to crawl. But he saw nothing that looked like a photograph. He didn’t see the money jar Annie’s mother kept, either.
    What if I don’t find it?
he thought. Annie’s heart would break.
    He spotted a small cloth doll and grabbed it. The dresser had tumbled to the floor and broken into pieces.
    And then, out of the corner of his eye, he spied something glinting under a shattered pitcher. He crawled over and reached under the broken porcelain. The glass frame had shattered, and the picture was covered with dust.
    But this was it. Annie’s parents, with Annie a baby in her mother’s arms. Staring at it, Nick thought that it seemed worth the risk.
             
    “Daddy’s picture
and
my doll! Oh, Nick, you’re my friend for life!” Annie exclaimed as they slowly made their way along Jackson Street.
    “Annie, you’ve told Nick that five times in the last three minutes,” her mother whispered with a weak smile. It was hard for her to talk.
    Nick adjusted his arm to better support Annie’s mother as she walked. “Mrs. Sheridan, just a few more steps and we’ll be there.”
    He looked up and down the street. “I kept hoping Shakespeare would be right here waiting for me,” Nick said.
    As they approached Mr. Pat’s store, Nick realized the door leading to the basement office stood open. He must have forgotten to close it when he left.
    He’d lost track of time. Had the earthquake