Free Night of Fear by Peg Kehret

T.J. thought, and the pony and I would both have been trapped inside.
    The rest of the shed buckled inward and fell to the ground.
    Ashes, smoke, and tiny bits of wood billowed toward the moon like an erupting volcano. The tin roof bounced slightly as it clanged to the ground.
    The noise made the frightened pony bolt and the tether jerked out of T.J.’s hands. The pony galloped toward the farmhouse.
    T.J. stood as if he were hypnotized, watching the fire.
    Within seconds, the shed was gone. Only the blackened roof remained on the ground, with smoke pouring out from under it on all sides.
    A bright flicker on the far side of the shed caught T.J.’s attention. Hot ash or a piece of burning wood must have dropped into dry grass.
    He circled the smoking remnants of the shed. When he got to the far side, a small grass fire was spreading away from the pony shed, toward the barn. T.J. stamped on the flames,trying to get them out with his feet. Just as he got one spot out, the flames cropped up again a few feet away.
    A grass fire, he knew, could be even more dangerous than the shed fire was. A grass fire, once it got out of control, could sweep quickly across many acres, laying waste not only the crops but everything else that stood in its way: equipment, vehicles, and even the farmhouse.
    Three small fires erupted at the same time, a few feet apart. Sparks were obviously smoldering in the dry grass.
    T.J. took off his sweatshirt and, holding tightly to the sleeves, beat at the flames.
    Whack! Whack! The sweatshirt slapped the ground, smothering the fire beneath it. He could cover more ground at one time with the sweatshirt than he could with his feet. Smoke rose from under the sweatshirt and T.J. feared the material would catch fire, too, but it didn’t.
    Whack! Whack! T.J. flung the shirt again and again, until he thought his arms would fall off.
    It worked. The burning grass smoldered and smoked but the flames died out, leaving only a charred black area on the ground.
    T.J. stood still, his breath coming fast. His nostrils and throat felt raw from the smoke he’d breathed and he had a taste of smoke in his mouth, as if he had swallowed great gulps of it. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, wishing he had a drink of cold water. He waited and watched, to be sure the fire didn’t start up again.
    Smoke hung thick and heavy in the air, making the night seem darker than before. The remains of the shed hissed and snapped as they settled to their final resting place.
    When he was certain the grass fires were out, T.J. looked around for Brody. He was gone.
    T.J.’s weariness lifted. Maybe I can still get away, he thought. With a fresh burst of energy, he ran the same way the pony had run: toward the house. Toward help.
    As he approached the spot where the lane branched, he saw that the truck was still parked there. There wasn’t any way to reach the house without passing the truck. T.J. narrowed his eyes, trying to see if Brody was behind the wheel. The truck appeared empty.
    T.J. drew closer. When he was nearly to the spot where the road branched, Brody stood up. He had been sitting on the ground with his back against the truck’s rear tire.
    Brody stretched and took a step toward T.J. “Wasn’t that something?” he said. He sounded awed, as if he’d just witnessed a glorious sunset or seen a bald eagle in flight. “My old man would be proud of that one.”
    T.J. slowed to a walk but kept moving. He passed the front of the truck. He turned, walking backward, so he could keep an eye on Brody.
    “Get in,” Brody said. “It’s time to go.”
    “I’m not going with you anymore.”
    “I said, get in.” The voice was harsh now.
    “No!” T.J. backed away from Brody’s outstretched hand. “You can go on by yourself. I’m staying here.”
    “Get in the truck!” The tone of Brody’s voice was ominous.
    T.J. hesitated. There had been no gun in the truck. Was there one in Brody’s pocket? Maybe Brody