Into the Firestorm by Deborah Hopkinson Page A

earthquake, and that feels like hours and hours ago.”
    “Let’s see what I can find.” Nick gave Annie another drink of water. Then he turned to look at the rubble of overturned shelves and cabinets. “Mr. Pat left me some bread, if I can find it.”
    Annie was rummaging, too. She held up a can of soup. “I found something. Let’s have soup! I like hot soup.”
    Nick shook his head. “No soup, Annie.”
    “Why not?” Annie squinted at the can. “It’s a little dented, but it will be all right. I can help you find the can opener.”
    “It’s not that, Annie. We can’t use the stove. I heard a man say the gas mains are broken. That means it’s dangerous to use stoves now because it could start a fire.”
    Nick held the water jug in his hands. It wasn’t enough to last until tomorrow. No water, no soup. He’d have to go out—or they would have to leave the safety of the little room.
    Nick glanced again at Mrs. Sheridan. He wished he knew the right thing to do. Annie’s mother didn’t seem like she should be walking around the streets. If they could stay here until tomorrow, maybe Mr. Pat would be back to help.
    But they couldn’t stay without more water and something to eat.
    Nick got an idea. “Here, Shake.”
    Shake planted himself on Nick’s feet, looking up with friendly brown eyes, just as he’d done that first day. Nick bent down and scratched behind one floppy ear. Annie giggled, and Nick realized she was listening. He chose his words carefully.
    “Now, Shakespeare, I have a job for you,” he commanded. “I need you to stay with Annie and her mama for just a little bit while I go out.”
    For answer, Shakespeare barked once and broke into a wide smile.
    “Out?” Annie put her hands on her hips. “Why do you get to go out? I want to do something, too. If I don’t keep busy, I’ll get all squirmy inside.”
    Nick pointed to the small bookcase. “You can help put Mr. Pat’s books back on the shelves and make his things nice,” he told her. “I won’t be gone long. I just want to find us something to eat and drink. You can be in charge of Shake and take care of your mother, too.”
    “Well, all right. I do like being in charge.” Annie’s eyes glowed brightly, even in the dim light of the basement. “Where are you going, Nick?”
    At first Nick was silent. Where
could
he go to find food or water?
    “Chinatown. I’m going to Chinatown.”
             
    Nick walked down Montgomery to Washington Street, turned left at the corner, and then headed toward Chinatown. He caught an acrid smell in the air. He could see spirals of smoke in the distance, rising dark and thick above the crowded buildings.
    Boom! Boom!
    Nick jumped, startled.
    “What’s that sound?” he asked a man standing on the corner.
    “Dynamite,” the man answered, wiping beads of sweat from his face with his handkerchief. “That’s why I’m dragging my trunk outta here.”
    Nick frowned. “What’s the dynamite for?”
    “Firemen are blowing up buildings in the fire’s path to contain it, make a firebreak. Or at least they’re trying to.”
    “Trying to?”
    “Well, I tell you. I’ve done some mining in my day—used dynamite and explosives for years.” The man shook his head and stuck his handkerchief in his pocket. “Now I just saw these firemen set a building on fire instead of bringing it to the ground. You got to be smart about it—you got to create obstacles for the fire, not feed the dang thing.”
    “Can’t you help—show them how to do it?”
    “I went up to one fellow, but he didn’t listen. So that’s it. I’m leaving while I can.”
    “My street still seems safe.”
    The man just shrugged. “But for how long?”
             
    Nick kept on toward Chinatown, quickening his steps. The man’s words echoed in his mind.
How long?
    San Francisco was an enormous, modern city. The firemen must know how best to stop the fires.
    “Where you headed, kid?”
    Nick stopped in his