Читать книгу Mystery at Saddle Creek - Shelley Peterson - Страница 15

8

FIRE!

Tan was back in his tent. The coyote was never far away, and that made him nervous. The animal was small and clever. Other coyotes wanted food. They would steal but leave him alone. But this coyote seemed to be on a mission. Like a watchdog. Tan would have to get rid of him before he could get to the girl and tell her what happened. Poison? A trap? A stone to the head with his slingshot? He’d have to do something, and soon.

But now he really needed to feed the horses at the barn next door to the girl’s. On his scouting trips, he’d noticed that the man slept all morning, so now Tan gave them water and hay before he woke up. He liked this new feeling of being needed, even though nobody would ever know. Tan looked around for the coyote. He couldn’t see him. Taking a deep breath, Tan sprinted as fast as he could.

THE HAY WAS FINALLY IN. Cliff was sweeping the barn, and Liz and Julia were lying in the wading pool that doubled as a water jump, discussing which boys at school were cute. Hannah and Paul were in the kitchen making a late lunch, and Bird was in her room, changing into clean clothes after a long, cool shower.

She slipped a soft white T-shirt over her undershirt, and pulled on her favourite green shorts. She was looking around for her running shoes when an acrid odour floated on the breeze through her open window. Smoke. Bird looked outside and gasped. A split second later, she was thundering down the stairs, shoes in hand.

“Fire! Fire! Guy and Bunny’s barn!” She raced downstairs. “Aunt Hannah! Paul! Call the fire department! I need to help Pierre!” Before Hannah could stop her, she was out the door and on her bike.

Bird pedalled as fast as she could, her legs aching from the work of putting up the hay. Bird knew that Pierre often slept all day. She feared that the horses might still be in their stalls, locked in and helpless. Bird remembered Hannah telling her that the smoke killed horses before the flames. They fainted from the smoke, then got burned. She pushed away the thought.

Bird raced up Pierre’s driveway. Her feet hit the ground and she dropped her bike. Just to be sure Pierre was awake, she threw a rock at his bedroom window over the barn. Her aim was good and it smashed through. If he was still in there, Bird thought, he’d hear it.

She held her breath and threw open the barn door. Smoke billowed out, stinging her eyes and heating her face. She coughed and jumped back, reassessing the situation. The other doors were open on the far side of the barn, and through the smoke she saw a human figure opening stall doors.

“Pierre!” Bird yelled as loud as she could. “I’ll help!”

Bird pulled off her T-shirt, dunked it in the water trough and wrapped it over her face. She took a deep breath and ran in, grabbing the first stall door latch she could reach. Instantly, pain shot through her hand. The metal was too hot to touch! She took off her shorts, swaddled her hand with the green cotton fabric and began again.

Get out! she messaged to the frightened animals. Now! It’s not safe in here! Get out now!

This is my home! A big grey was panicking, his head weaving from side to side.

Your home is in danger. Go outside where there is no smoke and fire.

Fire? A tall, bony, older chestnut thoroughbred was alarmed.

Yes. Tell all the others.

The geldings stood there, frozen with fear.

Bird looked around for Pierre, but now she could see no one. She was alone, and the smoke was getting thicker by the second. The heat was almost unbearable. The roar of the fire was deafening. It was getting harder to breathe and Bird could barely see. She might have very little time before the barn would fall in on itself.

Bunny and Guy stabled ten horses. She’d opened stalls for six, but none wanted to leave the barn. She kept going. She thought some stalls were empty, but the smoke was so heavy that it was hard to tell.

A dark shape huddled against the wall in the next stall. Bird peered through the smoke. It was a small bay Welsh pony cowering in the corner, barely visible until he moved his head.

Bird waved her arms to get him going. Get out! The barn’s on fire.

I can’t! I’m afraid!

Frustrated, Bird tried a new approach. What’s your name?

Bandito.

Good boy, Bandito. Bird tried to remain calm and unhurried.

I’m Bird. I live next door. It’s time to go outside now.

Hello, Bird. Outside now, is it? Okay.

To Bird’s amazement, Bandito trotted out of his stall, down the hall and into his field. That was easy. Bird wondered if it might work again.

Did you hear, horses? It’s time to go outside now. Outside.

One by one, the horses stumbled out of their stalls and staggered outside, heads to the ground and drooling. Bird was stunned. By calming herself down and simplifying the message, she’d made it possible for the animals to respond. Only two more to go and they’d all be safe.

But as Bird turned to the next stall, the stable swirled around her. Her knees weakened and began to buckle. She thought of the horses still trapped and fought hard against oblivion. Then it was dark.

Bird awoke to the sounds of sirens. She coughed. Then she coughed harder and harder, until she vomited. Rolling herself over onto her stomach, Bird retched into the grass. Now up on her knees, she trembled and shook and vomited again until there was nothing left in her stomach. When she finally lifted her head, she saw green through the slits of her puffed eyes. She was outside, hidden in a grassy little dip in the land, far from the barn. The last thing she remembered was being inside it.

With no strength left, Bird let her head flop back down, trying to avoid her own mess. Did she hear someone calling her name? She strained her neck. Her vision was blurry, but she began to count the horses through squinted eyes. They were lined up along the fence, staring at the burnt rubble that used to be their home. One, two, three, the pony, five, six, the grey, eight, nine, the bony old thoroughbred. All ten had gotten out. They’d all made it.

Bird welled up with tears of relief, and the salt stung her eyes sharply. Salt heals the human body better than anything else, Bird remembered, so she tried to ignore the pain. She sank back into the green grass and let her mind wander.

She’d once heard the story of a horse named Atticus, a strong young Dutch warmblood who’d fought his way out of a burning barn. The owner had arrived too late. He stood helplessly watching the fire eat up his barn. Tears rolled down his face as he thought of his eight beautiful horses dying inside. Then he felt a nudge on his shoulder, and when he turned to look he saw an amazing sight. Atticus, singed all over, with blood pouring down his face from a wound caused by a falling beam, stood there behind him. Alive. The only horse to survive. The man fell to his knees in thanks. Atticus became a legend that day. Nobody knows what kind of courage, ingenuity and strength he’d needed to get out of that burning barn. The owner claimed it was a miracle. There was even an article written about it in Horse Sport magazine.

Wait a minute, Bird thought, snapping back to the present. I did hear someone calling. She caught a glimpse of her body as she attempted to lift her head. Am I lying here in my underwear? Memories of hot metal and searing smoke came flooding back, but how had she gotten outside? Who’d closed the gate to the horses’ field? When had the fire trucks arrived? Who’d gotten the last horses out? Nothing made sense.

She peered at the barn — or what was left of it. Black smoke billowed up from an unrecognizable heap of charred timbers, broken windows and jagged steel posts. The firemen held hoses that gushed streams of water, and debris hissed and smoked as the water evaporated almost before it hit the heat. A shiver passed through Bird’s body. I might have died in that fire.

I wouldn’t let that happen, Bird girl.

Cody. Bird looked around. There, standing behind shrubs and a fence post, was the small coyote. He was singed from head to toe.

You saved me, Cody?

It is my duty.

Bird’s stinging tears reappeared. Thank you, Cody. For the rest of my life I’ll be grateful. But you’re burnt. Are you hurt?

No. It’s only fur. But the man is not good.

What man?

The one with little covering.

The wild man?

Yes.

He’s not a good man?

He is a good man, but troubled. He is not good now. He is in pain from the fire.

He was in the fire?

Yes. He helped get out the animals. Then he saw you. He could not get you away from the fire. He fell down.

He tried to save me?

Yes.

You dragged him away, too?

Yes.

Where is he now?

Gone back to his den.

Oh, Cody! He needs help with his burns.

He will not get help. He is like an animal. He’s as wary of humans as my fellows.

Can you show me where he lives?

Later. Now, humans approach. Suddenly, Cody was gone.

Bird’s head ached and her eyes stung. Who was this man? And where had Pierre been while all this was happening?