Read Online A Shiloh Christmas by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor - Free Book Online Page A

smoke and flames coming their way is probably going to think first of their own pets and babies, and how much of their things they can throw in the car in two minutes.
    Quarter of a mile away and I can hear the barking—a frenzy of yips and howls, and I’m scared to death the flames have already got there. Heart’s beating so hardit can’t go no faster. Neither can I. My legs ache, and I’m terrified to be heading right for the inferno, but I’ve already got my own strategy: once I see it’s only twenty yards off, I’ll drag my bike down the bank and throw myself in the creek.
    A car’s comin’ down the road toward me and swerves to let me pass—hardly room, with trees on one side, creek on the other.
    â€œGet out of here, boy!” a man yells out his window. “Place is on fire!”
    â€œI will,” I yell back, but keep going. So does the car. Far, far away, I hear a siren.
    Reach Judd’s brown-and-white trailer, and I half fall off my bike. His pickup’s gone, of course. I race around the side, the dogs so terrified they almost bite at me as I’m trying to work the latch. I swing the gate open and they run like rockets.
    Then I think of Shiloh. Think how someone let Judd’s dogs loose once out of spite, back when the dogs was kept chained and mean, and how they went running through the neighborhood, tearing stuff up. One even bit Dara Lynn on the hand. Now that Judd’s been treating his dogs better and I been playing with them some, they aren’t nearly as bad as they used to be. But who knows what two dogs will do, scared half out of their minds, ifthey come upon a small child or a trembling little beagle.
    So I’m on my bike again, going fast as my feet will pedal, and this time I can see the yellow-orange coming through the trees behind me, not as close as twenty yards, but I can hear the snap of branches falling, the hiss of the flames. Smoke is getting thicker, and I hit a rock and almost go down, but manage to keep the bike up. The dogs could be anywhere—could have crossed at the bridge or headed off into more woods farther on.
    I reach the bridge myself and speed across those wood planks, thinking how the fire could eat them up, my heart beating so fast it hurts. Head up the lane toward the house, and I’m screamin’, “Dara Lynn, get Shiloh and Tangerine in the house! Hurry!”
    She’s standing out there beside Ma and Becky, Ma turnin’ this way and that, trying to make sense of what’s going on—the smoke, the fire sirens, and me yelling.
    â€œShiloh!” I scream again. “Get him and your cat inside! Hurry!”
    Dara Lynn don’t bother to ask why. For once in her life she just does what I say—runs on up to the house where Shiloh’s standin’ at the door, tail between his legs, knowin’ something awful’s in the air, grabs up her cat, then opens the door and shoves them both in before she runs back down to Ma.
    â€œMarty!” Ma calls, swinging herself around. “Where were you? Which way’s that fire going?”
    But I don’t answer and she don’t press me, ’cause a fire engine’s coming along the road up from Little—a good big one—must be from St. Mary’s, and the siren’s going so loud can’t hear nothing but that. I drop my bike, and all four of us go hurrying down the lane. See the truck stop at the bridge, half blocking the road so’s cars can still get out, but nobody can drive over there.
    Firemen jump off, unrolling the hoses, and even though this one siren stops, we can hear more in the distance. Fire trucks are coming from all directions, trying to find the best place to fight those flames.
    Two firemen pull a hose onto the bridge and aim it at the glow coming at them through the trees, big spray of mist, not a thick stream of water like I’d expect. Three more men are hauling some equipment