looked.
Brody was hurrying back the way he had just come, carrying what looked like a pail in his right hand. The moonlight reflecting off the tin roof of the shed acted as a beacon. T.J. saw Brody disappear inside the shed.
T.J. squinted at the door of the shed; Brody stayed inside. T.J. opened the truck door as quietly as he could, glad that the overhead light did not work. He listened. The loose piece of tin flapped twice on the roof. The pony neighed.
T.J. swung his legs to the side and slid off the seat. His feet touched the ground. His ears strained to hear if Brody was coming but he heard only the neighing of the pony, louder now. The animal clearly did not like Brody disturbing him.
At that moment, it occurred to T.J. that Brody might have left the gun in the truck. Was it still tucked into his jacket pocket, or was it lying in the truck where T.J. could get it? T.J. leaned back in, feeling quickly across the seat. When the gun wasn’t there, he stuck his hand underneath the driver’s seat, moving it back and forth, with his fingers outstretched. He found only a half-empty pack of cigarettes.
He straightened and looked into the bed of the truck. The tarp was pulled back, revealing a row of four red and yellow five-gallon gasoline cans, the kind the Stensons used to fill their power lawn mower. If they were full, Brody could drive a long time without needing to stop at a service station. T.J.lifted one of the cans, intending to pour the gasoline out. It was empty.
Quickly, he lifted the other cans. They were empty, too.
T.J. walked away from the truck, toward the farmhouse. He wanted to run but he was afraid of making noise. He wanted a good head start before Brody discovered that he wasn’t in the truck. He picked each foot up carefully and set it down gingerly, nervous that he would cause a twig to snap or a pebble to roll. Slowly, quietly, he walked farther from the shed, away from the truck. The pony neighed again, sounding frantic now. What was Brody doing back there?
With the pony making so much noise, T.J. dared to walk faster. When he judged that he was more than halfway to the house, he broke into a run, his arms pumping at his sides. Brody couldn’t catch him now. He would easily make it to the house and get help. Even if Brody was already on his way back to the truck and discovered that T.J. didn’t wait there, he couldn’t catch up to T.J. now, not before T.J. got to the house.
Exultation made T.J. run even faster. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw an eerie glow. It took a second for him to realize what it was.
The shed was on fire. Bright yellow fingers of flame reached out the open door, grasping at the edges of the tin roof.
The pony’s terrified voice sliced through the night; the creature’s fear sent a thrill of horror down T.J.’s arms. He remembered the dry hay on the ground, the wooden stall where the pony was tethered.
The pony neighed again. It was a higher pitch than before,almost a scream. T.J. turned around and ran back toward the shed.
Back at the restaurant, Mrs. Stenson looked at her watch. “Goodness,” she said. “It’s nearly ten o’clock. We’d better be on our way.”
Other parents murmured surprise that so much time had passed.
Mr. Stenson agreed that they should leave. But even after everyone gathered their coats and left a tip and paid the bill, the parents clustered in the parking lot, still talking about how they could keep their children safe.
When the Stensons finally reached their own driveway, the house was dark.
“It looks as if T.J. already got Mother to bed,” Mrs. Stenson said. “I hope she didn’t give him any trouble.”
“You worry too much,” Mrs. Stenson said. “T.J. is quite capable, when he has to be.”
“I’m surprised he went to bed already, too. He was going to watch a movie on TV.”
“Maybe he’s in training for tomorrow’s basketball game. Which reminds me: his coach told me tonight about a basketball camp
Brody was hurrying back the way he had just come, carrying what looked like a pail in his right hand. The moonlight reflecting off the tin roof of the shed acted as a beacon. T.J. saw Brody disappear inside the shed.
T.J. squinted at the door of the shed; Brody stayed inside. T.J. opened the truck door as quietly as he could, glad that the overhead light did not work. He listened. The loose piece of tin flapped twice on the roof. The pony neighed.
T.J. swung his legs to the side and slid off the seat. His feet touched the ground. His ears strained to hear if Brody was coming but he heard only the neighing of the pony, louder now. The animal clearly did not like Brody disturbing him.
At that moment, it occurred to T.J. that Brody might have left the gun in the truck. Was it still tucked into his jacket pocket, or was it lying in the truck where T.J. could get it? T.J. leaned back in, feeling quickly across the seat. When the gun wasn’t there, he stuck his hand underneath the driver’s seat, moving it back and forth, with his fingers outstretched. He found only a half-empty pack of cigarettes.
He straightened and looked into the bed of the truck. The tarp was pulled back, revealing a row of four red and yellow five-gallon gasoline cans, the kind the Stensons used to fill their power lawn mower. If they were full, Brody could drive a long time without needing to stop at a service station. T.J.lifted one of the cans, intending to pour the gasoline out. It was empty.
Quickly, he lifted the other cans. They were empty, too.
T.J. walked away from the truck, toward the farmhouse. He wanted to run but he was afraid of making noise. He wanted a good head start before Brody discovered that he wasn’t in the truck. He picked each foot up carefully and set it down gingerly, nervous that he would cause a twig to snap or a pebble to roll. Slowly, quietly, he walked farther from the shed, away from the truck. The pony neighed again, sounding frantic now. What was Brody doing back there?
With the pony making so much noise, T.J. dared to walk faster. When he judged that he was more than halfway to the house, he broke into a run, his arms pumping at his sides. Brody couldn’t catch him now. He would easily make it to the house and get help. Even if Brody was already on his way back to the truck and discovered that T.J. didn’t wait there, he couldn’t catch up to T.J. now, not before T.J. got to the house.
Exultation made T.J. run even faster. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw an eerie glow. It took a second for him to realize what it was.
The shed was on fire. Bright yellow fingers of flame reached out the open door, grasping at the edges of the tin roof.
The pony’s terrified voice sliced through the night; the creature’s fear sent a thrill of horror down T.J.’s arms. He remembered the dry hay on the ground, the wooden stall where the pony was tethered.
The pony neighed again. It was a higher pitch than before,almost a scream. T.J. turned around and ran back toward the shed.
Back at the restaurant, Mrs. Stenson looked at her watch. “Goodness,” she said. “It’s nearly ten o’clock. We’d better be on our way.”
Other parents murmured surprise that so much time had passed.
Mr. Stenson agreed that they should leave. But even after everyone gathered their coats and left a tip and paid the bill, the parents clustered in the parking lot, still talking about how they could keep their children safe.
When the Stensons finally reached their own driveway, the house was dark.
“It looks as if T.J. already got Mother to bed,” Mrs. Stenson said. “I hope she didn’t give him any trouble.”
“You worry too much,” Mrs. Stenson said. “T.J. is quite capable, when he has to be.”
“I’m surprised he went to bed already, too. He was going to watch a movie on TV.”
“Maybe he’s in training for tomorrow’s basketball game. Which reminds me: his coach told me tonight about a basketball camp
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