The fence lining the side of the old country road was just sturdy enough to hold the weight of a small boy. Feet dangling, he balanced himself gingerly while waiting for the fire truck to pass.
He'd been in the yard when he first saw the smoke. About five miles east, he guessed. That would be either the Johnson place or the Millers'. Probably a trash fire got out of control.
Country life was quiet. He could hear the siren as soon as the truck left the fire house all the way at the center of town. He knew it would come roaring by in a matter of minutes. He knew he'd see his brother, Jimmy, hanging off the back of the truck and that Jimmy would give a little wave.