“Nah, mom made my dad get a gas grill. Hey, what about gas for the lawn mower? I’ll bet we only need a little. Nobody’ll miss that!”
At Ronnie’s house they dug a plastic milk jug from the recycling bin then poured a few cups of gas from the can his dad used for the lawn mower. By now, fishing was the last thing on their minds. They were on a mission. Back at the river’s edge, Frankie was about to dump the gasoline on the wood when Ronnie stopped him to add more wood to the pile. They had one shot at getting this to work and Ronnie wanted a big flame.
“Wait!” Frankie grabbed Ronnie’s arm before he could strike the match. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
“Relax, Chicken, it’s in a firepit. My brother does this all the time. There’s even rocks all the way around. Nothin’s gonna happen.”
Scrawny Ronnie lit the match, but even before the flame touched the log, it roared up and nearly blew them off their feet. But it didn’t last. Their magnificent bonfire burned down almost as quickly as it flared up.
Frankie grabbed the milk jug and up ended it over the top of the smoldering wood. A few drops of fuel dripped out causing a small flame to dance across the top of the wood pile. That’s when Ronnie’s eyes bugged out of his head. Fire lit up the inside of the milk jug. Frankie instinctively tossed it as far away as possible fearing that it would blow up, just like in the movies. Ronnie gasped as it tumbled to a pile of leaves next to the path leading back out of the clearing. He ran over and stomped on it, expecting to kill the bomb. Instead, it acted like a flame thrower in one of those old war flicks they’d watch on rainy Saturday afternoons. In an instant, their path home was cut off.