wood of these particular trees was lighter than balsa, but stronger. They made ideal pontoons, and with a crude stone ax, Trent had sculpted their prows into something that would cut water.
The sail was a technological wonder, a quilt of thin woven mats coated with a tree resin that resembled latex. This technique made for a sail that was small, clumsy, and inordinately heavy, but it worked. Trent made a test run late in the evening. To his amazement, the makeshift rigging held and the sail actually caught wind.
“Trent, do you think we’ll make it in this thing?”
“Depends. Depends on how far we have to go. As to a heading and course, we’ll just be guessing. I’ve never had time to do much watching, but wouldn’t you say that the birds come and go in a generally easterly direction?”
“You’re right. I see them against the morning sun all the time.”
“Then that’s our heading, east, away from the volcano. Good.”
They gathered as much food as they could. Neo-coconut shells made excellent canteens, and they loaded up with fresh water. There wasn’t time, though, to finish the matting for the sunscreen.
“Do we need it?” Sheila asked.
“Definitely.”
“Why? We’ll just lie out and get tanned.”
“We’ll get good and burned. Neither of us has a shirt and that grass skirt of yours is some protection for your legs, but not much. No, we need a little cabin, crude as it is. Besides, we have to keep the fresh food out of the sun, too.”
“Okay, but we’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Palm leaves will have to do. It’s either that or give up the sail.”
“Palm leaves it is. Up that tree, Tarzan.”
At last, they were ready.
The volcano wasn’t on the same schedule. Late that night, Sheila awoke and looked out the hut’s lone window. It took her a disoriented second or two to realize that what she was seeing wasn’t snow covering the ground, but an inch-deep layer of volcanic ash. The sky was a hell of dark clouds outlined in red light.
Trent was already up.
“Time to go, Sheila. The volcano’s going at it pretty good this time. Looks like a full-scale eruption.”
They made haste, leaving tracks through the warm ash.
They piled everything they could think of on the raft and cast off. The sail caught a sulphurous breeze, and they were under way.
The tide was in, and the waterline was high against the rocks at the mouth of the cove. Once past this natural breakwater, the craft hit the choppy currents of the open sea.
Orange clouds brooded above, and the smell of brimstone filled the air.
“Maybe we should have gambled and holed up in the cave.”
“I hate bats,” Sheila said.
They sailed on into the fiery night, demon’s breath speeding them on their way.
Twenty-four
Philadelphia, Outskirts
The driver was a young one, mid-twenties, maybe. He wore his head hair cropped at the sides and long in the back. The back of his head looked like the tail end of an animal Snowclaw hunted out in the tundra. The kid smoked skinny, wrinkled cigarettes that emitted a weedy, pungent smoke.
“Hey, you want a toke, Snowy?”
“What is it?”
The kid laughed, showing yellowed teeth. “It’s smoke, man.”
“No, thanks.”
“Hey, all right. Just trying to be friendly. How long you been working for Mr. Iannucco?”
“Not long.”
“Uh-huh. Where you from?”
“Canada.”
The sky was dark, but the countryside blazed with a million lights. Snowy had trouble understanding how anyone could sleep around here, it was so bright at night.
“How’re the women in Canada? I never been there.”
Snowy shrugged. Darned if he knew. He said, “Fine. Same as everywhere, I guess.”
“Hey, women are different different places. Know what I mean?”
“Nope.”
“Like, New York women are real wise-ass. You can’t pull anything on them. Try to hustle ’em, and they’ll put you down slicker than owl shit. But f’rinstance you take down South. Man, they’ll look at you with big eyes and buy the whole store. Ever been to Miami?”
“No.”
“In Miami —” The kid looked over and scowled. “Hey, you’re not even listening.”
“Huh? Sorry. They have so many lights around here.”
The kid didn’t know what to make of that. He turned his eyes back to the road.
They drove on into the night, galaxies of bright lights shooting by. Snowy had never realized until he got here how heavily populated this world was. Human dwellings blanketed the land, arrayed in rows on an endless crust of concrete. There was barely any dirt showing. Here and there, a stand of trees relieved the monotony. Things had looked the same outside since they left New York, two and a half hours ago.
“Christ, I’m hungry,” the kid complained. “I always get hungry on the road. You want to stop and get something to eat?”
“Um, maybe.”
“I’m gonna get off the greenstamp and get something. Some burgers or maybe a hero sandwich. You gonna have something to eat, or what?”
“What’s a hero sandwich?” Snowy asked.
“Don’t they got ’em in Canada? What do they call ’em? Submarines, hoagies?”
“Uh … I don’t know. I’ll have one of those hero sandwiches, though, if you don’t mind.”
“Christ awmighty. I never seen anything like it.”
“What’s wrong?” Snowy asked through a mouthful of Italian cold cuts and bread.
“I never seen anyone eat like that.”
“Is this too much?”
“Too much?” The kid hooted. “Four goddamn whole hero sandwiches. Jesus, that’s four goddamn whole loaves of bread you got there!”
Snowy finished off the first one and bit a huge chunk out of the second. “Sorry.”
“Hey, it’s nothing to be sorry about. I just never seen anybody eat like that. You gonna …?”
Snowy chewed three times, swallowed, then bit off another astonishing hunk, leaving only a lettuce-draped nub of bread.
“Jesus Christ, y’makin’ me sick.”
The kid heaved his own sandwich and soft drink out the window, not bothering to watch them splat against the asphalt of the parking lot. He lit up another skinny cigarette.
“Let’s boogie.”
Endless night, frigid night. But not cold enough for Snowy. The cab of the truck was a roaring furnace, and Snowy tried to persuade the kid to feather back the heater, to no avail. So he cranked down his window halfway, letting in a soothing, icy blast.
“Whaddayou, a goddamn Eskimo?” the kid demanded.
Snowy was getting annoyed, but thought better of giving the kid the head-whacking he deserved.
“Come on, close the goddamn window!” the kid screamed. “Waddayou, crazy or what?”
