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?”
Snowy said mildly, “Buddy, where I come from, it’s not so wise to mouth off to a guy as big as me, especially for a little twerp as skinny —” Snowy blinked. “What’s wrong?”
“Jesus Christ.” The kid was staring tearfully at Snowy, mouth hanging open.
“What —?” Snowy halted a motion to scratch his head and realized what the kid was seeing. His hand had turned furry, the fingers tipped with milk-white claws. It was his normal hand. He felt his face. Sheila’s spell was fading.
The kid tore his eyes away to glance at the road, then looked back. “Hey …”
In the intervening instant, Snowy’s hand had turned human again, the fur and claws gone. His face felt smooth.
“What the hell’s going on?” the kid said. “Did you — did you just —?”
“What’s that you say?”
The kid focused his stare on the road, his face set grimly.
“Nothin’,” the kid said. “Forget it.” He opened his own window and threw out the butt of the joint he’d been sucking on. “Forget that shit, too.”
Great White Stuff, Snowy thought. This is going to be a long trip.
Twenty-five
Castle
Jeremy didn’t know what he was crouching on — it could have been floor, wall, or ceiling. He couldn’t tell. Things had gotten to the point where it didn’t matter. Everything was crazy, everything was totally out to lunch.
He had lost sight of Linda, although he could still hear her. She was off somewhere to the left, as far as he could tell, lost in a nightmare of bulging walls and constricted passageways.
Linda called his name, and he answered.
“Are you all right?” she yelled back.
“Uh … yeah! Well, not really.”
“Hang on, I’m going to try getting to you.”
After a minute or so she appeared, sticking her head out of a small tunnel about ten feet above Jeremy’s head.
“There you are,” she said. “It seems to be quieting down a little.”
“Yeah.”
As if in defiance, things began to shift again, Linda’s tunnel sliding off to the right somewhat.
“Whoa!”
The slab of stone under Jeremy began to tilt. He reached for the computer but it slipped away.
“Shit!” He lunged after it and slid to a level spot. Fishing the computer out of a trough in the “floor,” he checked it for damage.
“Your computer’s beeping again,” Linda said.
“Yeah, I know.” Jeremy flipped up the readout screen.
REALITY PROCESSING? CAN DO.
“What the hell does that mean?” Jeremy asked of no one in particular.
“What does what mean?”
“Nothing. It’s just that this thing has gone bat shit, too.”
“How so?”
“Well, it’s in WordStar — it gets it out of ROM — and it’s telling me it can do ‘REALITY PROCESSING.’ Whatever the hell that is.”