right.”
Punum was looking all around, her mouth open in amazement, her eyelashes golden.
Wait. What?
She said, “Scotch, I don’t think it was just the bar.”
“Uh-huh, I figured that. Wow. Some crazy shit must have gone down last night.” There were cops everywhere. People sitting on curbs crying. Crashed cars. One of those half-pint smart cars was in the middle of the street with some kind of thick hose wrapped around it. Hard to make stuff out with all this smog everywhere, sucking in the daylight and making my eyes water. Above us was the sound of helicopters, though how they were flying in this smog, who knew? I coughed as acrid air hit the back of my throat. “What smells like that? Like burning brick? And why’s it so foggy?” I’d been close enough to hear my brother calling my name, asking for my help, and I’d left him behind. And it had felt like more than a dream. My ear was still burning, but I didn’t reach to touch it. I wasn’t ready yet. Too much else to deal with right here, right now.
“Scotch,” said Punum, pointing to the lake.
Her voice was quiet, the kind of quiet you get when you’re trying to tell someone that the guy with the knives for hands who comes for you in your dreams is standing right behind you, grinning.
I turned to see what she was pointing at. I gasped. “No way!”
There was a volcano in Lake Ontario. I could see it through the billows of gray cloud. In fact, it was the reason for the gray clouds. A full-on freaking volcano, complete with spouting flame, glowing orange lava flowing down its sides, and steam rising in dirty gouts when the hot lava hit the water. It was pumping out a thick, boiling mushroom cloud that was getting bigger every second. Punum stared up at it as though she wereseeing God. “That’s why it’s so dark,” she said. “All that smoke.”
“But how’d it get there?”
“You saw it last night, same as me.”
The scared little rabbit inside of me cowered at the memory of the massive cone, blacker than blackness, that I’d half-glimpsed thrusting forth from Lake Ontario last night, just before the world blew up. “No,” I said, “that’s not right. Volcanoes don’t just shoot up in seconds.”
A woman’s voice said, “They’re calling it Animikika.” She said it like Ah-nee-mee-KAY-ka. “On the news, I mean. That woman on Citytv’s been calling it Animikika. She says it’s Algonquin for ‘It is thundering.’ I think that’s what she’s saying, anyway. Sometimes her lips are forming different sounds than the words that’re coming out of the TV.”
Punum asked her, “Come again?”
She looked surprised. “Haven’t you noticed? Though I guess TV’s the least of everyone’s worries right now. I’m looking for my son. He was hanging out with friends last night, and I haven’t heard from him.” She was already looking past us, wanting to continue her search.
“Uh, okay,” I said. “Good luck or whatever.” Then I felt like a dork. Who says “whatever” after wishing somebody good luck finding their son?
“Thanks,” she replied. “You girls take care.”
“I gotta find my bro,” I told Punum. Though I had the awful feeling I knew where he was. Not where, exactly. He wasn’t here, you know? Not in this world, insane as that seemed.
“Do you know where he was last night?” Punum asked.
“You talked to him. He was the guy who had the mike after you. The other guy at our table was my . . . brother’s friend, Tafari. Shit. My folks will be calling any minute to check up on us. And Rich has to check in with his parole officer today.”
Punum raised an eyebrow, but only said, “Maybe someone in the bar saw him. I’ll come with you.” Then she gasped and felt around the back of her chair. “My axe! Where’s my axe?”
“Your what?”
“My guitar! Oh my god, I can’t lose that! I’ll never be able to replace it.”
“Maybe it’s in the bar?”
“You think so?”
“Yeah.”
There
Punum was looking all around, her mouth open in amazement, her eyelashes golden.
Wait. What?
She said, “Scotch, I don’t think it was just the bar.”
“Uh-huh, I figured that. Wow. Some crazy shit must have gone down last night.” There were cops everywhere. People sitting on curbs crying. Crashed cars. One of those half-pint smart cars was in the middle of the street with some kind of thick hose wrapped around it. Hard to make stuff out with all this smog everywhere, sucking in the daylight and making my eyes water. Above us was the sound of helicopters, though how they were flying in this smog, who knew? I coughed as acrid air hit the back of my throat. “What smells like that? Like burning brick? And why’s it so foggy?” I’d been close enough to hear my brother calling my name, asking for my help, and I’d left him behind. And it had felt like more than a dream. My ear was still burning, but I didn’t reach to touch it. I wasn’t ready yet. Too much else to deal with right here, right now.
“Scotch,” said Punum, pointing to the lake.
Her voice was quiet, the kind of quiet you get when you’re trying to tell someone that the guy with the knives for hands who comes for you in your dreams is standing right behind you, grinning.
I turned to see what she was pointing at. I gasped. “No way!”
There was a volcano in Lake Ontario. I could see it through the billows of gray cloud. In fact, it was the reason for the gray clouds. A full-on freaking volcano, complete with spouting flame, glowing orange lava flowing down its sides, and steam rising in dirty gouts when the hot lava hit the water. It was pumping out a thick, boiling mushroom cloud that was getting bigger every second. Punum stared up at it as though she wereseeing God. “That’s why it’s so dark,” she said. “All that smoke.”
“But how’d it get there?”
“You saw it last night, same as me.”
The scared little rabbit inside of me cowered at the memory of the massive cone, blacker than blackness, that I’d half-glimpsed thrusting forth from Lake Ontario last night, just before the world blew up. “No,” I said, “that’s not right. Volcanoes don’t just shoot up in seconds.”
A woman’s voice said, “They’re calling it Animikika.” She said it like Ah-nee-mee-KAY-ka. “On the news, I mean. That woman on Citytv’s been calling it Animikika. She says it’s Algonquin for ‘It is thundering.’ I think that’s what she’s saying, anyway. Sometimes her lips are forming different sounds than the words that’re coming out of the TV.”
Punum asked her, “Come again?”
She looked surprised. “Haven’t you noticed? Though I guess TV’s the least of everyone’s worries right now. I’m looking for my son. He was hanging out with friends last night, and I haven’t heard from him.” She was already looking past us, wanting to continue her search.
“Uh, okay,” I said. “Good luck or whatever.” Then I felt like a dork. Who says “whatever” after wishing somebody good luck finding their son?
“Thanks,” she replied. “You girls take care.”
“I gotta find my bro,” I told Punum. Though I had the awful feeling I knew where he was. Not where, exactly. He wasn’t here, you know? Not in this world, insane as that seemed.
“Do you know where he was last night?” Punum asked.
“You talked to him. He was the guy who had the mike after you. The other guy at our table was my . . . brother’s friend, Tafari. Shit. My folks will be calling any minute to check up on us. And Rich has to check in with his parole officer today.”
Punum raised an eyebrow, but only said, “Maybe someone in the bar saw him. I’ll come with you.” Then she gasped and felt around the back of her chair. “My axe! Where’s my axe?”
“Your what?”
“My guitar! Oh my god, I can’t lose that! I’ll never be able to replace it.”
“Maybe it’s in the bar?”
“You think so?”
“Yeah.”
There
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