tap.
Elaine was on the couch, asleep in front of the muted TV.
Billi shook the old woman. "Dad wants you. Quickly."
Elaine nodded and stood up, straightening her shawl. Billi was about to follow when the screen caught her attention.
At first it looked like snow falling, but it was too gray, too dirty. A man's shoulders were covered with it, and long streaks of ash ran down his smart suit. His face, too, was coated in soot; the ash was everywhere. He stood in a square filled with people. Car horns screamed in the background, and lights flashed behind him.
Nicholas Rhodes, live from Naples
, ran the headline on the screen. Billi paused, caught between the desire to help Vasilisa and the apocalyptic scenes on the screen.
"... It's unbelievable. Even in all this smoke, you can see the glow surrounding the edge of the crater. And the column, it just goes up and up... " The radio crackled and the voice faded in, then away, but there was no mistaking the excitement and fear in the broadcaster's voice.
The road signs and advertisements, those not completely lost in the fog of ash, were all in Italian. But behind them, Billi saw the burning mountain and gasped.
It climbed like a tidal wave behind the city, a black silhouette crowned by a red-lit cone. Mount Vesuvius. A huge column of black smoke rose straight into the sky. Occasionally a flash of sky-hurled lava would light up the rolling clouds, and lightning stabbed against the rising black tower. The camera shook as a roar broke out of the TV. People started screaming, and bumped and pushed past the newsman. He almost fell under a surge of panicking locals. The screen went blank, but the voices carried on.
"Don't lose the camera... There it is!"
The picture was suddenly restored, and showed the newsman, Nicholas Rhodes, staring into the camera, close up and coughing. His red eyes ran with tears, but he couldn't speak. The ash was too thick, muting even the cries coming from around them.
The ground shook, and again the camera went dark, but then the screen was filled with the blurred image of another eruption. The dense cloud rising out of the cone fattened, then collapsed, rolling down on itself, flooding the mountaintop, slipping like overflowing boiling water out of a pan.
"Oh my God," muttered the cameraman. "C'mon, Nick. We've got to run." But he kept filming even as he backed away.
The crater top was gone now as the black cloud dropped down on top of it. Waves of ash and smoke threw newspapers, litter, any loose thing into the air. People fell and were trampled. Cars crashed and drivers scrambled out of their windows as the square grid locked.
"What is it?" shouted Nicholas at his cameraman. A howling rose through the streets. People grabbed on to each other as winds shook the white-coated trees.
Windows in apartments overlooking the square shattered.
Pyroclastic surge
, thought Billi. Hadn't it all been in that Latin book? Superheated poisonous gases traveling at hundreds of miles per hour, incinerating everything in its path. It was the surge that had annihilated Pompeii back in a.d.
79. The ash fall had merely buried an already extinct city. There was no escape. "No use, no use," said the cameraman. The camera lowered to dangle over a pair of boots. "We're dead."
The camera swung back and forth. The sound was just screaming and the roaring of the wind. Then the camera went up and Nicholas was back on the screen, his red tear-filled eyes staring straight at Billi, straight at them all.
"Keep filming," he said grimly. He steadied himself and ran his hand through his hair, shaking ash off his hands.
"I love you," he said. "I just wanted to say that I love you, Maggie." He was shouting now as the wailing around them became deafening. "Tell the girls Daddy is thinking of them." His voice was hoarse and he cradled the camera with both hands. "Tell them I love—"
The screen crackled, filled with electronic snow, then went black and silent. The only thing left
Elaine was on the couch, asleep in front of the muted TV.
Billi shook the old woman. "Dad wants you. Quickly."
Elaine nodded and stood up, straightening her shawl. Billi was about to follow when the screen caught her attention.
At first it looked like snow falling, but it was too gray, too dirty. A man's shoulders were covered with it, and long streaks of ash ran down his smart suit. His face, too, was coated in soot; the ash was everywhere. He stood in a square filled with people. Car horns screamed in the background, and lights flashed behind him.
Nicholas Rhodes, live from Naples
, ran the headline on the screen. Billi paused, caught between the desire to help Vasilisa and the apocalyptic scenes on the screen.
"... It's unbelievable. Even in all this smoke, you can see the glow surrounding the edge of the crater. And the column, it just goes up and up... " The radio crackled and the voice faded in, then away, but there was no mistaking the excitement and fear in the broadcaster's voice.
The road signs and advertisements, those not completely lost in the fog of ash, were all in Italian. But behind them, Billi saw the burning mountain and gasped.
It climbed like a tidal wave behind the city, a black silhouette crowned by a red-lit cone. Mount Vesuvius. A huge column of black smoke rose straight into the sky. Occasionally a flash of sky-hurled lava would light up the rolling clouds, and lightning stabbed against the rising black tower. The camera shook as a roar broke out of the TV. People started screaming, and bumped and pushed past the newsman. He almost fell under a surge of panicking locals. The screen went blank, but the voices carried on.
"Don't lose the camera... There it is!"
The picture was suddenly restored, and showed the newsman, Nicholas Rhodes, staring into the camera, close up and coughing. His red eyes ran with tears, but he couldn't speak. The ash was too thick, muting even the cries coming from around them.
The ground shook, and again the camera went dark, but then the screen was filled with the blurred image of another eruption. The dense cloud rising out of the cone fattened, then collapsed, rolling down on itself, flooding the mountaintop, slipping like overflowing boiling water out of a pan.
"Oh my God," muttered the cameraman. "C'mon, Nick. We've got to run." But he kept filming even as he backed away.
The crater top was gone now as the black cloud dropped down on top of it. Waves of ash and smoke threw newspapers, litter, any loose thing into the air. People fell and were trampled. Cars crashed and drivers scrambled out of their windows as the square grid locked.
"What is it?" shouted Nicholas at his cameraman. A howling rose through the streets. People grabbed on to each other as winds shook the white-coated trees.
Windows in apartments overlooking the square shattered.
Pyroclastic surge
, thought Billi. Hadn't it all been in that Latin book? Superheated poisonous gases traveling at hundreds of miles per hour, incinerating everything in its path. It was the surge that had annihilated Pompeii back in a.d.
79. The ash fall had merely buried an already extinct city. There was no escape. "No use, no use," said the cameraman. The camera lowered to dangle over a pair of boots. "We're dead."
The camera swung back and forth. The sound was just screaming and the roaring of the wind. Then the camera went up and Nicholas was back on the screen, his red tear-filled eyes staring straight at Billi, straight at them all.
"Keep filming," he said grimly. He steadied himself and ran his hand through his hair, shaking ash off his hands.
"I love you," he said. "I just wanted to say that I love you, Maggie." He was shouting now as the wailing around them became deafening. "Tell the girls Daddy is thinking of them." His voice was hoarse and he cradled the camera with both hands. "Tell them I love—"
The screen crackled, filled with electronic snow, then went black and silent. The only thing left
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