Fireball Read Free

this a few days ago.”
    Tarka was staring up at them. Simon whistled cheerfully to her.
    â€œCome on, you miserable little bitch. Let’s find those badgers.”
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    They continued the walk in companionable conversation. Brad, it emerged, had been at least as reluctant over the trip as Simon. He had wanted to travel west, not east. His father, who had also remarried, lived in California.
    â€œOn the coast, north of Los Angeles. And I really mean on the coast. His house is right on the beach, and you ought to see the breakers. Fantastic surfing.”
    Surfing was an unknown world to Simon, but the regret in Brad’s voice carried conviction. He said: “Your mother wouldn’t let you go?”
    â€œOh, she’d let me all right. She has to share me, half and half, for the summer vacation, with Dad calling the shots over when.”
    â€œSo why not?”
    â€œBecause she and Hank just got married. She’sworried that I won’t get along with him. I like him well enough, but short of sending him roses I don’t know how I’m going to convince her.”
    â€œBut if your father calls the shots . . .”
    â€œHank was determined they should go on this trip to Europe. She’d have been miserable if I’d stayed behind.”
    â€œYou’ve stayed behind here.”
    â€œI meant, stay behind and visit L.A. She doesn’t mind leaving me here.”
    â€œBut she needed to have your father agree?”
    â€œI wrote him and asked. He’s a pretty reasonable guy.”
    â€œYes.”
    There was a silence, no longer unfriendly. Cloud had built fast, hiding the sun. The ground, as they walked uphill, had become more wooded, until they were following a path with trees and bushes close on either side. Tarka galloped ahead, stopping occasionally to savour some specially pungent patch of ground.
    Brad said: “You had plans, too?”
    Simon told him about the cruise. Brad nodded sympathetically. “Tough.”
    â€œYes, but . . .”
    He stopped as Tarka, cravenly yelping, bolted down the path, towards and past them. He turned, calling her, but she continued at full pelt. He was about to give chase when Brad spoke.
    â€œLook at that. . . .”
    Simon caught the note of incredulity and turned back. Brad was pointing, but the gesture was unnecessary. It was coming slowly towards them from the spot at which Tarka had taken fright. He felt his hair prickle.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    Brad didn’t answer. It was roughly spherical, eight or ten feet across, blindingly white—a whiteness of sunlight reflected dazzlingly from mist or ice. Except that there was no sun. It appeared to float a foot or so above the ground. Thunder growled, and a heavy drop of rain splashed Simon’s face. He said: “It’s what they call a fireball, isn’t it? I’ve read about them.”
    The progress had slowed and now halted. It hovered a dozen feet away from them. That was some relief, but he still didn’t like the look of it. He was trying to reassure himself by adding: “A form of ball lightning. Quite harmless.”
    Brad said slowly: “I guess it has to be ball lightning. Only ball lightning’s supposed to be coloured—red or yellow. And nothing so big—no more than inches across.”
    He took a step forward.
    Simon, alarmed, said: “I’d watch it. Even if it is supposed to be harmless, I wouldn’t try interfering with it.”
    â€œWhatever it is,” Brad said, “I doubt we’ll ever see anything like it again. I want to see it close up.”
    The huge ball did not move, but Simon’s hairs still prickled. It could be static electricity causing that, but it could also be the same old-fashioned cowardice which had sent Tarka streaking for home.
    Brad continued advancing. For Simon, the thought of Tarka produced the attractive thought