The Fires Beneath the Sea ebook by Lydia Millet Page A

told herself to make herself feel less guilty. She’d say it wasn’t healthy .
    She closed her eyes and pictured her mother smiling as she said that, smiling wryly and shaking her head. It made her feel better, but only a bit.
    A few minutes later they got on their bikes again and rode out to meet Max at a mini-golf course where one of his friends had a job. Because Cory worked there they could always play for free, and this way they wouldn’t have to worry about their dad hearing them talk about their plans.
    When they went in Max was behind the counter helping Cory with customers, which in practice meant handing out scorecards and stubs of pencils and eating stale popcorn from the machine.
    He threw back a last handful of popcorn, grabbed three clubs and three different-colored balls, and walked them out onto the first hole, where he put down his ball and teed off into a miniature windmill.
    “So? What’d you find out?” asked Jax.
    “No luck yet with the Whydahlee,” said Max. “I did some research on fires in the ocean, though. It could be volcanoes, for one. Like submarine volcanoes, right? That’s fire under the ocean. Right?”
    “Magma, technically,” said Jax.
    “Problem is, there aren’t that many active ones near here. The nearest might be too far for us to get to.”
    “Like where?” asked Cara.
    “Um, the Caribbean,” said Max.
    “Big help,” said Jax.
    “Yeah, so I figured that’s probably not it,” said Max. “So then I figured maybe it’s something that hasn’t happened yet, you know? Like say a tanker has an oil spill or something, and that catches fire.”
    “But that wouldn’t be under the sea,” objected Jax. “It would be on top of it. On the surface.”
    “True, my man,” Max conceded. “I also thought, maybe it’s the mid-Atlantic ridge, you know? I guess lava comes up there, from the rift or whatever. But that’s a bit of a hike too. Kind of beyond our travel budget.”
    “Anyway,” said Jax, “we know the general area now, and that’s not it. It’s not going to be too far offshore.”
    Cara felt disappointed; she’d thought Max would be more help.
    “You guys play golf, I’m going to ride down the street,” she said. “To buy some fries. Be back in fifteen.”
    If you cut back down the road behind some buildings there was a greasy spoon/convenience store, one of the mom-and-pop operations off Route 6 that was only open in summer. Their fries were skinny and crunchy. Cara stood in line behind a couple of fishermen, waiting to order; one of them she thought might be Zee’s father, a bearded guy who was always sunburnt on his nose, but she wasn’t a hundred percent sure.
    He was talking to the other guy about work—something about a red tide, which she knew was a bad thing because it meant the shellfishery had to be closed, at least while the red tide lasted. It was bad for business; it hurt the fishermen and in the restaurants it irritated the tourons.
    “Chris was saying it’s polluted runoff that causes it,” said the one who might be Zee’s dad.
    “No way. It’s a natural deal,” said the other. “It’s algal bloom, man.”
    At that Cara started and edged closer. Algal bloom … She thought she remembered something about them. They could be phosphorescent, sometimes; they might be poison, but sometimes they were beautiful.
    “But pollution can make that stuff happen. They had one in China last month.”
    She was almost sure it was Zee’s dad. Should she ask him? Ask him where the next one was supposed to be?
    “You seen one when it’s glowing? A few years back there was one like that … glowing all over the bay at night. Friend of mine saw it, I didn’t. They didn’t shut down the beds that year though.”
    “In ’05 that one came down from Canada, right? But that one didn’t glow.… Yeah, hey, Lynn, I’d just like a burger.”
    “Hi, Lynn, I’ll take a burger and a Coke .… Yeah, looks amazing. Kind of this greenish blue on the