A pause in the writing. A day of research. My characters are through with Montreal and about to head west. This required a concentrated session at the McDonald’s PlayPlace, to keep my daughter occupied while I read and scribbled. I have pages and pages of notes. The next section of writing begins … soon.
I sat straight up. “What was that?”
Another shot, then a long grating sound followed by a third. Charles sat up behind me; I could just see his furrowed brow in the cloudy moonlight. We counted the seconds in breaths; five minutes passed? Ten? There was no commotion in the street.
A series of low booms with metallic undertones nearly shook the house; then a fourth and fifth shot.
“It’s the ice,” Charles whispered.
“Aye, on the river.” He looked through the window, eyes wide. “It’s breaking. It’s time.”</i>