Read ocalypse (Book 10): Drawl (Duncan's Story) for Free Online Page B

back, heavier on the air than before.
Though the flat land beyond 92nd was not quite rural by definition, it was still
feasible that somebody was thumbing their nose at the authorities and illegally
burning brush, trash, or a combination thereof.
    Giving the heightened state first responders seemed to be
on, Duncan doubted the scofflaws would be given a second glance, even if a
neighbor or passerby ratted them out.
    He worked the key in the chest-level lock and listened for
the throw of the bolt before pushing in. Once inside, he halfheartedly nudged
the door closed with the back of his boot, and made a beeline for the fridge.
After snatching a frosty Bud off the lower shelf, he thumbed his phone open and
punched in a number from memory, completely oblivious to the sliver of light
spilling around the edges of the compromised front door.
    Sitting down hard on the sofa’s sagging cushions earned him
a lapful of suds and bounced his keys onto the floor. Cursing under his breath,
he hinged forward and snatched up the furry purple fob and tossed the keys on
the table. After the second ring a feminine voice answered with a warm, albeit
rehearsed greeting.
    Wiping the beer off his crotch, Duncan said warmly, “Hi,
Hillary. How are you today, young lady?”
    Hillary gushed for a second over his kind words. Then,
sparing no detail, she went into National Enquirer mode, spilling several months’
worth of gossip in seemingly one long sentence.
    As Duncan listened to her lengthy reply, he took a long pull
on the beer and put his booted feet up on the table. Eager to get to the meat
of the call, he bobbed his head side-to-side and made a pretend mouth with his
free hand, opening and closing in perfect time to the cadence of Hillary’s
droning voice.
    “That’s nice,” was his canned response once she’d finished
detailing an entire summer’s worth of office happenings as well as all six day
camps attended by her three grade-school-aged kids. “You’ve been a busy little
beaver. Is Darren in today?”
    “Nope. He’s in up in British Columbia—”
    “Valhalla?”
    “Yeah,” Hillary replied, divulging this only because she had
a little bit of a crush on the older man. “He flew out yesterday to go look at
a pair of Bell 429s they’re trying to sell him.”
    Duncan smiled. “That’ll make eight Bells and the two slicks
… I mean Hueys. Where’s he going to hangar all of them? Who’s going to pilot
them?”
    Hearing the hope in Duncan’s voice, without thinking of the
hurt she was about to inflict, Hillary said, “I thought the FAA indicated they
will never reinstate you because of the medical ?”
    In a low voice, Duncan replied, “That’s old news. Twenty
years old now. I’ve conceded to the fact that my wings are clipped. I just want
my old job back.” He went quiet. Just the electronic hiss over the line.
    After a few seconds, Hillary said, “I’m sorry, Duncan. I
heard the excitement in your voice, that’s all. I like you. But, I’m not supposed
to be talking to you. Darren thinks you’re a liability. He’s not going to take
you back until you first agree to his only demand. And you have to agree to do at
least that to get your driver’s license back.”
    Duncan grunted. “Eff that,” he said. “I’m no quitter. You
can tell Darren I’m not going to AA. I’m not getting an SR-22 to drive to
Hillsboro and continue on as his glorified shop boy.”
    “He cares about you, Duncan. Don’t burn a twenty-plus-year
bridge.”
    Seeing red, Duncan said, “Tell Darren he can take his shiny
new Huey wannabes and stuff ‘em up his keister sideways.”
    He heard Hillary chuckle at that. He imagined the thirty-six-year-old
executive secretary looking over both shoulders first, though.
    “Rotors spinning or static?” she asked and then burst out in
laughter that made Duncan smile. Getting a grip on herself, Hillary’s voice
took on a serious tone. “Please tell me you’re going to get help.”
    Duncan