store—rushed to the passenger side to help him. He took her father’s arm.
Frank brushed him away, but he leaned on the door. “I’mfine.” Her father’s voice carried across the driveway. Then, “Thanks for the ride, Pete. I’ll get the truck back tomorrow.”
Pete stood by the car, watching until Frank reached the porch. He was limping.
Evie stood, keeping her hand on Mab’s back. What had happened? Alex stood with her, his brow furrowed.
“He’s sick, isn’t he?” he asked softly.
Her father didn’t seem to notice Alex until he came to lean on the railing of the porch steps. At that point, he stared hard at Alex, glanced questioningly at Evie, then turned and waved to Pete, who took the cue to drive away.
“Dad, you okay?”
He glared, a silent reprimand for even asking the question, then nodded at Alex. “Is this guy bothering you?”
“No.” Far from it. She had a feeling he’d saved her from something. But she didn’t tell her father about the woman, about what had brought Alex here. She didn’t want him to worry.
Her father said to Alex, “I told you, there’s nothing here for you.”
“A man can hope.” He gave Evie a look that made her blush. “I won’t trouble you again, Mr. Walker.” He turned his collar up, nodded a farewell to Evie, and walked off the porch, his hands shoved in his coat pockets. She almost ran after him. She had more questions, like what had
he
been looking for in the Storeroom?
She said, “So that guy’s been here before?”
“Yeah. I’m pretty sure he’s harmless. Just . . . desperate.”
“About what?”
“Couldn’t say.”
“What’s going on?” She was surprised at how angry she sounded. “This all has to do with the basement, and I don’t understand—and don’t tell me I
will
!”
“Evie, I can’t explain. It’s impossible to explain.”
He started to climb up the stairs, wincing. Thoughts of the Storeroom and the confrontation at the door left Evie’s mind entirely, and she wanted to rush to his side to help him, but she didn’t dare. He’d push her away, and they’d fight.
“What’s wrong?”
“Just a sore back. I’ll lie down, rest a bit. It’ll pass.”
A factoid from her Internet research presented itself:
If the cancer has metastasized to the spine, spinal cord compression along with back pain can ensue.
“How long has this been happening?”
“A while now.” He moved slowly, taking each step like he was afraid of jostling himself.
Mab, wagging her tail madly, pushed past Evie and trotted to him, nudging him, ducking her head, whining. “Oh, hey there, I’m fine, girl. I’m fine.” His voice brightened as he scratched the dog’s ears. He seemed to stand a little straighter and wince a little less with Mab at his side. He could lean on her without looking like he needed help.
Thanks, Mab.
“I’ll make you some tea,” Evie said, turning away before he could argue.
Bruce had faced deadlines worse than this. He’d drawn a twenty-page book in two days, once. It hadn’t been his best work by any stretch, and he’d slept for twelve straight hours when he finished. But it could be done.
He didn’t want to have to work like that on
Eagle Eyes.
Drawing a good explosion took
time.
But at the start, he and Evie had decided to acknowledge current events in the storylines, to make the book as relevant as possible, raising it above the level of a military fetishist’s dream.
Maybe that was why he was procrastinating. It wasn’t like Evie hadn’t done her part and not sent him enough script towork with. But he wanted more time. He wasn’t going to get it. So he didn’t work at all.
It certainly wasn’t that he lacked for inspiration. All he had to do was look out his window.
In the years since its creation, Homeland Security had authorized local militias in every major city, then promptly lost control of many of them to local politics, gangs, and organized crime. Gang warfare and underworld
Frank brushed him away, but he leaned on the door. “I’mfine.” Her father’s voice carried across the driveway. Then, “Thanks for the ride, Pete. I’ll get the truck back tomorrow.”
Pete stood by the car, watching until Frank reached the porch. He was limping.
Evie stood, keeping her hand on Mab’s back. What had happened? Alex stood with her, his brow furrowed.
“He’s sick, isn’t he?” he asked softly.
Her father didn’t seem to notice Alex until he came to lean on the railing of the porch steps. At that point, he stared hard at Alex, glanced questioningly at Evie, then turned and waved to Pete, who took the cue to drive away.
“Dad, you okay?”
He glared, a silent reprimand for even asking the question, then nodded at Alex. “Is this guy bothering you?”
“No.” Far from it. She had a feeling he’d saved her from something. But she didn’t tell her father about the woman, about what had brought Alex here. She didn’t want him to worry.
Her father said to Alex, “I told you, there’s nothing here for you.”
“A man can hope.” He gave Evie a look that made her blush. “I won’t trouble you again, Mr. Walker.” He turned his collar up, nodded a farewell to Evie, and walked off the porch, his hands shoved in his coat pockets. She almost ran after him. She had more questions, like what had
he
been looking for in the Storeroom?
She said, “So that guy’s been here before?”
“Yeah. I’m pretty sure he’s harmless. Just . . . desperate.”
“About what?”
“Couldn’t say.”
“What’s going on?” She was surprised at how angry she sounded. “This all has to do with the basement, and I don’t understand—and don’t tell me I
will
!”
“Evie, I can’t explain. It’s impossible to explain.”
He started to climb up the stairs, wincing. Thoughts of the Storeroom and the confrontation at the door left Evie’s mind entirely, and she wanted to rush to his side to help him, but she didn’t dare. He’d push her away, and they’d fight.
“What’s wrong?”
“Just a sore back. I’ll lie down, rest a bit. It’ll pass.”
A factoid from her Internet research presented itself:
If the cancer has metastasized to the spine, spinal cord compression along with back pain can ensue.
“How long has this been happening?”
“A while now.” He moved slowly, taking each step like he was afraid of jostling himself.
Mab, wagging her tail madly, pushed past Evie and trotted to him, nudging him, ducking her head, whining. “Oh, hey there, I’m fine, girl. I’m fine.” His voice brightened as he scratched the dog’s ears. He seemed to stand a little straighter and wince a little less with Mab at his side. He could lean on her without looking like he needed help.
Thanks, Mab.
“I’ll make you some tea,” Evie said, turning away before he could argue.
Bruce had faced deadlines worse than this. He’d drawn a twenty-page book in two days, once. It hadn’t been his best work by any stretch, and he’d slept for twelve straight hours when he finished. But it could be done.
He didn’t want to have to work like that on
Eagle Eyes.
Drawing a good explosion took
time.
But at the start, he and Evie had decided to acknowledge current events in the storylines, to make the book as relevant as possible, raising it above the level of a military fetishist’s dream.
Maybe that was why he was procrastinating. It wasn’t like Evie hadn’t done her part and not sent him enough script towork with. But he wanted more time. He wasn’t going to get it. So he didn’t work at all.
It certainly wasn’t that he lacked for inspiration. All he had to do was look out his window.
In the years since its creation, Homeland Security had authorized local militias in every major city, then promptly lost control of many of them to local politics, gangs, and organized crime. Gang warfare and underworld
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