ago and the cab’s just now got some warmth about it. The heater doesn’t work like it used to. Neither do my bones. Getting out of bed is a title match. I never know who’s going to win the next round—me or the old man who swears he’s me.
He put up a fight today, coughing up the stuff that settles in at night. I told him I didn’t much mind the sound of him, so he stiffened up his joints. Stiffened them up like curing cement.
I threw off the covers like it was easy, just to spite him. Cold hardwood on bare feet sent me searching for my wool socks. I labored into the rest of my clothes and wandered down the warped stairs. Skipped breakfast because it always sours my stomach to eat that early.
Out the door and into the cold, the air just went by me. Didn’t feel it at all. The bitterest stuff is inside me today. I suppose it’s because Lilly didn’t come home last night. Don’t know why I expected her to. I should know better.
I push the last of the snow into a dirty mound. Spectrum Used Cars isn’t my first stop. The mill’s near my house so I hit it on my way out. It only runs one shift anymore, so no one shows up till nine. Knocked it out pretty quick because of that.
The muni lot is next on my list, but not before I get coffee. I reverse, turn, and pull out onto the main road. Easy on the gas. I piled sandbags in the bed to keep the tail in check, but there’s still a wobble when I hit a slick patch.
Grady’s Diner stands as the only restaurant in town. It opens at six and I’ll get a large cup to go. Only costs a dollar. A few old timers will be in there already, regulars who’ll go down with the ship. Some of them have every meal there.
My bunker gear still rests on the floor next to me since I’m back on call again. Have to cover for that louse Billy Greener. They arrested him last night for the fire at Amy Armstrong’s house. Said they had evidence he was responsible for the fire at Union Chemical, too.
The story is that Billy did it for the money. We’re only volunteers. We get five-fifty an hour with a two-hour minimum per call. Billy’s so hard-up for cash he thought he’d get us on some more fires.
I guess I should feel sorry for him if circumstances are that rough. Lots of folks are in a bad way. Jobs are scarce. ’Course it doesn’t justify what Billy did. He could’ve killed someone.
Pushing through the white blanket ahead, the truck leans around a bend and onto a straight path. Down the line, an orange glow flickers bright. Am I seeing things? No, there’s no mistaking it—we got another fire!
Instinct plants my boot to the floorboard, but it just makes the tires spin. I back off and muster more patience. A little gas here, a nudge on the wheel there.
It’s a painful wait, but I reach the square in a minute or two. The fire is on the “sinner’s side.” That’s the side with the bars. Folks on the opposite side of the square named it that way since their establishments are more family friendly.
It’s a matter of pride or contempt, which side of the square you’re on. None’s likely to volley a Molotov cocktail across the greenery, though. This fire’s got to have a natural cause.
Natural seems less probable when I see it’s Lady Luck that’s belching flames. The windows are busted out and the roof’s catching. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Buck’s a target. First his daughter’s house, now his bar. That can’t be right, though. They already have Billy Greener in custody.
A few onlookers congregate on the sidewalk in front of Grady’s. Each has his fingers wrapped in the handle of a coffee mug. Steam mingles with their breath.
I pull the truck sideways against the curb, ignoring the lines hidden under the unplowed parking spaces. Leaning out the door, one foot planted in the fluff, I ask if anyone’s called dispatch yet.
“Yep, we called ’er in.” A fellow with a tubby belly nods without taking his eyes off the Lady.
It’ll be hell trying
He put up a fight today, coughing up the stuff that settles in at night. I told him I didn’t much mind the sound of him, so he stiffened up his joints. Stiffened them up like curing cement.
I threw off the covers like it was easy, just to spite him. Cold hardwood on bare feet sent me searching for my wool socks. I labored into the rest of my clothes and wandered down the warped stairs. Skipped breakfast because it always sours my stomach to eat that early.
Out the door and into the cold, the air just went by me. Didn’t feel it at all. The bitterest stuff is inside me today. I suppose it’s because Lilly didn’t come home last night. Don’t know why I expected her to. I should know better.
I push the last of the snow into a dirty mound. Spectrum Used Cars isn’t my first stop. The mill’s near my house so I hit it on my way out. It only runs one shift anymore, so no one shows up till nine. Knocked it out pretty quick because of that.
The muni lot is next on my list, but not before I get coffee. I reverse, turn, and pull out onto the main road. Easy on the gas. I piled sandbags in the bed to keep the tail in check, but there’s still a wobble when I hit a slick patch.
Grady’s Diner stands as the only restaurant in town. It opens at six and I’ll get a large cup to go. Only costs a dollar. A few old timers will be in there already, regulars who’ll go down with the ship. Some of them have every meal there.
My bunker gear still rests on the floor next to me since I’m back on call again. Have to cover for that louse Billy Greener. They arrested him last night for the fire at Amy Armstrong’s house. Said they had evidence he was responsible for the fire at Union Chemical, too.
The story is that Billy did it for the money. We’re only volunteers. We get five-fifty an hour with a two-hour minimum per call. Billy’s so hard-up for cash he thought he’d get us on some more fires.
I guess I should feel sorry for him if circumstances are that rough. Lots of folks are in a bad way. Jobs are scarce. ’Course it doesn’t justify what Billy did. He could’ve killed someone.
Pushing through the white blanket ahead, the truck leans around a bend and onto a straight path. Down the line, an orange glow flickers bright. Am I seeing things? No, there’s no mistaking it—we got another fire!
Instinct plants my boot to the floorboard, but it just makes the tires spin. I back off and muster more patience. A little gas here, a nudge on the wheel there.
It’s a painful wait, but I reach the square in a minute or two. The fire is on the “sinner’s side.” That’s the side with the bars. Folks on the opposite side of the square named it that way since their establishments are more family friendly.
It’s a matter of pride or contempt, which side of the square you’re on. None’s likely to volley a Molotov cocktail across the greenery, though. This fire’s got to have a natural cause.
Natural seems less probable when I see it’s Lady Luck that’s belching flames. The windows are busted out and the roof’s catching. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Buck’s a target. First his daughter’s house, now his bar. That can’t be right, though. They already have Billy Greener in custody.
A few onlookers congregate on the sidewalk in front of Grady’s. Each has his fingers wrapped in the handle of a coffee mug. Steam mingles with their breath.
I pull the truck sideways against the curb, ignoring the lines hidden under the unplowed parking spaces. Leaning out the door, one foot planted in the fluff, I ask if anyone’s called dispatch yet.
“Yep, we called ’er in.” A fellow with a tubby belly nods without taking his eyes off the Lady.
It’ll be hell trying
Similar Books
