Free Slow Burn (Book 7): City of Stin by Bobby Adair

move, to react. It didn’t. It just lay there.
    “It smells pretty bad,” I said. “I wish I would have just left it in there.”
    Murphy stepped up beside the body and studied the face for a moment.
    “What?” I asked.
    “Checking.”
    “For?” I asked.
    “I thought it might be Mitch,” he said.
    “Who’s Mitch?”
    “Dude who owns the place,” he said.
    “You know him?”
    Shaking his head slowly, Murphy said, “I told you I saw a video on the Internet.”
    I rolled my eyes as I turned to leave the man cave area. I walked out into the shop with Murphy behind me. Several shiny cars sat on the floor, some with engines clearly missing, a few others seemingly in working order.
    Murphy pointed at a late 60s shiny black Mustang with two bright green racing stripes. “That’s the car, the one I told you about.”
    “No shit? That’s nice.”

Chapter 16
    Besides a thin layer of dust, the Mustang looked to have been parked in the garage overnight, left ready for a quick spin down to the local burger joint the next day. The only thing unusual was a thick cord running out of the back of the car, connected where the gas cap used to be.
    “You think it’s charged?” I asked, pointing at the cord.
    Murphy shrugged, walked over, ran a hand down the crease on top of the driver’s side fender and opened the door. “Keys are in it.”
    That piqued my interest.
    Murphy reached into the car and scooted the driver’s seat all the way back, then folded himself inside. He grinned at me as I leaned in through the open passenger door window. He said, “It fits me perfect.”
    “Not to burst your bubble, racy car boy, but if we take off in this thing it’ll be better if I’m driving.”
    Murphy’s grin slipped away as his eyes caressed the black and chrome dashboard. “Because you can’t shoot for shit.”
    I shrugged. “Yep.”
    “Man, you’re taking all the fun out of this apocalypse thing.”
    “I know.” I walked around to the driver’s side as Murphy struggled to get himself out. I sat down inside, adjusted the seat, closed the door and set my mirrors. With two hands on the wheel, I surveyed the dashboard, “It’s pretty much just like a regular car.”
    Murphy took off his backpack and laid it in the back, then put himself into the passenger seat. He pointed the muzzle of his M4 out the window to shoot left-handed.
    “Can you hit anything like that?” I asked.
    “If I say no, can I drive?”
    “You can drive if you want me on the trigger,” I said, getting comfortable behind the wheel surprisingly fast. “I could get used to this.”
    Murphy frowned. “That’s what I thought.”
    I reached over and slapped Murphy on the shoulder. “Don’t be jealous, man. I’m just the driver. It’s still your car since it was your idea to come here and steal it.”
    “Inherit it, you mean.” Murphy ran a hand across the dashboard. “I like this. Does the AC work?”
    I turned a knob on the instrument panel and a fan somewhere down inside the engine compartment blew air through the vents—air that quickly turned cold.
    Leaning up to let the air blow across his face, Murphy said, “What more could a man ask for.”
    I tried the heat. It worked better than in a normal car. It heated up in seconds without the engine running. I guess that concept of waiting for your idling engine to warm up the car is obsolete with an electric car.
    Pointing at the gauges, I said, “Looks like it’ll tell me how much of a charge I have left. That’ll be good to know. Full right now.”
    “Sweet.”
    “I know.” I glanced up even though I could see nothing but the car’s headliner. “The solar panels on the roof of the building have kept it ready for us.”
    “Does it tell you how many miles it’ll go?” Murphy asked.
    “I don’t see anything like that.” Reading across the instruments, I said, “It’s pretty simple. Speed. Voltage. And estimated time left on the battery.”
    “The video I saw on the