Free ocalypse (Book 10): Drawl (Duncan's Story) by Shawn Chesser Page A

Charlie
couldn’t help but be apprehensive about pushing the door the rest of the way inward
and facing whatever was inside. Sure, the newscasters were saying the instances
of cannibalism on display in the half-dozen video clips they had been showing
ad nauseam all afternoon were caused by illegal drugs or mental illness. But as
he nudged the door open with his toe he couldn’t shake the feeling that what
was happening today had a direct correlation with similar unrest now being
widely reported in China, Russia, Great Britain, and all over the Middle East.
    “Duncan?” he whispered.
    There was a snort, wet and muffled, like a pig rooting for truffles.
Then, plain as day, the low rumble he’d detected from the stoop resumed. So Charlie
took one sliding step to the right and caught a glimpse of its source.
Stretched out on the sofa underneath a thin sheet, feet sticking out one end, the
other pulled up and tucked behind a human-head-shaped lump, was his roomie Duncan.
    Charlie went silent for a tick as the fabric sucked into Duncan’s
gaping mouth. Then silence for a couple of seconds before the snoring was back
louder than before. Sleep apnea? Charlie wondered as he crept across the
three-by-three square of almond-colored vinyl just inside the door, worked his
way around the sofa, and cast his gaze over the rectangular coffee table. A
madly vibrating box fan sat on the far end. It was trained on his friend’s legs
and making the sheet from his knees down ruffle and flap softly, as if alive. Atop
the walnut-brown table were seven empty beer bottles, their white and red paper
labels picked at and curling away from the gum backing. Also on the table top,
pinned underneath a black Model 1911 Colt .45, was a short stack of cash with Andrew
Jackson peering one-eyed through the pistol’s trigger guard. Chad wasn’t
kidding , he thought. Duncan certainly hit his numbers. Assuming the
crisp bills were all of the same denomination, Charlie guessed there to be
almost four hundred dollars there.
    Letting his old pal continue sawing logs, he leaned
lengthwise across the table and slipped the top twenty from the stack, jostling
the semiautomatic a bit in the process.
    He palmed the first bill in his off-hand and went back for
seconds. Hand hovering over the gun, Charlie stole a furtive glance out the yawning
doorway at the Yellow Cab. Which was a big mistake. Because suddenly the
snoring ceased, there was a crushing pain in his wrist, and Duncan said wanly,
“Chuck … I was fixing to pay you rent out of that. Why ya trying to ninja it
from under there?”
    “Didn’t want to wake you. The forty bucks is for the waiting
cabbie.”
    Duncan slowly pulled the sheet down to his neck. He yawned
and said, “Forty bucks … from downtown? What, did you blow all your tip money
on Old Crow?”
    “I’m a parking attendant in a bank tower, Duncan. Not a valet
at a five-star-hotel.”
    “That fancy place up there doesn’t have a valet service?”
Eyes narrowing, Duncan kicked off the sheet. Then, with a semblance of a grin
inching up his silver mustache, he hauled himself to a sitting position.
    Charlie shook his head. He had seen the look before. Duncan
was hatching a plan. “Forget it,” he told him. “They’ll never let a guy with
your spotty driving record drive those expensive vehicles.”
    “I will someday,” replied Duncan, his shoulders slumping.
“One way or another.”
    “Be right back,” Charlie said. He hustled out the door and
was back in a handful of seconds.
    When Charlie had shut the door, he said, “I could have used
that ride home.”
    Duncan said, “Sorry I didn’t answer when you called.”
    “I called twice.”
    “I know,” he conceded. “What can I say? I become a self-centered
individual when I start drinking. If it’ll make you feel better, Charlie … you
can add the fare to my rent .”
    “I will,” Charlie said. “And another twenty to cover the
half-case of my beer you just finished.” He