Call for Obstruction (The Courier #1)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 11 (v.2) - Unappetizing Guest

Submitted: July 17, 2009

Reads: 234

Comments: 4

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Submitted: July 17, 2009

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In the breakroom, there’s a smorgasbord of food set out, enough for an army. Vern shoves me out of the way to get at the hot dogs and beans. I approach the other side of the buffet table and grab a couple mini-boxes of Froot Loops and a pint-sized carton of milk.

Vern sits at a table with his head down. He holds his fork like a shovel in one hand and scratches his butt crack with the other. As I approach, the old man eats faster and pulls his plate closer, as if I might try to steal his food.

“Grow up in a large family?” I ask as I sit down.

“No.”

“Raised by a pack of wild dogs?”

“Huh?” Vern looks up and frowns as he shoves half a hot dog into his mouth.

“Never mind.” I tilt my head back, pour cereal from the box into my mouth, and then take a drink of milk. The crunch echoes in my head as I fixate on the missing drivers. How could that many of them disappear all at once? If this happened before, what might happen next? And why was I left behind?

After a few more mouthfuls of fruity goodness, I ask Vern, “What do you think happened to the other drivers?”

“Traitors likely took ‘em.”

“Traitors?”

“Yeah. Marge calls ‘em white warriors, but they’re nothing but traitors if you ask me.” Vern takes in a mouthful of beans then waves the spoon while he adds, “Last time this happened, it was them who took the vans and the drivers.”

A chill runs up my spine. “What are those things?”

Vern replies with a burp, “You don’t know?” His halitosis isn’t nearly as rotten as Margery’s, but bad enough that I push the cereal box to one side.

“They attacked my van yesterday, but Margery only said they were white warriors.”

“Sorry, kid. I forgot you’re brand new around here. Marge only wants you to know enough to use it against you. Those traitors are ex-drivers, recruited by angels’ apprentices to stop the shipments, but mostly they piss me off.” After gulping down the rest of the hot dog, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand that’s still covered in dried blood.

“Why take the other drivers and leave us behind?”

“They know they can’t recruit me,” he says. “Guess they figure they can’t recruit you either. Or maybe they just don’t want you.” Vern laughs.

I lean into the table and push it into Vern’s gut. “That’s bullshit. I want out of my contract just as much as any other courier.”

Vern drops his spoon and throws up his hands. He’s about to speak when a red head pops around the corner.

“Aren’t you done eating? Vans are waiting. You’ve got five minutes to get your asses back on the road if you’re going to have time for double runs.” She’s gone as quickly as she appeared.

Vern scratches his chin with his middle finger.

“You get some thrill out of pushing her buttons?” I ask him.

“We’ll talk later.” He points at the door. “You better go, kid, before you end up scratchin’ like me.”


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