Hatching: A Novel
There was a certain romance to the sitting and waiting. But his back was killing him today. At nine, Annie was getting to be a load, but what was he going to do? Not roughhouse in the pool? He arched his back and stretched a little, trying to get comfortable.
Leshaun held up a bottle of Advil, but Mike shook his head. His stomach had been bothering him, too—coffee and donuts and greasy burgers and fries and all the crap that made it harder and harder every day for him to stay in shape and run the miles and do the pull-ups he needed to do to keep passing his physical—and popping a couple of pills to help his back seemed like a bad idea.
He was only forty-three.ncof.co.uk/codicia-la-intergalctica-el-que-no-quiso-ser.php
The Hatching (The Hatching #1) by Ezekiel Boone
Too young to be getting old already. Mike closed his eyes and tried to take a cleansing breath. When he opened his eyes, Leshaun was staring at him. It will just be half an hour. Forty-five minutes at most. Now I have to do it. There was something about the smell of the cut grass and watching his little girl run around chasing a ball.
The crappy wooden bleachers reminded him of what it was like to be a kid, of looking over to the sideline at baseball or football games and seeing his own dad sitting there, watching solemnly. Seeing Annie goofing around with the other kids, or scowling and concentrating while trying to learn a step over or some other new skill, was one of the best parts of his week.
He never thought about his job or his ex-wife or anything, really. It was a different world out there on the soccer field: Most of the other parents chatted with one another, read books, tried to get work done, talked on their cell phones, but Mike just watched. He watched Annie run and kick and laugh and for that hour of soccer practice, there was nowhere else in the world for him. I mean, I can leave you. I can get a divorce.
Leshaun was doing what he was supposed to be doing, which was staring at the alley. Not just being late. And you know, Dawson—Rich—seems like he makes you happy, and I know that Annie loves him. And that goes for the job too.
You going to divorce me again? Mike sat up in his seat.
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There was a car pulling into the alley. The car stopped with its trunk hanging over the sidewalk, and then a black teenager, maybe fifteen or sixteen, got out of the passenger-side door. Mike relaxed, and Leshaun sat back. Two-Two was selling guns and meth, but he was also big time in with the Aryan Nations.
Book Review: The Hatching by Ezekiel Boone
The goddamned car felt so close and hot. With his bulletproof vest over his T-shirt, he was sweating. He needed to stand outside for a minute, to stand up, to get some fresh air.
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He opened the door. I just want to take this call outside the car for a minute. Is that okay with you? Like more of an asshole. Leshaun nodded, and Mike got out of the car. He shut the door behind him, not that it mattered with the windows open. He lifted the phone back up.
You had to see this coming. You never see anything coming.
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He pressed the phone hard against his ear. Mike could hear Fanny breathing. Mike leaned against the car, facing the alley. He shifted against the side of the car, rolled his shoulder, and tugged down on his T-shirt under the vest. It was wet with sweat. Better to be uncomfortable than dead, though.
It was a hundred miles from Eau Claire back to Minnesota, though, and hell, nobody thought Two-Two—even hopped up on Nazi meth—was going to come back to his bar after the debacle in Wisconsin. He adjusted the strapping to loosen the vest.
He loved being able to wear it, loved the way people looked at him differently when he introduced himself as Special Agent Rich, but as he fingered the chain, he thought that there were times when it felt like something he needed to take off more often. It was like she thought there was some sort of evil magic at work, and if she told the telephone too much information, it was going to steal her soul.
The thought made Mike smile. It sounded like a book Stephen King would write. It was a red Ford truck, big tires, tinted windows, and it was turning into the alley. I love you, Daddy. He let his free hand reach up again to finger the badge hanging around his neck. You remember that, okay? No matter what happens, you remember that. Mike put the phone in his pocket.
He felt the car move as Leshaun opened the door and slid out. Mike moved his hand from his badge to his hip, until he could wrap his fingers around the handle of his gun. The metal was cool against his hand. The world is on the brink of apocalypse. Zero Day has come. The only thing more terrifying than millions of spiders is the realization that those spiders work as one.
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But among the government, there is dissent: Zero Day Book 3. Photograph by Laurie Willick. Free eBook available to NEW subscribers only. Must redeem within 90 days. See full terms and conditions and this month's choices. The Death of Mrs. Westaway By Ruth Ware. Lying in Wait By Liz Nugent. The Outsider By Stephen King.