“What do you want to do?” Cade craned around and watched the 4Runner pull up even and stop. “I say we push on and tackle the root of the problem. That was hard work back there. I can only imagine how longshoremen feel after a day’s work.” “I’ve done some of that kind of work ... in my youth.” Duncan smiled at the memory. “We mostly hit the bars after shift. Closed the place down. Rinse and repeat after a bowl of Wheaties.” Daymon poked his head between the seats. Looked at Duncan. “You didn’t do much if any of the heavy lifting back there, Old Man.” “Yeah ... but against all odds I got this here demolition derby victim running.” “True dat,” said Daymon, offering a fist bump, which Duncan regarded for a second before leaving it hanging in the air over the center console. Saying nothing, Daymon disappeared into the back seat all by himself. Duncan looked a question at Cade. The same one he had offered on dozens of occasions since his brother was murdered, leaving him the sole Winters at what had at times informally been called the Winters’ compound.
What do You think about Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse (Book 9): Frayed?
