Josh of the Damned by Andrea Speed

Author:Andrea Speed [Speed, Andrea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Andrea Speed
Published: 2019-08-02T04:00:00+00:00

PLAYTHING OF THE GODS!

“I am the avatar of Medusa. How the hell do I not have a car?” Josh fiddled with his seatbelt. Doug had fixed it with electrical tape and safety pins, and it felt as safe as being held in place by dental floss.

Doug idled at the stop light while trying to get a better station on the radio, cranking down his window, and taking the final tokes off his “driving blunt,” as he called it. It was small and thinner than most of his joints. Also weaker. According to Doug, it gave him just enough of a buzz to make sure he didn’t give a shit about anything, be it arriving on time or delivering to sketchy neighborhoods. Still, Doug generally made his stops on time and had only been robbed once, which was pretty good for someone in the pizza delivery game.

“You tell me, avatar,” Doug said, tossing the butt out the window as the light turned green. (Apparently you never wanted to be pulled over with even a minuscule amount of pot in your car. How Doug knew that, Josh had never asked.) His Honda rattled as it shifted and lurched forward like a drunk. “I mean, what? Can’t afford the car?”

“Yeah, that’s one thing. Second, I never learned to drive.”

“What? You shitting me? You never took the class in high school?”

“My high school didn’t have that class. We did have metal detectors, though.”

“Gotta have priorities.”

“Guess so.” Josh picked up the pizza box between them and took a slice. It would have to be his breakfast, if you could call it breakfast near midnight. Oh hell, it was whatever he said it was. The night shift made its own rules.

For no obvious reason, the car shuddered, and he had to grab the box before it fell into his lap.

Doug’s Honda was beyond shitty. It shook, made funny noises, and smelled of bong water and beer. And yet, Doug called it his miracle car, as it just kept running. No matter that its exhaust smelled like Satan farted, the damn car would just not give up and die. It was an ugly, magical creature.

Doug reached over and grabbed a slice. “Owe me ten eighty-five.”

This was news for Josh. “What for?”

“The pizza I’m delivering for you. Also, I expect a tip.”

“Oh man.” Josh searched his coat for his wallet. He had slept past his alarm and missed his usual bus, so he’d had to call Doug at work, who made up some excuse to deviate from his route to give him a lift. Josh had no idea how he’d swung it, but Doug was the one with oodles of slacking-off experience.

“Hey, it’s cheaper than asking for gas money.” Doug gnawed on his crust for a moment. “Why you even goin’ to work? Didn’t they try and kill ya last time?”

“Yeah, but the rent ain’t payin’ itself.” Besides, he’d taken a couple days off. It only seemed reasonable that when your employers tried to kill you with zombies, you got some vacation days.

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