The Drone Keeper: A Dystopian Crime Mystery Thriller (Watch the Wreckage Book 1) by A. R. Shaw

Author:A. R. Shaw [Shaw, A. R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Apocalyptic Ventures
Published: 2021-12-28T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 13

Leaning against the porch railing, he watched them fly in like bats in the night. Returning from their feast. The dark blue on the horizon. The blacker darkness is still far above. Yet the new world prevented total darkness in the other direction, as it ever would beyond that time.

"We're done for the day. That was the last job," Anabelle said. "Is there anything else you need from me before I sign off?"

He walked back inside from the patio lookout. "No, I don't think so."

"Okay. The drone's diagnostic is on file if you want to look at it. And your levels look good. We have a lighter schedule tomorrow, so that should help."

"Anabelle. Have I ever lost consciousness and not known about it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, was there ever a time when I passed out, and when I woke, you didn't say anything about it, assuming I knew what had happened?"

She looked at him once and then twice, "Uh, Steve, I have to go. I have a thing. Can we talk about this later?"

"Yes. Of course, sorry for keeping you. Give it some thought and let me know."

"Okay, see you in the morning."

He nodded. The screen went blank.

He went to the kitchen and selected the next prescribed meal. It wasn't important what he ate, as long as he ate. Taking the tray from the dispenser, he grabbed a fork, took it over to the table, and turned on the display screen nearby. Taking a bite of what he thought was a chicken enchilada, or at least that's what the shape indicated even though the creamy sauce seemed a bit minerally. As he ate, he scrolled through his emails. It was too hot, so he mouthed the bite a bit, took a long drag of water from his glass. One email from the doctor. He swiped it to the archive without even reading it and then the diagnostic report from Anabelle. And yet another one from the detective.

He opened the file from Anabelle and began sliding through the numbers. She was right. Nothing out of the ordinary, but she missed something too. The program file size was slightly off. He would know. He wrote the program himself. "Hmm…. That's strange. Probably nothing." He took several more bites of the too hot meal. He soon found himself scraping the bottom of the recycled container with his sustainable fork. Then he stared at the matte white fork after a bite and thought it suspiciously looked like the bug meal biscuits and wondered if it too was made of special flour. He tried taking a bite of tines, but it didn't give. He wiped his mouth and slid the tray aside, piling his napkin on top.

Outside, the wind picked up, blowing dried and desiccated bits of cacti or brush up and onto the porch. Steve negated this in his peripheral vision, their edges skittering their way along the beams like nails against the frosted glass. And yet, he paid no attention. Instead, combed through the code transactions until he saw Kinney for the first time.

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