World on Edge: A Post-Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thriller (World on Edge Book 1) Chris Pike (drm ebook reader .txt) 📖

for the electronics required for the National Anthem at the Super Bowl, shot a glowering stare at one of his subordinates, fumbling around the wires like a pubescent boy clumsily searching for third base. The other engineers standing near him, holding laptops or iPhones, had their noses buried in some make-believe important email, hiding from Cullen’s wrath.

Taking his headset off, Cullen unconsciously squeezed the nasal septum part of his nose, a movement akin to a coke user rubbing away traces of the white powder after snorting the drug. It was a nervous habit he used to calm himself. The disgusting self-calming practice manifested in childhood when kids teased him about his last name, laughing because it was for people who picked their noses. Ever since, Cullen had become a master at belittling his classmates and anyone who challenged him. Friends were in short supply.

Even a minute delay would ruin the show from kick-off, the announcers scurrying to fill dead air, the unrolling of the flag, the players bursting out of the tunnel and onto the field, not to mention the flyover of the Blue Angels. His mind bounced around like billiard balls after the break on a pool table with each one going in different directions.

“We need to have Lexi stick to the schedule. Got it everyone?” Jumbled mumblings and downcast eyes answered his question. “Good. Once Lexi has finished singing, the Blue Angels do their flyover. We’ve rehearsed and prepared for every imaginable contingency, so what’s gone wrong here?”

Joe Buck, dressed in faded jeans and a work shirt, casually strolled into the room. His tools jiggled on his well-worn utility belt. “What’s the problem?” he asked, hitching up his belt.

Cullen eyed him with disdain. He lifted Joe’s ID card away from his shirt, glanced at it, then flicked it back onto his chest. “If I wanted a plumber, I would have called one!” he snarled, throwing Joe a condescending scowl. “I need an engineer, not these greenhorns assigned to me, and not a plumber. Got it?”

Joe Buck said nothing.

“Do you even know how to say yes or no?”

Joe’s immediate inclination was to slam the guy down on the floor and teach him a thing or two, except it wouldn’t get him anywhere other than a pink slip and unemployment, so he kept his cool without saying a word. He’d been there, done that, getting an overnight stay in the county jail when he decked a former boss. The guy deserved to be put in his place anyway. Being a man of few words, solving problems with words never much worked for Joe. During his youth, he had foolishly relied on having his fists do the talking for him, resulting in consequences he didn’t much like, so Joe had learned to keep his mouth shut. A stint in the military took care of his impulsiveness.

The lights flickered, and Cullen and his entourage of electricians nervously glanced around before the lights came back on.

Speaking into his headset, Cullen asked for assistance. When there was no reply, he tapped his state-of-the-art headphones. “What’s wrong with these?” He ripped the headset off his head. “Isn’t WiFi working?” he screamed with the petulance of a spoiled child.

“I can help,” Joe said.

“I didn’t ask you,” Cullen snapped.

“I don’t care,” Joe replied, tired of taking the guy’s crap. “I’m gonna help anyway.”

Joe inspected the wireless headphones. “Here’s the problem.” He pointed to a seemingly insignificant button, pushed it in, and said, “You had it muted.”

“Oh, right.” Cullen replied sheepishly, refusing to make eye contact with Joe. “I purposely muted it.”

Joe kept his editorializing to himself that Cullen was at the top of the A-hole class, and also a pathetic liar. “You’re welcome.” He flashed a toothy grin. “Have a good day. I know I will.”

Once Joe left the room, he checked his company-assigned cell phone for any plumbing problems within his grid. Finding none, he decided to take an elevator earmarked for deliveries down to the ground floor. If his boss questioned him later, he’d make up an excuse of instead of being idle, he’d pitch in by helping on another floor since his area was running smoothly.

Sounded plausible.

From there he’d wend his way to a good vantage point where he could watch Lexi Carter sing. He had been a fan of hers since he heard her sing in a honkytonk a few years ago. As she sang the song she was now most well-known for, and the one propelling her into stardom, Joe and Lexi had locked eyes. She sang it like she was singing the song specifically meant for him. Mesmerized by her voice and beauty, Joe hadn’t realized a spittle of drool had formed on his open mouth as he gawked at her. He swore she had smiled at him. Embarrassed, he rolled his head to the side, and fumbled to wipe the spittle from his mouth.

He relived the memory each day, praying he’d get a chance to see her again in person.

Several years passed and Lexi moved on to bigger venues, awards, appearances on TV, contracts, real security, wardrobe decisions, so many things she had to deal with.

Unknown to Joe, she never forgot his sparkling dark eyes, or the way his beard framed his face, and whenever she sang at a bar, she searched the crowd for him. She regretted not being able to thank the man whose eyes she had locked with for a few seconds. A silent understanding they were from the same side of the tracks, trying to get by in the world, and to find their place in it had transpired.

She insisted on reading her fan mail, hoping she’d open a letter with the story of the man who leapt to her rescue.

The young girl who’d picked up the guitar out of boredom, who taught herself how to play, who composed her own songs,