The weight of the twenty five pound dog was starting to cause some aching in his arms, but it was Curly’s sharp elbows that forced David to set her down. “Curly, come.” he commanded, as he started towards the corner again.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed. The line was picked up after three rings.
“Telecom Ops Chief Richards will have to call you back.”
“What? Wait!” David quipped. “He’s too busy to answer his own phone?”
“David, he’s meeting with the Comms unit and ordering field kits to be prepped and loaded A.S.A.P.”
“What? What’s going on Peg?”
“Shit’s hittin’ the fan. You haven’t seen the news?”
“Peg, my house just burned down. I’m out on the street …being ordered to get off the street.”
“Oh David, I’m sooo sorry for you, but listen, you’ve got to get your skinny butt in here like fifteen minutes ago.”
“Roger that Peg; I’ll be there in T-minus fifteen …out.” he said, as he hung up his phone and pocketed it.
“Comms units? Why is Doug prepping comms units and field kits?” David wondered, “He must be setting up command control communications someplace. Why? What the hell is going down?”
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Disjointed Jottings by Robert Smith (A.K.A. TyCobbsTeeth) 