A Pagan's Nightmare by Ray Blackston Read Free Book Online

desperate even.
    “Yesterday in Atlanta they took over the schools and the BP stations.” Lanny veered back into the slow lane so he could talk.
     “And the McDonald’s too. The radio station even announced that some guy named Marvin has a reward out for my capture.”
    “Aw, man… don’t tell me that.” Ned then began an inquiry that seemed simplistic on the surface and yet was loaded with consequences.
     “You say your name is Lanny?”
    “That’s right.”
    “Mind if I ask you a couple personal questions?”
    “Go ahead.”
    “You cuss?”
    “Sometimes. ‘Specially when I hit my thumb with my hammer.”
    “Drink?”
    “On weekends.”
    “Go to church?”
    “Never. You?”
    Ned frowned at this boomeranged question. “Do I go to
church?
No way. I hang out at the beach on Sundays or take a trip somewhere.”
    Lanny remained just as suspicious as DJ Ned. “How ‘bout the other stuff…. You cuss?”
    “Not while I’m on the air. Hurts my ratings.”
    “Drink?”
    “On the golf course.”
    Lanny managed a slight smile as he drove. “You chase the white ball?”
    “Every chance I get. You?”
    “Stopped in and played Augusta National on my way here.”
    “Yeah, right.”
    “I’m not kidding, Ned.”
    Ned looked at his phone incredulously. “Don’t play me, man. Augusta National has people arrested just for peeking over the
     fence.”
    “That’s just it…. There was no one guarding the place. The zealots left it open and I drove right up to the clubhouse.”
    “Just drove right up and teed off, eh?” Ned laughed at Lanny’s boldly concocted story.
    “All by myself. . . Okay, just for one hole. Then the wackos chased me off.”
    Ned paused, ran a hand through his hair, tried to blink away his shock. “So you’re saying the zealots have now claimed Augusta
     National?”
    “Looks that way.”
    “What about Pebble Beach?”
    “How would I know that, Ned? Pebble is in northern California.”
    “True.” Ned thought about the proliferation of religious callers and the odd dearth of secular callers. In fact, he was certain
     thatLanny was the only non-zealot he had spoken with in two days. And yet he was cautious even of him. “Are you sure you cuss?”
    “I’m sure, Ned.”
    “Gimme some examples.”
    “Examples? But I’m not in the mood right now.”
    “Then just pretend. I need to know that you’re not a zealot posing as a non-zealot.”
    Lanny veered into the slow lane. “You mean just cuss on demand?”
    “Just let it fly.”
    A long pause. “This is harder than I thought.”
    “See, you’re one of them. A poser.”
    Lanny stared at his cell phone in disbelief. Then he recalled how he had drilled a small hole in his foot with his power drill
     back in 2002 while repairing some seats at Philips Arena. He let fly. “%*%$# and @#$%#$.”
    “Okay,” Ned conceded. “Not bad.”
    “So, do ya now believe I’m not a zealot?”
    “Yeah, I guess. Wanna meet for a burger or something? I gotta talk to somebody normal.”
    “And I’ve got to find my girlfriend. But I’ll be passing right by Orlando if you want to meet up and go with me to Cocoa Beach.”
    “But there’s a hurricane coming—”
    “I’ve got to find Miranda.”
    Ned hesitated to reply. He wondered if he’d made a mistake by inviting Lanny to meet. And yet Ned could sense that an odd
     new world had enveloped Orlando, a world of which he did not feel a part. He figured it best to grab any normal friend he
     could find.
    “I’m off the air in an hour.”
    Ned gave Lanny directions to a convenience store just off Highway 528 some forty miles east of Orlando, and Lanny agreed to
     meet him there.
    The sky was deep blue and traffic was headed the opposite way as Lanny sped down the interstate. He turned off his radio,
     and for miles remained lost in his thoughts.
What if this DJ Ned is really oneof them? What if I’ve been fooled again? But then, what if DJ Ned can help me locate Miranda? But then again,