You Can't Be Too Careful

By Bob Sanchez

Here are several short tales meant to chill, cheer, or amuse. They will neither educate you nor make you a better person, but perhaps they will make you smile.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bob Sanchez
• Release date: Aug 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476270807

Book preview

You Can’t Be Too Careful

Short Tales by Bob Sanchez

You Can’t Be Too Careful

By Bob Sanchez

Copyright 2012 by Bob Sanchez

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Also by Bob Sanchez at

http://bitly.com/bobsanchez

Getting Lucky

When Pigs Fly

Little Mountain

Praise for the author:

Bob Sanchez is a consummate writer.

--Kaye Trout’s Book Reviews

You wrote a book? That’s nice, dear. I hope it doesn’t have any dirty words.

--His mother

Blog and e-mail:

http://bobsanchez1.blogspot.com

[e-mail]

You Can’t Be Too Careful

Just a Start

Write a Book in 14 Days

Bark

Nothing that Needed Eyes

Rage

Me and Rico

You Can’t Be Too Careful

GEORGE KNEW THE WORLD was coming apart at the seams. Only by furious effort had the world avoided the Y2K debacle, with its attendant threat of planetary lockjaw. Citizens would have been shot dead for their bottled water, their gasoline, their triple-A batteries and their clean underwear.

I’ve had it with you, George. Lila was trying to tell him something. He examined an unopened roll of duct tape, wondering if the stuff had an expiration date. Maybe he’d better buy a fresh supply, just in case.

Okay, he thought, we dodged the millennial bullet only to take one in the heart with nine-eleven. We have Columbine shootings, no-fly lists, outsourced jobs and insourced illegals, corporate meltdowns, ozone holes, and Americans up to their asses in IEDs in Iraq. Now that Pacific Rim runt has Nagasaki-sized nukes he’ll be selling to terrorists to finance restocking his liquor cabinet and his porn collection.

Lila grabbed the package out of his hand. This isn’t going to keep out sarin, anthrax, or radioactive isotopes.

You’re red in the face, George said. Maybe she’d picked up a bug at the corner café. Are you sick?

Only of living in a bomb shelter, surrounded by --she waved an arm in a sweeping motion--sterile gauze and chlorine tablets. And a year’s supply of Charmin!

Because if you’re sick, you should sleep on the cot tonight. He took back the duct tape and opened the package. Maybe I didn’t seal the windows properly.

We don’t need to live like this! We are not a terrorist target--we’re a hundred miles from the nearest city!

But downwind, he said quietly.

For the first time, he noticed that she had her winter coat on and that she had packed a suitcase. I’m leaving you, she said.

Right now?

Now isn’t soon enough, but yes.

But you’re safe here.

I don’t care. I’m sick of being safe. I’ll risk sorry.

George took Lila’s hand, and for a fleeting moment her expression softened. Then he placed the roll of duct tape into her hand. At least take this, he said.

He