The Walking Bomb

By Robert Jeschonek

Rev. David Halloran does the Lord's work, tending his flock in the town of Clover, Texas…and moonlighting in a bomb factory on the side.  He couldn't be in a worse place when a streak of bad luck strikes, and the people he knows and loves go up in smoke one after another.  As Halloran's curse turns his world upside down, he embarks on a journey into the dark heart of America, searching for answers.  Is God punishing him for the violence he helped rain down on distant lands with the bombs he built?  Will his gift for destruction set the stage for resurrection, or complete annihilation at the end of the road?  Even the deepest faith might not be enough to prepare him for the strange and terrifying truth.  Don't miss this story by award-winning writer Robert Jeschonek, a master of unique and unexpected stories that really pack a punch.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Jeschonek
• Release date: Oct 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386710875

Book preview

The Walking Bomb

THE WALKING BOMB

A FANTASY TALE

ROBERT JESCHONEK

Blastoff Books

CONTENTS

Also by Robert Jeschonek

The Walking Bomb

About the Author

Special Preview: Heaven Bent

THE WALKING BOMB

Copyright © 2023 by Robert Jeschonek

http://bobscribe.com/

Cover Art Copyright © 2023 by Ben Baldwin

www.benbaldwin.co.uk

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved by the author.

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Published by Blastoff Books

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THE WALKING BOMB

When the bomb was filled with explosive PBX paste, Rev. David Halloran turned the valve that cut off the flow of paste from the hose. With a black-gloved hand, he scooped the excess gray paste from the bomb’s central cavity and deposited it carefully in the big cardboard box on the tray beside him.

Standing on the gantry across from him, Judy Krulwicki did the same, disengaging the hose poised above her own bomb and dumping the excess paste in a box. Her movements, like his, were smooth but slow. Her hands were well practiced at the work, but it never paid to hurry.

Making bombs was a dangerous business.

If one of the 2,000-pound bombs suspended nose-down in the giant rack between them went off, David and Judy would be killed instantly. So would everyone else in the building and every building nearby.

It was just another day at the bomb factory.

Will you be at the covered dish supper tonight? said David as he capped the tail end of the bomb he’d just filled.

Absotutely, said Judy. I’m bringing my taco casserole.

David carefully screwed on the cap and latched it down. Why don’t you just bring it over to the house? I’ll take it to the supper for you.

Judy laughed. It’d never make it to the supper, she said.

In my stomach, it would, said David.

You big silly, said Judy. A huge grin tugged at her pudgy features, tucking in dimples and puffing up candy-apple cheeks.

David laughed as he wiped his paste-covered hands on his white coveralls. They were already filthy with gray and black smudges from the rest of the day’s work. They were always filthy, just like everyone’s at the plant.

At David and Judy’s signal, Moe Dupree rolled up in the forklift and carefully slipped the tongues of the fork under the cart holding the bomb rack. Locking the fork in place, he slowly backed up the lift, pulling the cart of bombs along with him.

David watched the bombs go. These days, he figured, they would end up falling out of U.S. planes over the Middle East or Southwest Asia. Eighteen years ago, when he had started at the plant, he hadn’t necessarily known that every bomb he worked on would be dropped on somebody. Anymore, there wasn’t