The Rust Band
I. The scanner picked up the signal at seven in the morning, right after I'd finished loading a truck full of crushed washing machines into the back of the pickup. My hands were still covered in grease and rust dust, the kind of grime that gets under your nails and stays there no matter how many times you scrub them with GoJo. I wiped my forehead with the back of my wrist and squinted at the...
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