could be paid for with canned
food, various ammunition ranging from .22 caliber to shotgun shells, silver or
cash. You could ride the bus for a silver quarter or sixty-five paper dollars.
Caden rubbed his chin. Either they are gouging riders or inflation is
soaring. He sighed. With production across the country falling inflation
is probably running unchecked. At sixty-five dollars a person, cash seemed
to be the most expensive, but what was the going price of silver?
In red
letters across the bottom of the sign it red, “No checks or credit cards.” His
gaze returned to the bus itself. It appeared to have been painted with anything
that was available at the moment. Colors ranged from red to green and black. In
some places it was a single color while other parts were painted with flowers
and trees. Noticing the cracked windshield and at least one bald tire, he was
certain the bus would never pass a DOT inspection, but he was also sure no one
was bothering with inspections now. Caden had ridden similar buses while
overseas in the army, but had never seen such a thing in America.
“ I’ve
died and gone to Woodstock.”
The
voice came from behind him. In one swift motion he turned, saw it was Maria and
shot to his feet.
Still
in his arms Adam screamed.
Maria
embraced them both.
“ I was
worried I wouldn’t see you again,” he said.
“ I was
worried too,” she replied.
“ I
thought you might blame me for your arrest?”
Her face
registered both compassion and amusement. “Why would I do that?” She looked at
the bus. “Is the bus heading toward your home?”
“ Yes,”
he nodded. “I have to stop in Olympia on the way and talk to Governor Monroe,
but we should be home in a few hours.”
“ Good.
I’m beginning to feel like a gypsy.” She moved toward the bus and stopped. “Do
we have $130?”
“ No.”
Caden rummaged through his bag and pulled out a silver dollar. “I really didn’t
want to use a silver dollar for a bus ride but…well, we need the ride.”
The
driver climbed onboard and started the engine.
Caden
again smelled french-fries as he and Maria boarded the bus and sat in the only
space available, the bench seat right behind the driver. With a shudder, the
vehicle pulled away from the curb.
As the
bus entered a deserted freeway, Maria asked, “How far is it to Olympia?”
“ Where
you going in Olympia?” the driver asked over his shoulder.
“ The
capitol building,” Caden replied.
“ The
capitol? That’s surrounded by the military.”
Maria
sighed.
“ It’s
about 18 miles,” the driver continued as he weaved around two burned-out cars.
Holding
on to the bar with one hand and the baby with the other Maria asked, “Are the
regular buses not running?”
“ You
not from around here?”
“ We
recently flew into JBLM,” Caden replied.
“ Oh,”
he nodded. “Things started falling apart with the D.C. blast. Many people left
Seattle, Tacoma and the suburbs for anywhere else, but most things continued to
work until the Seattle blast. Then everyone who had stayed tried to leave—all
at once.” The driver turned almost sideways in his seat. “From what I hear,
power and water are mostly down in Seattle and Tacoma and the only people left
are police, the military, gangs and victims. Olympia is relatively okay, but
stores are sold out of most everything. What is left is either rationed or in
short supply. When the buses stopped running a couple of days ago we started
using our old bus to make a little money. Notice how there are no cars on the
freeway.”
Caden
nodded.
“ No
gas. Civilians can’t buy it at any price.”
“ Where
do you get the gas to run the bus?”
“ You
can modify a diesel engine to run on just about anything—even used cooking
oil.” With one hand on the wheel he turned almost completely around. A broad
grin spread across his face. “Smell that french-fry aroma? That’s what this is
running on.”
Maria
cocked her head to the side.
food, various ammunition ranging from .22 caliber to shotgun shells, silver or
cash. You could ride the bus for a silver quarter or sixty-five paper dollars.
Caden rubbed his chin. Either they are gouging riders or inflation is
soaring. He sighed. With production across the country falling inflation
is probably running unchecked. At sixty-five dollars a person, cash seemed
to be the most expensive, but what was the going price of silver?
In red
letters across the bottom of the sign it red, “No checks or credit cards.” His
gaze returned to the bus itself. It appeared to have been painted with anything
that was available at the moment. Colors ranged from red to green and black. In
some places it was a single color while other parts were painted with flowers
and trees. Noticing the cracked windshield and at least one bald tire, he was
certain the bus would never pass a DOT inspection, but he was also sure no one
was bothering with inspections now. Caden had ridden similar buses while
overseas in the army, but had never seen such a thing in America.
“ I’ve
died and gone to Woodstock.”
The
voice came from behind him. In one swift motion he turned, saw it was Maria and
shot to his feet.
Still
in his arms Adam screamed.
Maria
embraced them both.
“ I was
worried I wouldn’t see you again,” he said.
“ I was
worried too,” she replied.
“ I
thought you might blame me for your arrest?”
Her face
registered both compassion and amusement. “Why would I do that?” She looked at
the bus. “Is the bus heading toward your home?”
“ Yes,”
he nodded. “I have to stop in Olympia on the way and talk to Governor Monroe,
but we should be home in a few hours.”
“ Good.
I’m beginning to feel like a gypsy.” She moved toward the bus and stopped. “Do
we have $130?”
“ No.”
Caden rummaged through his bag and pulled out a silver dollar. “I really didn’t
want to use a silver dollar for a bus ride but…well, we need the ride.”
The
driver climbed onboard and started the engine.
Caden
again smelled french-fries as he and Maria boarded the bus and sat in the only
space available, the bench seat right behind the driver. With a shudder, the
vehicle pulled away from the curb.
As the
bus entered a deserted freeway, Maria asked, “How far is it to Olympia?”
“ Where
you going in Olympia?” the driver asked over his shoulder.
“ The
capitol building,” Caden replied.
“ The
capitol? That’s surrounded by the military.”
Maria
sighed.
“ It’s
about 18 miles,” the driver continued as he weaved around two burned-out cars.
Holding
on to the bar with one hand and the baby with the other Maria asked, “Are the
regular buses not running?”
“ You
not from around here?”
“ We
recently flew into JBLM,” Caden replied.
“ Oh,”
he nodded. “Things started falling apart with the D.C. blast. Many people left
Seattle, Tacoma and the suburbs for anywhere else, but most things continued to
work until the Seattle blast. Then everyone who had stayed tried to leave—all
at once.” The driver turned almost sideways in his seat. “From what I hear,
power and water are mostly down in Seattle and Tacoma and the only people left
are police, the military, gangs and victims. Olympia is relatively okay, but
stores are sold out of most everything. What is left is either rationed or in
short supply. When the buses stopped running a couple of days ago we started
using our old bus to make a little money. Notice how there are no cars on the
freeway.”
Caden
nodded.
“ No
gas. Civilians can’t buy it at any price.”
“ Where
do you get the gas to run the bus?”
“ You
can modify a diesel engine to run on just about anything—even used cooking
oil.” With one hand on the wheel he turned almost completely around. A broad
grin spread across his face. “Smell that french-fry aroma? That’s what this is
running on.”
Maria
cocked her head to the side.
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