“There hasn’t been a delivery since the day before Seattle was hit,” The driver said.
“Within minutes of that attack the line at the station stretched for over a mile,” the other MP continued. “By the end of the day there wasn’t any gas left.”
As they approached the main gate, Caden remembered that he had been required to leave his pistol behind when Maria was arrested. He asked the driver to stop. “I need to get something from the MPs.”
Grabbing his duffle bags from the back of the jeep Caden asked, “Will my…ah, Maria be brought here?”
The driver shrugged, “Maria? I was just told to get you to the main gate.”
He nodded in understanding.
“Good luck,” the driver said and drove off.
Caden soon stood in a long line in the lobby of the building. That gave him too much time to think. He was sure that General Collins would talk to Governor Monroe in the next few days. I really want to talk to the Governor first and explain, try to explain, what’s going on between Maria and me. What is going on between us? There was no denying that his feelings for her were growing. He wasn’t sure he wanted her to be his wife, but he didn’t mind people thinking she was. He needed to slow down, think things through. How do you take things easy and slow when the world is falling apart around you? As he thought about it he decided that the best way to explain their relationship to the governor was the way he did with the general. Tell the truth? Maybe it is just that simple.
Mom and Dad always said the truth was simple. Mom and Dad! He pulled out his phone and punched in the number. All he received in return was a rapid busy signal. He tried several more times without success.
“The best time to try is late at night,” a women behind him in line said. “The phone lines are usually busy during the day.”
That seemed reasonable. The military and government probably had control of most circuits and the few available for civilian use were probably swamped during the day. He thanked her and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
The image of his former boss, Senator Stevens, floated through his mind. Dead. He thought of the party with his co-workers he had attended that night. How many of them are dead?
The bloody face and body of Adam’s mother replaced those images and lingered momentarily until he recalled the image of his fiancée Becky on the television and the blackness that followed the Atlanta blast. How had Becky survived? How had she become press secretary for Michael Durant? President Michael Durant. The thought of her working for him made him cringe.
As the line moved slowly forward, Caden dragged his duffle bag beside him. Adam didn’t weigh much, but after an hour in line he felt like a ton. How did Maria hold him all day? He imagined putting the well-bundled child on the floor and pushing him along with his foot, but quickly dismissed the notion.
Finally, an MP once again handed Caden his unloaded pistol. He placed the weapon in his jacket pocket and walked out of the office past two soldiers with M-4s.
Returning to his thoughts, he recognized that he was glad that Becky was alive, but he desperately hoped that Maria was waiting for him outside the gate. That realization made him feel guilty, but his pace along the sidewalk quickened. As he rounded the corner and headed toward the bus stop he was nearly running. Wiping drops of cool rain from his face he scanned the group waiting for the bus. Maria was not there.
Taking shelter under a nearby tree, Caden sat on his duffle bag, turned up his collar and re-bundled Adam in his blankets. Would Maria soon be there or had she already been there? No, I went almost directly from the General’s office to the gate. Maria would think to check the security building. She must be coming. He looked around, but did not see her. He wondered if she blamed him for being arrested.
An old school bus, painted like a tie-dyed shirt, rumbled down the lane. With a bang the engine died and the bus rolled the last few feet to the stop. The side door opened and out jumped a man in bib-overalls and gray hair down to his mid-back tied in a ponytail. As he popped the hood, he called over his shoulder, “Be just a minute and we’ll head on our way south folks.”
Caden took a big whiff of the air. Why does everything smell like french-fries?
As the man worked on the engine, a woman in a long, flowery dress stepped out and hung a sign on the side of the bus. Soon she was collecting payment and allowing people onboard.
Caden remained seated as he read the sign. The trip 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.”