The Route 04 bus dropped off the viaduct ramp like a lead weight, its worn rear leaf springs bottoming out against the axle bump-stops.
Mac stood on the accelerator pedal with his full two hundred and twenty pounds.
“Hang onto your teeth!” Mac shouted. “Governor is bypassed! Detroit Diesel is eating pure fuel!”
The black soot pouring from the bus’s roof stack hit the rain-soaked industrial alleys of District 9, leaving greasy black smudges on the wet brick warehouses.
Julian leaned against the fare-box, his knuckles white around the cold handrail.
Every block they passed looked familiar, but wrong.
District 9 was his home. He’d walked these cracked sidewalks in his Starlight Mart smock every midnight for six years. He knew which storm drains backed up during river storms. He knew which streetlamps had bad ballasts that buzzed at sixty cycles.
Now, the entire district was trembling.
