They had debated back tracking to 520, and crossing the lake there instead. Joe had pretty much let Arlene decide. She was, after all familiar with Seattle, and he was not. In the end they had decided to head south down 5.
It had been slow going until they reached the Martin Luther King Highway. The stalled traffic had been much lighter there, and they had been able to drive part of the way by cutting into the parking lots of fast food restaurants, that dotted almost the entire length of the highway. Getting a car had not been a problem; there were several used car lots along the highway. They had used the parking lots to swing around the worst of the traffic, and that had worked well until they reentered 5. It was hopelessly packed with stalled traffic. They had left the car, which had sounded as if it was close to dying anyway, and struck out on foot again. Arlene led the way as they cut cross lots through Renton Municipal Airport, and eventually they came to 405.
Crossing the dead airfield had been unnerving for both of them. Many of the runways had cracked, and either lifted skyward, or tilted down into the ground. Several blackened skeletons of large aircraft dotted the airfield. Most of them were so badly burned that they had been unable to tell what they had been before. Joe thought a couple of them may have been military aircraft, but as badly twisted as they were it was impossible to be sure.
One large 707 sat tilted skyward on a chunk of runway that had separated from the surrounding pavement. The plane looked untouched, and almost as though it was some sort of rocket ship waiting to be launched skyward. Luggage, some burned, some untouched, was scattered across the airfield in every direction, and many of the suitcases were burst, with papers and clothing scattered everywhere along with other personal effects. There were bodies too.
On their way through the city they had seen very few bodies. It had been unsettling to Arlene. Almost as if everyone had just decided to leave at the same time. The bodies they had seen had not been killed by the Earthquake. They bore gunshot wounds, and appeared to have been dead for only a short period of time. Possibly only the last two or three days, they decided.
The bodies at the airport were concentrated around the terminal building. The huge glass windows were peppered with holes, and in some cases completely blown inward, as if a battle had taken place for the terminal. Most of the bodies inside were concentrated behind the long rows of seats in the main lobby, as if they had been trying to use the seats for cover. It had apparently done no good. They paused only briefly, wondering what had occurred before they moved on. The overwhelming stench in the shattered terminal building drove them out. The wrecked planes, where they had expected to see bodies scattered all around, were empty.
Occasionally they heard gunfire around them, and twice explosions from the downtown district behind them had startled them. They had hurried along fearing the sounds, but fearing more the possibility that the owners of the guns might find them.
Joe explained, with only partial success, that a battle had begun, but Arlene had found it hard to accept. They walked in silence across the remainder of the shattered airfield, and they were both glad when they left it behind them.
They walked slowly towards a truck dealership on 405. Here, like the Martin Luther King Highway, black topped parking areas fronted all manner of fast food restaurants, which bordered both sides of the strip. It wouldn't necessarily assure a way around the stalled traffic, Joe realized, but it appeared as though it would give them a much better chance of getting by.
Joe led them towards the rear garage area of the dealership, where they found a full size four wheel drive Chevy pickup. Joe had worked at a dealership before, and recognized the garage area as the Prep Shop.
"When someone buys a new car," Joe said, "or truck, or whatever, they have to prep it. Take the plastic off the seats, fill the tank, wax it, sort of get it ready for the customer, you know?"
"I thought they came from the factory all ready to go?" Arlene said.
"Well... they do, sort of," Joe agreed, "but, they have plastic over the seats to protect them, and oil drips from the cars overhead on the transport trucks; dirt gets tracked into them when the guys move them around the lot. Sometimes they may have a scratch, or small dent that the body shop guys have to fix, and they get paint over-spray all over the car; dust in it, you name it. I used to have to prep cars, and it's not much fun. Minimum wage type of job and the salesman who sold the car is usually breathing down your neck all the time you're getting it ready. I hated it. I figured though, if we're going to find a truck all ready to go, this would be the first place to look. Gassed up and the whole nine yards. They even waxed it for us." Joe finished, trying to break the somber mood that had set in as they crossed the airfield.
His effort worked partially, Arlene offered him a small smile as she spoke. "You know a lot of things don't you?"
"Not really," Joe said. "I just worked at a lot of different jobs. Mainly just to stay employed, but also, I guess, because I believe you should learn as much as you possibly can. It worked for me. I grew up with a lot of guys who were constantly unemployed. Maybe they were carpenters, or roofers, or auto mechanics, whatever. When things would get
