"Actually Bud, we appreciate the offer, but we'd like to get moving as soon as possible. First thing in the morning if you'll have us for the night." Johnny said, holding up a black, long-sleeve t-shirt.
Bud looked at Johnny for a moment then looked to Roosevelt.
"We'll have you, but I promised you fellas more than a few days. Ol' Bud keeps his promises. You sure you wanna head out so soon?" Bud replied.
Johnny nodded, hanging the black shirt over his shoulder and turning back to the pile of clothes.
"We've got somewhere to be, and things are only going to get worse. The sooner we get there, the better." Johnny replied.
Bud picked up a pair of Wranglers from the nearest table and tossed them to Johnny.
"Our ride only goes so fast, we gotta make up a lot of time." Roosevelt said.
"Might be able to help you there too. Got an old bronco ain't getting’ much use. She’s had her day, but she'll get you where you need to be." Bud said
"You and your town have done enough, we couldn't accept that…" Johnny began.
"A trade of course, we might have some use for that old buggy you got." Bud said, interrupting him.
"Throw in some snacks and it's a deal!" Roosevelt shot before Johnny could object. Bud chuckled and nodded his head.
"Consider it done.”
Chapter Seventeen
8:00 a.m. January 4, 2049
Sweetwater, Tennessee
“You boys get dressed and meet me back out front. I’ll show you that bronco and get this deal done.” Bud said, taking a seat on the front porch. He grabbed the box of cigars and pulled one out, lighting it with a wooden match. Johnny and Roosevelt headed inside with their new clothes and headed back up to the rooms they had slept in. Ten minutes later they were stepping back out onto the front porch. Cherry infused smoke wafted up into the air above Buds head as he released a large puff from his stogie. He looked up at them and nodded.
“You leave those bibs laying in your rooms?” He asked.
“Yes sir.” Johnny replied. Bud sat forward and stubbed his cigar out in the glass ashtray and then got to his feet.
“Well come on then. Ain’t got all day.” He said walking down the front steps. Johnny and Roosevelt followed behind him down the road to a small metal building with a sign that read Sweetwater Fire Department. He led them inside and stopped in front of a cork board with different sets of keys hanging from thumb tacks. He browsed through the keys for a moment until he spotted the ones he was looking for. Bud grabbed the keys and continued down a wood paneled hallway and out a door that led to the garage. A large red fire engine sat on one side of the garage, the fireman's gear and suits sitting in a neat pile next to the truck on the floor. Large black toolboxes sat in the corners and a long wooden work bench ran along the back wall covered in old worn out truck parts. An American flag hung down from the roof sideways above an old ratty looking Ford Bronco. Rust covered the fenders and hood of the truck and the vinyl interior was cracked and dry rotted throughout the cab.
“She looks a little rough, but she runs good and will climb through any mud hold you can get in.” Bud said, giving the old truck a pat on the roof.
“Damn thing looks like it’s at least a hundred years old.” Roosevelt replied as he poked his head inside the cab. Bud chuckled.
“It’s a 1997 model. Makes it 52 years old. Almost as old as me.” Bud said, still laughing.
“We’ll take it.” Johnny said, shoving his hand out to Bud. Bud went to grab it, but Roosevelt smacked Johnny's hand down out of the way.
“Snacks are still part of the deal, right?” He said in a serious tone. Bud burst into laughter and grabbed Johnny's hand in a firm grip.
“Yeah the snacks still come with it.” He said, giving Johnny's hand a quick shake as he chuckled and shook his head. Roosevelt smiled and gave the old man a nod of approval.
“Good doing business with you sheriff.” He said.
“Now that our business is done what do you say we take this old girl for a spin around town? We’ll stop over at Richey’s and fill it up for you.” Bud offered, looking from man to man.
“Sounds good to me.” Johnny said.
“Same here.” Roosevelt agreed. Bud gave a nod and tossed the keys to Johnny. They all climbed inside. The sound of cracking vinyl filled the air as they each slid into their seats. Johnny shoved the key in the ignition, twisted it and the old truck fired up with a deep rumbling growl on the first try.
“Seems like a decent truck so far.” Johnny said, putting it in drive and pulling to the edge of the main road.
“Take a right and head toward the edge of town. Richey’s Truck Stop has fuel and snacks.” Bud said, eyeing Roosevelt in his mirror.
“Good man!” Roosevelt said over the rumbling engine. Bud chuckled and sank back into his seat staring out of the window at his small town of Sweetwater as it passed by. A few minutes later they were parked outside of a large building that said Truck Stop in large white letters on top of the building. A large black Freightliner sat next to the gas pumps that lined one side of the place while a long row of diesel islands lined the other side. A massive gravel parking lot was situated beyond the diesel pumps with multiple tractor-trailers parked on the far end of the lot.
“Guess those folks never made it back home, did they?” Johnny asked, pointing his chin toward the dormant trucks.
“We have a few of those guys in town. How do you think we got all the
