Chapter 5

Rice was in a big enough town that it had a local transit system, and the population was dense enough to support commercial transportation, rural private companies eking out a margin, squeezed by rising fuel prices just as much as the farmers and, well, just about every one. However, Rice was able to get 240 miles by boarding and paying his fare, riding to the end of the line connection (dictated by economic need of the service) with the next little entity providing the niche service of taking the reasonable fare and sending folks like Rice onward to their destination or the end of the line.

Rice appreciated the casualness of just stepping aboard the little twenty seat busses, paying his fare, sitting down somewhere, and riding onward. There were no Terminal building with close circuit monitors (and recorders, you are deluding yourself if you think otherwise.) or needing to give your name to acquire a ticket. The less trail he left for ‘them’ to follow, the better. Even more, the various ‘local’ transit companies were not associated with each other aside from matching schedules more or less when convenient. They weren’t rivals, and were positively inclined towards other small companies in their exact circumstance.

Rice rode with about seven or eight of these little rural route transportation services before connecting with an outlying route of a major metropolitan area Public transportation system. Aware that Major transit had surveillance, Rice put up his hoodie before boarding the bus, just a standard axle bus this far out, with only one camera that Rice sat right under, on the passenger side at the front.

It also had the benefit of allowing a pretty good view through the front windshield, permitting Rice to indulge his penchant for paying attention although with his hoodie up he couldn’t see the other passengers. He had already assessed the ones on board, and he was in position to assess any one else boarding so if he didn’t feel right about a new passenger, then would be the time to put more attention inside the bus.

The view changed from suburb to city-scape as the #107 wended it’s way through it’s route, crossing other bus routes, the stops improving from mere signposts stuck at a slightly wider spot along the road, to actual shelters of metal and plexiglass. The major routes they crossed flaunted articulated busses, although it looked like all the passengers could have been accommodated on just one of the little regional busses Rice had been riding earlier in the day. Eventually, it seemed like they had arrived at the center of the city as indicated by there now being fifteen or twenty different route signs on the bus shelters, so Rice got off the #107.

Now having arrived in a larger city with more than just a few multi-story buildings, Rice found a park, and just blended in observing, getting a feel for the pulse and flow of the town. The cops seemed to just be doing their jobs, with out any extra motivations or emphasis, the cab drivers weren’t so desperate as to be overtly competitive, the au pairs didn’t seem especially watchful or nervous of their little charges. Rice speculated that it was a reasonably balanced urban center, even the homeless were content to stand awaiting alms patiently, instead of going aggro. So either the drugs were plentiful and cheep, or the cops removed the aggressive types from the street, or some combination perhaps. Who knows, maybe they had leadership and were self regulating. Although what can be done about those who have had a psychotic break with ‘reality’ and can no longer function and interact reasonably is problematic.

Having ‘taken the temperature’ of the area, Rice began to explore the area, noting all the narrow and low routes that he would fly through if chased, due to his experiences (what day is it anyway? Rice thought to himself) in the narrow confines between the cavern chambers, but which would hinder or stymie pursuers, making certain the paths didn’t end and scouting routes which would allow him to remain hidden. Luckily, the alleyways and service access which permitted these tall structures that shaded and cooled the streets below to be supplied and serviced with out inconveniencing the public also provided an ugly, noisome and dirty passage for Rice, with no surveillance except for that pin-pointed at fortress-like rear doors and easily avoided.

Rice sold his Zom Mil gear, given to him in gratitude for alerting the Zom LARPers to the approach of the ‘Posties’, to a kid in ‘mug me’ expensive running shoes. It was pretty cool gear, and Rice managed to get a fifty bill but he kept his lucky whistle.

Rice found the library, and tried to not let the cameras get a full on face shot as he found out what day it was, and did a little research in the stacks, as he didn’t want electronic records of his interests. It was interesting, and he learned what wasn’t said by ‘reading between the lines’ and applying logic and reason to the reported events.

Unwilling to spend all day chasing tangents, Rice exerted his self will and discipline and used the rest of the daylight hours finding safe places to stay dry and warm through the dark city nights. Having already noted a few possibles earlier in his roaming it didn’t take long before he had three very private comfortable spots that he used his by now casual caving skills to secure. One required equipment, a rope at least, as he had kept a favorite carabiner clipped to his belt for a souvenir.