The Plain Man’s Compass
The mildew stench in the bunker was thick enough to make a goat wretch. It closed the already tight space but Pietro’s concerns were elsewhere. More than escaping the claustrophobia he wanted the pesky interrogation light off and worse, he wanted a cigarette. He had come across an overturned truck in a wreckage just west of the Poconos. The cartons took up a lot of cargo space but they were high value in the only currencies on Earth that mattered now. Goods and gold were the only money in what was left of America. His two youngest daughters enjoyed the spoils of the cigarettes but hated the smell. His eldest smoked with him, they often bonded over the one per day he allotted her while her sisters slept. He’d spent 72 hours in agency custody and Pietro was growing irritable.
