216
You return to find Kate sitting on the hood of the roadster, sifting through a box of items she has found. She, too, has been unable to find any fuel, but she has salvaged enough food for a decent evening meal.
‘I even found some wine from your home state,’ she says, proudly holding out a bottle of Californian dry white for your inspection.
‘That’s great,’ you reply, with a smile. ‘Now all we need is a corkscrew!’
As night draws in and the temperature falls, a strong wind arises that whips along the freeway, howling like an angry ghost. You sense that it is the prelude to a storm and you suggest to Kate that you look for somewhere to shelter. An old brick-built library standing close by seems like a good bet: the walls are strong and it still has a roof, which is more than can be said for over ninety per cent of the Bakersfield buildings.
