The Father snapped his bag shut, and pedalled away. Chuck went over for a closer look. Both of the kids were on roller skates, the powered kind. Chuck Dane noted with satisfaction that they were Airex skates.
Both of the kids had on the regular uniform, black leather jackets, and leather belts eight inches wide. Mounted on the center front of the belts were the regulation three foot razor sharp spears. Only now there was not much of the spears to be seen. Because neither kid had chickened. The shorter boy had caught a spear in the lower chest, and the taller one caught it in the guts.
Funny, Chuck Dane thought, staring down at them. Even in this cotton batting, vacuum world of 1990 the Teenagers could find ways to kill each other off! He envied them their spirit!
He waved at the cop, who was calling in a report, and walked back up the highway. When he got to his usual place, he started to cross.
"Olá!"
In that frantic second, he saw only the black leather jacket bearing down upon him. And the bike with the spear mounted on the handlebars, the tip sparkling like a diamond in the sun. It swerved, and came straight for him. Chuck dived into the ditch, even as he felt it prick his coat.
The kid yelled, "Cock-a-doodle-do!" and pedalled on.
Chuck climbed up out of the ditch and ran across the highway. Then he straightened his clothing, dusted himself off. This was damn undignified! He hated the kid, wanted to kill him with his bare hands.
He walked along, thinking how it had all come about. First it had been the highway death toll. When it had reached over two thousand on week days, and ten thousand on weekends, the government had stepped in. Their solution had been simple and foolproof. They simply taxed gas out of sight. Now the oil companies exported their total output, and were making more money than ever.
Then some fool in the A.M.A. had pointed out that almost as many people were dying of lung cancer as had previously fallen on the ribbons of death.