They’ve been putting out yard signs for more than 12 hours, and it’s just after midnight on a Thursday. Bud’s driving, and Kerry is curled up in the passenger seat, trying to sleep.

“He’s the one, right?” Bud asks again.

Kerry moans plaintively. She tries to turn farther away from Bud, but her seatbelt pushes on her stomach uncomfortably, and she is forced to turn back.

Bud answers his own question. “Yes! Yes, he is. He has to be. He fits the model that works: he was a significant player with a major party before he went independent, he’s in marginal district, and he has significant personal resources.”

Bud’s been interning with Ellie Endsley’s Independents Can since he transferred to the University of Texas last year, and he is eager to be part of an independent candidate’s success.

Kerry is one of Endsley’s handful of full-time, paid employees, but she has been out of Endsley’s favor of late. “Unprofessional” was the word that Endsley used to describe Kerry’s behavior the last time that she and Endsley talked face-to-face.

Bud sings along to the radio. “I saw the bride in her wedding gown. I was in the house when the house burned down!” He is exhausted, and slightly manic as he drums on the steering wheel. He leans over and drums with one hand on Kerry’s exposed thigh.  She does not move or protest.

They are driving North to San Antonio, where they will spend the night. Tomorrow, they’ll continue distributing yard signs for a different candidate in another legislative district.

Bud changes lanes without signaling. “How can you sleep when all of this is happening? We are right in the middle of the evolution of Texas politics. It’s akin to Karl Rove helping the Republicans take over Texas. Will we make it? Can we figure it out? How do we find the right way to go?!?“

Bud wants Kerry to play along with him, but she still refuses to bite.

“You’re getting loopy,” she says with a smile, her eyes still closed. “Pay attention to the road.”

Bud looks over at her and fails, again, to see that the car’s low fuel light is illuminated.

“Wake the fuck up!” he yells.

She opens her sleepy eyes and yawns. She sees how hard he is staring, and she bites the tip of her tongue playfully. “Are we almost to San Antonio?” she asks.

He reaches out and touches her thigh again, this time leaving his hand in place. “Yes,” he says.

Kerry stretches and sits up straight. She grabs his hand and slides it up her leg a little more, before shoving it away.

“Try to get us there in one piece,” she says, pointing to a car that is moving into their lane from the on-ramp.

Bud quickly changes lanes to avoid the car entering the road from the on-ramp. To their left, the lane dedicated to autonomous buses, trucks, and cars is crowded, and all of the vehicles are advancing in an orchestrated, high-speed line. When a large piece of plastic falls off of one of the automated trucks, the car behind hits it and throws it into Bud’s lane, puncturing the tire.

Kerry shrieks as Bud curses and fights to maintain control of the car, which is threatening to swing around on him after an overcorrection.

They finally make it to the shoulder and pull over to look at the damage. Bud leaves the car running while he gets out to inspect. Kerry stays behind and closes her eyes again, thankful for a moment of peace and quiet. Her heart is still racing.

“The tire is in bad shape, but its not destroyed,” Bud says when he returns. “Let’s drive slowly on the shoulder to get off this road, then go from there.”

Kerry does not respond or open her eyes. But when the cars begins to run out of fuel and sputter less than 200 yards farther down the road, she moans again.

Bud clutches the wheel and verbally coaxes the car to keep going. Kerry looks at Bud with a mixture of horror and amazement. “We can’t coast forever,” she tells him.

Bud nods resignedly, as the car rolls to a stop. “Fuck.”

Kerry closes her eyes and tries to curl up again, unwilling to face the reality that they are stuck.

Bud looks to make sure there are no cars coming. “My granddad used to say, ‘The first step forward is a good start.’” He opens his door and steps out onto the shoulder, slamming the door shut behind him. His window is down.

“Can’t I wait here and sleep?” she calls from the passenger seat as he walks away.

Bud turns and walks backward while he yells back. “You don’t want to stay here; I promise! Come on, let’s get moving!”

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