Chapter 283: Chapter 144: Manhattan Project (2)

"What? 1.5?" Fries’s eyes went wide. He rushed forward, trying to get a look at the reading. "That’s impossible! I just measured it before I left. It was 2.5 millimeters!"

"Back off!"

The officer’s hand went to the holster on his hip.

"Are you trying to assault an officer?"

Fries froze.

He looked at the young, cold face, at the other officers surrounding him like vultures.

He understood.

This wasn’t a safety inspection at all.

They were just looking for trouble.

This was about pinning them down here for good.

"This isn’t fair!" Fries roared. "You’re deliberately giving us a hard time! I have a delivery to make! That’s steel for building up Pittsburgh!"

"There’s no steel here, only a non-compliant vehicle."

The officer tore off a pink impound slip and slapped it onto Fries’s chest.

"The vehicle is being temporarily impounded pending further technical evaluation. You can leave, or you can wait on the grass by the side of the road."

Fries held the ticket, his hand trembling.

That was his truck. It was his life.

The next few trucks in line met the same fate.

"Excessive exhaust emissions."

"Cargo bed flap height is non-compliant."

"Incomplete driver’s log."

The officers were using magnifying glasses, searching for every tiny flaw on these rugged trucks, then blowing them out of proportion to justify impounding them.

The drivers furiously laid on their horns.

"HONK—! HONK—!"

The jarring sound of air horns echoed through the night sky.

Some drivers jumped out of their cabs, shaking their fists and shouting curses.

"Are you cops or the capitalists’ guard dogs?"

"We need to get through! This is a public highway!"

Facing the drivers’ protest, the sergeant in command simply picked up a megaphone.

"All drivers, return to your cabs immediately! Any attempt to break through the checkpoint will be treated as a riot! We will use force!"

The riot police raised their shields and batons, pressing forward.

The drivers were forced back.

They were furious, but they were civilians. The only things in their hands were steering wheels, not weapons.

Faced with the violent intimidation of the state machine, they were helpless.

Fries squatted by the roadside, his eyes red as he stared at his old rig, now covered in impoundment seals.

He thought about the wrench he’d stuffed in his pocket before leaving, thought about rushing them and fighting these bastards.

But reason told him that would accomplish nothing except landing him in jail.

The young officer, badge number 4209, had just finished processing Fries’s ticket.

He felt a little weary.

His name was David. He was a Pennsylvania local, and his father had been a coal miner.

He had joined the force to uphold justice, to catch drug dealers and robbers.

But tonight, he felt like an accomplice.

He looked at the old driver squatting by the road, and an inexplicable sense of guilt washed over him.

Those hands, covered in grease and scars, reminded him of his own father.

"Damn it."

David cursed under his breath, his voice laced with helplessness. 𝘧𝘳𝘦ℯ𝓌𝘦𝒷𝘯𝑜𝑣𝘦𝓁.𝒸𝘰𝓂

’I know what I’m doing, and I know it’s despicable.’

’But there’s nothing I can do.’

’This is the job.’

’It’s an order from my superior, the only way I can keep my job.’

’In this damn world, a conscience doesn’t put food on the table, and justice can’t help me pay my mortgage.’

’I can only harden my heart and play the part of a guard dog, even if it makes me sick to my stomach.’

He turned, ready to stop the next truck.

Just then, he felt the ground beneath his feet vibrate.

It wasn’t his imagination.

The asphalt was trembling slightly, and ripples spread across the puddles on the roadside.

A sound like muffled thunder rolled in from the northern horizon.

"RUMBLE..."

The sound grew louder, more intense.

It was like a distant landslide, or the stampede of a mighty army.

David looked up, turning his gaze to the north.

The night sky there had been pitch-black.

But now, it was lit up.

First, one or two points of light flickered faintly.

Then, the points of light joined into a line.

And then, the line of light converged into a sea.

They were headlights.

Thousands upon thousands of headlights.

They pierced through the fine curtain of rain, illuminating the entire horizon.

The roaring sound drowned out all other noise.

This wasn’t just a dozen trucks.

This was a torrent of steel, composed of at least a hundred heavy-duty trucks, pickup trucks, and tractors.

With their high beams on, they formed a convoy that stretched for several kilometers, pressing forward with overwhelming force.

All the trucks blared their air horns.

"BLARE—! BLARE—!"

The sounds merged, creating a resonance that sent shivers down the spine.

It was the eruption of a power from the grassroots, suppressed for far too long.

David stood stunned in the middle of the road. The ticket book slipped from his hand and fell to the ground.

He watched the approaching convoy and saw the slogans spray-painted on the sides of the vehicles.

"SUPPORT PITTSBURGH!"

"BREAK THE BLOCKADE!"

"LONG LIVE THE WORKERS!"

"FOR THE CHILDREN!"

Some trucks flew the flag of the United States; others flew Union flags.

The sergeant’s panicked roar crackled over the radio.

"Stop them! Stop them now!"

"All units, attention! Level one alert!"

"Don’t let them break through! Write tickets! Push up all the barricades!"

The sergeant’s voice had gone shrill.

He had thought he was facing a few stray sheep, but now he realized a stampeding herd of wild buffalo was charging at him.

The riot police panicked, too. The hands holding their shields were trembling.

Against a few drivers, they dared to swing their batons.

But against this torrent of thousands of tons of steel, it was doubtful that even guns would work, let alone riot shields.

The first heavy truck had already reached the checkpoint.

It was a red International heavy-duty truck, its front high and imposing, with a thick crash bar welded to its front bumper.