The hot desert air streaming over the open top of the sky-blue Ford Mustang convertible ruffled Clarence's sandy hair. It resembled a messy bird's nest as he drove along the highway, resting his elbow on the open window. The sun blazed down, but not enough to force him to put the top up.

As he sped down the highway, he passed the new Hydroxy plant with its acres of solar panels, slow spinning windmills, and industrial electrolyzers pumping hydrogen gas into the ever growing pipeline network.

Clarence unconsciously pressed down on the gas pedal. The roar of his Mustang's four point seven liter, eight cylinder engine deepened. Soon the Hydroxy plant was far behind him. Only the ruler straight road broke the barren desert landscape.

A minute later Clarence caught up to another car. It was a Hydra, one of those damned new hydrogen fuel cell models that were now cluttering up the roads. He pressed his gas pedal even further down and left the Hydra behind as if it weren't even moving.

Clarence smirked at the startled expression of the elderly woman driving the Hydra as he flashed past. Equally satisfying, he passed a Zephyr and a Solaris, two more of the electric fuel cell road toys.
He checked his gas gauge and frowned. It was nearing empty. He'd planned to fill up a few miles back. But that gas station had been converted into a fast food chicken place.

Then Clarence saw the sign: Last Gas For 300 Miles 5 Miles Ahead. He relaxed and settled back.
But it was only two miles later when he reached the line of cars. He slowed, joined the back of the line and stopped.

For several minutes Clarence just sat there, engine idling. The line didn't move. He stood up, another benefit of driving a convertible, and peered up the road. He tried to spot the gas station. But all he saw was the line of cars disappearing into the distance.

Clarence dithered for a minute over what to do, then drove into the left lane and pulled up beside the last car in line, a Honda Civic. He looked at the middle aged woman behind the wheel. She stared at him suspiciously through her open window.

"Are you waiting for gas?" asked Clarence, instantly feeling stupid.

"What else?" asked the woman, her brownish hair, mixed with gray was lank from the sweat trickling down her head.

"How long have you been waiting?" he asked.

"About half an hour," she said.

Clarence nodded, squinting up the highway. He drove on, passing one car after another. He paused at the fiftieth car, a Toyota Camry.

"How long?" he called to the elderly man in the driver's seat.

"An hour and a half," said the man.

Clarence drove on, passing seventy cars. A hundred. Two hundred. He guessed he'd come at least a mile and the cars still stretched out ahead.

When Clarence reached the red GMC Wrangler, he stopped. A thirty-something blond woman in a green tank top was kneeling on the front seat, trying to comfort two crying children, smaller red-faced versions of herself, in the back.

She was pretty, despite her evident exhaustion and desperation.

"Can you spare any water?" she asked, turning to stare at him through reddened eyes.

A twisty, nagging fear knotted inside Clarence between his stomach and lungs.

"I can get help from the gas station if you want," he said.

The woman only closed her eyes for a moment and turned back to her children.

Clarence drove on, but had only gone a few hundred yards before his engine coughed, sputtered on for a few more car lengths, and then died. He grabbed his backpack, which contained a couple of water bottles and a few snack bars, and continued on foot. The gas station had to be close.

Now he passed cars whose drivers slumped over their steering wheels. No one moved or turned to look at him when he trudged past. It was only when he saw the fly crawl out of the nose of an elderly man slumped against the side window of his Silverado that he realized the man was dead.

Clarence hurried on, not stopping. Not until the gas station finally came into sight. The sign for Premium and Regular had been crossed out with black spray paint. In their place were the words "No Gas."

As Clarence stared at the sign, a low hum rose behind him. Moments later the Zephyr he had passed earlier zipped by and stopped at a glass and steel drive through kiosk fifty yards beyond the gas station. The kiosk bore a sign saying "Hydrogen Charging Station."

A man about his own age got out of the car, walked up to the kiosk and after swiping his card, pulled out a thick hose. The man plugged the hose nozzle into the side of his car, and with a loud hiss, frost formed on the nozzle. Ten seconds later the frost melted away, the man removed the nozzle and with a cheesy grin at Clarence, drove off.

Clarence looked back at the endlessly waiting line of cars behind him. He stared at them for the longest minute of his life. Then he walked to the hydrogen kiosk, passed it, and stopped. He stuck out his thumb.

A minute later, the Solaris arrived, its driver repeated the charging process, and then drove past Clarence without a pause.

Tired and thirsty, Clarence took out a water bottle and drained half of it. The Hydra appeared. The elderly woman charged her own hydrogen tank and resumed her seat. As her car approached him, Clarence hopefully extended his thumb. The Hydra seemed to pause, but then swerved around him. As it drove past, he saw the faces of the mother and her two children in the back seat. The mother's eyes lingered on his water bottle. The Hydra sped away. Clarence stuck out his thumb again. And waited.