Chapter 131
Driving into Black Snow
Chapter 131 Driving into Black Snow
In January 1930, the cold winds from the Arctic swept across the open plains of North America, bringing a harsh winter to an extremely vast area.
Arthur Kennedy drove the modified Ford Model A pickup truck that Isabella had given him westward along the snow-covered highway.
The modified engine is extremely powerful, and with the addition of snow tires, it drives smoothly even on rough roads.
The carriage also contained spare gasoline cans, a toolbox for repairing vehicles, and boxes of canned food.
On Arthur's passenger seat was a Colt M1911 semi-automatic pistol.
This was a self-defense weapon that Patrick specially purchased from the Brooklyn black market at great expense after learning that he was going to cross the heart of the United States.
The gun also comes with three magazines filled with .45 caliber high-powered bullets.
In 1930s America, road safety was not much better than during the frontier era, and a reliable military pistol was more useful than anything else.
Once we left the area of New York City, the view outside the window changed dramatically.
Skyscrapers and upscale apartments were quickly left behind, replaced by the desolate landscape of New Jersey and the rolling Appalachian Mountains.
The further we drove towards Pennsylvania, the more gloomy the sky became.
This is a grayish-black layer mixed with industrial waste gas and unburned coal slag.
After a long journey of eight hours, Arthur finally arrived in Scranton at dusk.
The scene before him was completely different from what Arthur remembered.
This anthracite coal capital, which once fueled the industrial prosperity of the American East Coast and provided fuel for countless factories, seems to have died completely.
The towering mine shafts, like huge steel skeletons, stand silently in the gray-white snow, without a trace of steam rising from them.
The once bustling coal preparation plant is now eerily silent, with rusty coal wagons parked on the tracks.
The snow here is black.
The smokeless coal dust that floats in the air year-round falls to the ground with the snow, covering the entire city with a layer of filth that cannot be washed away.
There were almost no cars on the streets.
Occasionally, a few miners, dressed in tattered single-layer clothes and wrapped in burlap sacks for warmth, would walk by, shivering in the wind and snow. Their cheeks were sunken, and their eyes were empty, like soulless walking corpses.
Following the original owner's memories, Arthur drove the pickup truck to St. Peter's Church, located on the edge of the mining area, with ease.
On the open ground near the church, makeshift tents made from scrap wood, sheet metal and rags were densely packed together.
It was a refuge for unemployed miners who had been evicted from their dormitories by the coal company.
The cold wind blew, and the thin tents rustled as if they might be torn to shreds at any moment.
Father Els was standing at the church door waiting for him.
Father Birxel looked much older than he remembered; his clergy robes were worn and tattered, and his once gray hair was now completely white.
"Arthur, you've finally arrived." Father Els came forward to greet him.
Arthur followed the priest into the church.
Before the dimly lit altar lay a plain wooden coffin, devoid of any decoration.
Arthur walked to the coffin and stood there quietly for a long time, the anger in his chest growing stronger and stronger.
He turned to Father Els and said in a low voice, "Father, I know Scranton has always used a 'company token' system. But I thought that as long as I sent back real US dollars every month, Mother could buy the necessary medicine in a nearby city and hire a private ambulance. How could US dollars not buy emergency oxygen?"
Father Els sighed and shook his head.
He walked unsteadily to the wooden table beside him, opened the drawer, grabbed a handful of metal coins, and threw them heavily onto the table with a "clatter".
Those were crudely made brass tokens bearing the "Scranton Mining Company" logo.
As a Scrantonian, Arthur was very familiar with this thing.
This was an internal currency issued by the coal company to completely control the miners; the workers called it "coal black money."
Miners risk their lives to dig out coal, only to receive copper sheets that can only be purchased in the expensive "company stores."
"Arthur, you underestimated the greed of capital and overestimated the resilience of this city. You're used to the purchasing power of the dollar in New York, but this is another world," Father Els said bitterly.
The priest revealed to Arthur a truth even more cruel than he remembered.
"Yes, you sent back genuine US dollars. But because the entire city had long been isolated by the token system, private businesses in Scranton had long been completely squeezed out by corporate stores. When the companies declared bankruptcy and withdrew, the city's supply chain instantly collapsed."
"When your mother was seriously ill, I took the thick wad of US dollars you sent back and ran all over the surrounding thirty miles. But the highway to the neighboring city was blocked by heavy snow. I had the money, but I couldn't find anyone who would accept it in exchange for a can of oxygen."
"7
Arthur clenched his fists tightly.
In certain extreme circumstances, in a place where the basic business ecosystem has been destroyed by monopoly capital, the US dollar has truly become a pile of useless waste paper.
The priest looked into Arthur's eyes and continued, "To be honest, your family is actually quite well-off, since you've never owed the company any money."
"Although some miners received tokens, the bills they incurred when they rented company dormitories and bought overpriced, moldy flour and medicine on credit from the company store were legal debts denominated in US dollars!"
"Now that the company is bankrupt, the Wall Street creditor banks have taken over the land. The banks don't recognize tokens; they only recognize those dollar-denominated debt certificates."
"So, those miners who spent their entire lives collecting tokens and ended up with nothing but a pile of scrap metal are now burdened with huge dollar debts. They were kicked out of their homes by security guards hired by the banks and are left to freeze to death in this black snow."
This is not just exploitation; it is a perfect, ruthless economic strangulation that devours people without spitting out the bones.
Throughout the Appalachian coalfield, conservative estimates suggest that over 60% of the miners live under the control of such companies.
The company monopolizes living resources, employs private armed forces to suppress unions, and forces the use of tokens for internal consumption to pay wages.
Capitalists extract profits with real wealth, leaving inflation and worthless tokens to the bottom, and finally use legally protected debt contracts to squeeze the miners dry.
Arthur grabbed a brass token from the table and clenched it tightly in his palm.
This place is only 200 kilometers away from New York, but the social conditions are like two different worlds.