by R. K. Weir
"What about the backup bus?" he asks, his eyes snapping to another small group of people leaving the school. Rocket’s hands are twisted in her hair now, her focus centered exclusively on the abolished bus, still overwhelmed with flames. "Rocket!" Aaron snaps, garnering her attention.
"It’s— the engine is still faulty." she stutters, eyes still lingering on her bus. Her stare is like that of a mother, watching her child get into an accident.
"Will it drive?" he asks.
Her head wobbles ambiguously on her shoulders, with the vague essence of a nod hidden in the movement. If she thinks it can drive, she's certainly on the fence about it. My brows furrow together, not entirely convinced.
"It'll have to do," Aaron says with a shake of his head. "Go and set it up."
"But I—"
"Now, Rocket!" he snaps, his fists beginning to shake at his sides. He's beginning to panic, like the rest of us. He's about to say more when the roar of an engine cuts him off, the sound riding above that of the fire. Confusion hazes his features before his eyes pop open with realization.
"No!" he shouts, before turning and running towards the source of noise. I watch him go, disappearing behind the bus before I turn to Rocket.
"What's wrong?" I ask. She looks over at me.
"They're taking the cars," she explains. The cars they use for scavenging runs. I'm about to ask her why that's a problem, but realize that it isn't a problem. It's Aaron's problem. He doesn't realize that they're doing what they need to do to survive. Sticking together won't keep you alive, acting on your feet will. If I was capable of running I would probably be with them, stealing a car and driving it as far away as I possibly can. Their best chance of survival is stealing those cars, mine is with the backup bus.
This makes me think of Stella, and how she's already out there with a car. Will she come back? The thought floats around in my mind before I realize that I already know the answer. Of course she won't. She has what she needs, there's no reason for her to come back here.
I pause with this thought, wondering if I should be happy. Happy that I'm rid of her, or happy that she's safe. But it isn't happiness that I feel.
I shake all thoughts of her away, deciding that there are more important things to focus on right now. Like getting the hell out of here.
Rocket is already running towards the backup bus, and I decide that my best option is to follow her. My first step is a painful one, the pressure of the bandages feeling like a snare around my leg. More people are running now, in all directions. Some of them are screaming, some are crying.
I ignore them, and move to pursue Rocket. She's run around the side of the hall and out onto a grassy oval. I don't bother trying to keep pace with her, it's no use. But I do try to keep her in my line of sight as I struggle forward. Finding the new lack of a crutch or support a significantly difficult transition to make.
The ground is soft on the oval, and I find it easier to walk. It’s far less painful, as my steps prefer to sink in the dirt than collide with cement. I can see the backup bus on the other side of the oval, sitting under a veranda on a patch of concrete. Rocket has already reached it, fumbling under its hood with tools.
Even from a distance I can see why this is the backup bus. It's exterior alone succeeds in inspiring incertitude. Its yellow paint has been chipped and torn away by age, leaving a grimy brown color in its place. The tires look worn, like they've been stretched out and kneaded back together again. I grimace at the sight of it.
Suddenly I'm unsure if this really is my best chance of survival. I hobble over to her anyway, because I know that I have no other choice. She lifts herself away from the engine as I approach, her hands now covered in grease, gripping the sides of the hood. She looks over to me, her jaw falling slack.
"Logan! Behind you!" she yells, throwing out a grease covered finger. I slow to a stop and turn in the direction she is pointing. On the other side of the oval is a man, running towards us. It isn't until I squint that I realize he's infected, its hard steps trampling down the grass as it sprints.
How did it get in?
The people who have taken the cars must have left the gate open. Or I was right in my criticism that the fence is too weak to keep them out.
"Catch!" I turn just in time to grab the spanner she has thrown at my head. Its steel is cool in my grip, and glints in the sunlight. I hold it out at my side, my fingers tightening around it as I ready myself for the swing.
The infected is close enough now that I can hear its ragged panting, so I bounce forward on my good leg and heave the spanner up at it. Its arm manages to catch my swing, slowing the momentum, but the blunt head still hits it on the underside of its chin. It forces its jaw together, a loud crunch emanating from its mouth as I catch a glance of broken teeth poking out through pursed lips.
A stream of blood spurts from its mouth as it falls back, most of the liquid caught by its crushed teeth. Some still manages to splash on my shoulder, a splatter spreading across my neck. I wipe it away with the back of my hand as the infected collapses in the grass, thrashing wildly.
I throw the spanner above my head and bring it down with as much force as possible. The infected man is moving so much that I end up hitting its shoulder. It pops loudly and I assume that I've dislocated it as its arm begins to flop around more aimlessly than before.
It begins to get up from the ground when I lob the spanner at it again, this time striking it on the side of the head. It falls to its side and I hold the spanner up higher this time. Like an executioner, I bring it down. The metal crushes the bone, leaving a sizable dent on the side of its head. I bring it down again, this time breaking through its skull as the spanner sinks into skin, fragments of bone slipping and locking it in place.
I try to pull it out but it remains lodged in its skull, securely held by crumpled bone and bleeding flesh. I pause for a moment, and only when I'm sure it is dead do I let my grip fall from the spanner. It stands at an angle, sticking out from the side of its head.
I hear a scream of the living, closely followed by a wail of the undead. I don't bother trying to remove the spanner when I see three more infected running towards me from the other side of the oval. Instead I turn towards Rocket, who has just slammed the hood of the bus down and is now moving to get inside.
By the time I reach the door she's already accelerating across the oval. I struggle to jump inside, almost falling over whilst climbing up the steps. As we approach the three infected I sit down and grip the back of her seat, preparing for the bump. I'm caught off guard when she swerves away from them, their arms slamming against the side of the bus, their nails screeching against the metal.
"What are you doing? Run them down!" I protest, watching them slowly fall to the back of the bus. She shakes her head, glancing back at me in the rear-view mirror.
"The engine’s too delicate, one bad bump and it could go," she explains. I begin to rethink my decision of getting on this bus when she takes a sharp turn round the side of the hall, and drives a little further out from the burning wreckage of the other bus. As she cranks the door open she begins shouting, waving the remaining people onto the bus.
The ethnic couple are the first to reach us. They hurry up the steps and stumble through the bus, falling into a seat. Aaron runs down from the gate, a small knife gleaming with blood clenched in his right fist. He begins pointing people towards the bus, leading them on to it.
An infected sprints from around the hall and towards them. It pants like a dog, a string of saliva swinging from its lower lip as it pounces towards them. Without hesitation Aaron throws the knife out, stabbing it in the forehead. Even from the confines of the bus I hear the snapping crunch of the blade penetrating the bone.
Knife still lodged in its head, he throws the body aside as the small group of people he has managed to collect board the bus. I count them as they come on. A round woman, a young girl, two teenage boys and a skinny Chinese man. I wonder if he's the son of the Doctor, but quick
ly realize that it doesn't matter.
Five in total. Seven including the ethnic couple already on board. It's more than I thought there would be. Aaron stands by the door of the bus for another moment, glancing around at the school grounds. An infected wails in the distance and he steps on the bus.
He takes the seat beside me and leans over so that he can speak to Rocket. "Take the back entrance, that way we—" he begins to tell her, but stops when a movement catches his eye. He leans over in his seat to look out the window.
I follow his gaze to find Joey, standing at the top of the steps of the English block, a red bag slung over his shoulder. Rocket begins to turn the bus away when he starts running down the stairs.
"Wait, Rocket!" Aaron yells, throwing his hand out towards her. "Joey's coming!"
The engine rumbles as she presses down on the accelerator. "I ain't waitin' for him," she sneers.
Aaron's eyes widen before he jumps from his seat, grabbing the steering wheel and locking it in her grip.
"What the hell are you doing?" Rocket snaps, trying to wrestle his grip away while still steering the bus around.
"Stop the bus!" he yells at her. She looks at him as if he’s lost his mind.
"We should leave him behind!" she yells back, fighting for control of the wheel. I'm about to agree with her when I see Stella beside the math's block, running towards us.
"No, Rocket! Stop the bus!" I yell out, pointing towards Stella and Gale in the distance. She glances towards them. With her jaw visibly clenched, she stomps her foot down on the breaks.
The wheels screech as the bus slides to a stop, knocking over two infected along its way. I wince, wondering if that will be enough to dislodge the engine, but Rocket doesn't seem fazed. I look back to Stella, a few feet behind Joey.
She came back.
I don't have time to marvel at this however as Rocket snaps up from her seat and stands, blocking the door of the bus as Joey reaches us. He comes to a halt in front of her, his eyes still wild now hold a growing fear.
"Rocket we don't have time for this!" Aaron growls, standing behind her.
"I ain't lettin' him on so that he can blow up this bus too!" she barks, pushing Joey back a few steps. Aaron glances between the two of them, a breath passing between his lips as he struggles to think.
"I'm sure there's an explanation behind what happened!" Aaron says, prompting Rocket to glance back at him with a raised brow.
"Yeah! And that reason is he was so hopped up on drugs that he thought blowin' up my bus was a good idea!" She turns to look back down at Joey just as Stella and Gale reach the bus. "You ain't gettin' on," she says.
Stella stands panting, her features fraught and tense as she takes in the exchange from over Joey's shoulder. Rocket points a finger at her and Gale.
"You two can get on, but I ain't giving this worthless bag of dog shit another chance," she growls. Stella's face pinches in confusion as Joey just stands with his mouth agape.
"What?" Stella asks. "What the hell is going on?"
"Rocket," Aaron states calmly, "we don't have time for this. Just let him on the bus and we'll deal with him later." He places a gentle hand on her shoulder, and her attention snaps to him. She's about to say something when an infected screams, running out from beside the math's block. It's soon joined by another infected woman, and then two more men.
They're all sprinting towards us. Gale makes a noise in the back of his throat as he tries to push his way past Joey and onto the bus. Rocket watches the infected for less than a moment, before she shrugs Aaron's hand off her shoulder. Mumbling a curse under her breath, she steps away from the door and sits down in the driver's seat. Aaron falls back into his own seat, muttering his thanks as Joey jumps on board without a word and takes a seat at the very back, furthest away from everyone else.
Gale is quick to follow after him, taking a seat behind the ethnic couple. Stella is the last to get on, offering me a small nod as she moves to take the seat behind me.
The door of the bus groans shut just as the nearest infected reaches us. Its body slams against the glass door, rocking the bus slightly as Rocket steers it towards the back entrance of the school.
She drives precariously, swerving to dodge multiple infected that are pouring in from surrounding streets. There must have been more in the area than I previously thought. After maneuvering the bus around a moderately sized group of them, she pulls on to the open road. I open the window and stick my head out to see the infected chasing after us, the tower of black smoke more prominent in the sky than ever. Rocket glances in the rear-view mirror and presses down on the accelerator, straining the bus to its limit.
The engine sputters out a groan, and I wonder if the infected will give up before the bus does.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Stella
The air on the bus is thick with tension. Overbearing and stifling. Even with most of the windows down I find myself feeling uncomfortable, like I've been swaddled with a thick blanket.
I move closer to the window, shifting myself into the stream of cool air that flows in from outside. This only makes things worse, as the wind is harsh, forcing strands of hair to whip about my face. I move away, finding stale air more comfortable as long as it is still.
My gaze drifts to the other passengers on the bus. I count the seven people I don't know, all sitting quietly. I remember standing in the hall when I first arrived at the school. It was abuzz with activity and it looked as though there were at least forty people. I remember thinking that there were a lot.
But now there are seven.
Thirteen in total, a number significantly small enough to leave me wondering what happened to everyone else. To leave me wondering what happened at the school. Why the bus had exploded. And why Rocket wanted to leave Joey behind.
Did Joey do something?
If he did, what could he have done that was so bad as to warrant a death sentence? My eyes wander towards him, sitting alone on the backseat of the bus. He looks sick, tired. But then I realize that we all do.
He notices me staring, but he doesn't smile like he normally would. He squirms uncomfortably, pulling the bag in his lap closer towards him. My eyes catch the movement, and I realize that the bag he is holding is red. My bag. He's holding my bag.
He cranes his neck to the side so that his gaze doesn't have to meet mine. Staring at the empty seat beside him for a few moments, his eyes begin to dart back to me periodically, checking to see if I'm still watching him.
I'm making him uncomfortable. I drop my gaze away from him and turn back around in my seat. What could he have done? And why is he holding my bag?
Is he the reason the bus blew up?
Surely not, I snort. He's quirky, but nowhere near demented enough to do something that drastic. I think back to what Rocket had said when I first met her.
We just don't get along.
Is it possible that that's all it was? Her simple dislike for him had prompted her to want to leave him behind? Like she had done before when she locked him in a bathroom. It's a possibility, albeit an unlikely one. She doesn't seem cruel enough to pull something like that off.
The questions bounce around in my skull, occasionally finding themselves perched on the tip of my tongue. I want to ask Logan, but the heavy silence of the bus restrains me. It feels wrong to make noise, and I think that maybe now is not the appropriate time to ask.
So I lean back into my seat, deciding I may as well take a nap. The leather is cracked and peeling, and the cushion is harder than on the other bus, but it'll have to do. Just as I am about to close my eyes, Logan turns around in his seat, his gaze craning to meet mine. I sit back up, hoping that I might be about to receive some answers sooner than I had thought. I feel more comfortable making noise, as long as he is the first to breach the silence.
"Kid," he nods, and I nod back. The word is practically whispered, but surrounded with silence it sounds more like a shout. Aaron glances at us, his attention caught by the nois
e, and I realize that our conversation isn't going to be a private one. Logan clears his throat before continuing. "You came back."
I nod, noticing the unspoken question in his eyes. "You didn't think I would?"
He tears his gaze away from mine, puffing out a breath. "Honestly," he says. "No."
He returns his attention to me, but not before I drop my gaze to the ground. "But I'm glad you did," he says.
A pang of guilt hits me, and I think about telling him the truth. How I wasn't going to come back. That if it weren't for Gale, I would be halfway to the coast by now. But I need to think strategically. Telling him the truth will only put a strain on our relationship. I look over my shoulder and try to catch a glimpse of Gale, but he's hidden behind the couple sitting in front of him.
"Well," I say, turning back to him. "I guess I realized that I kinda like some of the people here." I listen to each word as I speak them, and I realize that I'm not entirely lying.
"You did good kid," he tells me. "I'm proud of you."
An emotion swells in my chest, but I try not to give it any attention. I dodge his stare and opt to look out the window instead. His pride is misplaced, and I almost feel bad for taking it. But I shouldn't feel bad for wanting to leave when I had the chance. I put my survival first without endangering anyone else's.
Was that such a bad thing?
I shake the thought away, deciding that it can't have been a good thing if it’s left me feeling so misplaced. His brow begins to furrow, so I change the topic before he has a chance to catch on.
"So what happened?" I ask, leaning forward to take advantage of what little privacy we can get. I doubt anyone else on the bus wants to talk about it, or even be reminded of it. He too leans forward, draping an arm over the back of his seat so that he can move closer. And he tells me.
"Joey blew up the bus."
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't slightly taken aback, but it was a possibility I had considered.
He tells me everything that happened. How Joey had covered the bus with lighter fluid and stuck fireworks in the gas tank. How he had done it all for revenge.