I stare at her, my mouth opening and closing as if words were coming out, but none are. She shoos me again and sits back down. I turn and head back to my seat, looking at my classmates and expecting to see them smirking or laughing at me for getting yelled at, but none are; they all look as equally frightened as I now feel.
I steady myself by holding onto the backs of the seats as I stumble back to sit down again. The bus turns too sharply, and I hear the driver cuss loudly before we hit something with a thud. Everyone aboard the bus screams, including me, and I cling onto a seat to stop myself from falling over. The bus tires screech loudly as we keep on going, ignoring the accident we just caused and the fact that we’re all scared half to death. The crying is louder now, and I turn to look out the front window of the bus, seeing smoke rising from the engine and blood splatter on the window.
I swallow down the lump in my throat, fear and panic gripping me tightly. The bus goes around another corner, but it’s still going too quickly despite the fact that we just hit someone or something, and I feel the tires on one side of the bus leave the ground. It leans to one side, and despite how hard I hold onto the back of a seat, as the bus flips onto its side I end up sprawling across the floor. Bags and students land on top of me, and I tuck in my legs and wrap my arms over my head to protect myself as the sound of screeching metal and glass smashing almost drowns out the sound of screams all around me.
My body hits a window, and I feel it crack underneath my weight. Something hard hits my side and I groan and try to push it off me as the bus continues to roll before finally coming to a stop. Everything falls silent, barring the ticking of the engine and the intermittent sobbing coming from somewhere. I close my eyes, feeling a warm trickle of blood slide between my breasts. I open my eyes and look down, and see a long shard of glass sticking into my chest. It doesn’t seem too deep, thankfully, but it hurts and it’s bleeding badly.
I push away the bags that have landed on me and stumble up to standing. My backpack is still on, and I’m thankful when I see all the broken glass underneath me that would have cut into my back if I hadn’t been wearing it. I grip the glass shard sticking between my breasts and pull with a sharp squeal. A fresh burst of blood escapes and I press the palm of my hand to it to stop the flow, tears springing in my eyes at the pain.
I can still hear crying, but the bus is a tangled mess of bodies, backpacks, and torn metal, and I still can’t see where it’s coming from. I step over a prone body, trying not to look at who it is, my hand still pressed against my chest. I walk the center aisle—or what is now the center aisle but used to be the side of the bus—and try to avoid standing on the broken windows as best I can. I can’t see any student with their eyes open—certainly none that look alive—and I let out the sob that I’ve been holding onto.
My vision swims and I clutch the side of a seat to steady myself until the vertigo stops, and then I keep moving toward the front of the bus. The front window is completely blown out, the bus driver having gone through it, and I look out and see his mangled body on the asphalt. Blood is pooling around him, and I can tell even from this distance that his skull is disfigured and broken and I sob loudly again, not even trying to contain my crying.
I climb out the window, small fragments of glass digging into the palms of my hands, and slide down the hood of the bus. I land on my feet but stumble onto my ass, momentarily letting go of my chest and releasing a fresh burst of blood from the wound. Steam is pouring from the front of the bus, a hissing and ticking as if it is tired and weary after a long day on the road, and I drag myself away from it as quickly as I can.
I look back up the road, expecting to see police cars or ambulances, fire trucks, or at the very least the other school buses, but there are none. I reach behind me into my backpack and fumble around for my cell, my fingers finally grasping it. I press the call button and hold it to my ear but there’s no sound, no dial tone, nothing. I clutch it in my hand, my chin trembling, and look up the road when I hear a sound. I can see people coming toward the wreck, and I barely contain my cry of relief that someone is coming to help.
I close my eyes tightly, barely controlling the tears that want to explode from me, and keep my hand pressed to my chest. My chin quivers, my body trembling as I slink into what must be shock. I need to be strong. Help will be here soon and then I can go to the hospital. My parents will meet me there and this will all be over.
Tires screech to a halt in front of me and I open my eyes. Dean is climbing out of his Prius, his face contorted in worry as he looks at me. He glances back to the approaching people and then to me, keeping his distance until I reach a hand out to him.
“I need help. The bus…crashed. I got glass,” I point down at my chest, and his eyes follow, widening as he sees all the blood.
“You’re not bitten?”
I frown at him. “What? No. Why would I be bitten?”
He moves toward me quickly. “We need to go now, Anne.”
He reaches down and loops his arm around my waist, pulling me up to him. Even in my current state of pain and confusion, I feel him pulling me unnecessarily close to his body. I look into his face, his worry evident, but his eyes wash over me with something more. I don’t have time to consider what, though, as he half-drags, half-carries me around to the passenger side of his car and sets me in it.
“I need to get to the hospital,” I murmur painfully, my head swimming and my stomach feeling nauseous now that I’ve moved.
“No chance of that anytime soon,” he says and slams my door.
I frown, wondering what he means, but I feel dizzy and sick and can’t think about anything but the pain in my head and chest right now.
I hear a yell and look out my window, seeing Dean talking to our guidance counselor, and breathe a sigh of relief that someone else made it out of the crash alive. I rest my head back on the seat and close my eyes, hoping the dizziness will pass before Dean takes me to a hospital. I think I might hurl if he tries to drive me anywhere at the moment.
A loud thud and crack make me open my eyes and I look out my window to see Dean swinging a baseball bat against the ground. I lean forward, my nose pressed against the glass to look out of my window, and a startled yell leaves my mouth before I can stop it. Dean looks up to me with a scowl and then swings the bat against our counselor’s head again. The last smash does it and blood explodes from out of her ears. Her hands, which were reaching for him, flop to the ground and she stops flailing, only an occasional twitch to her fingers. I scream again.
Dean pants heavily and then looks back up to the wreckage. His eyes go wide and he jogs around to the driver’s side of the car. I want to lock the door and keep him out, keep him away from me. He’s clearly unhinged, but right at that moment all I can do is lean forward and hurl all over the foot well of his car. I hear him climb inside and start the engine as I gag and retch, images of Dean smashing in our counselor’s head intruding on my thoughts wherever they stray. I sob loudly, blood and snot mixing, and I look across at Dean as he begins to drive.
“Where are you taking me?” I cry out, my chin trembling. “Please don’t hurt me.”
He glances across at me, his eyes cold. “Somewhere safe. I’m going to protect you.” He returns his eyes to the road and I let the silence pass.
Protect me? Protect me from what? I sob again, crying loudly. Every wracking sob sends pain shooting through my chest, and when I look down I see that blood is seeping through my fingers. I look back up to him and see that he’s watching me.
“The blood will attract them, we need to stop it quickly,” Dean says darkly.
He pulls the car over to the side of the road and reaches under his seat. I flinch as he pulls out something and leans toward me, my eyes squeezing tightly shut.
“Don’t hurt me.” I cower away from him.
I hear a click, but when nothing happens I open my eyes and see him staring at me with a frown. “I’m not going to hurt you. I need to cover the injury.”
He holds up some gauze and bandages. “Take off your top.”
I shake my head and he tuts.
“Now is not the time to be a prude. I need to stop the bleeding, Anne, now take off your top!” he yells, but I still shake my head.
Dean leans over and yanks the straps of my top down my arms. I fight him with one hand even as he cusses at me. His hand draws back and he slaps me hard across the cheek and I feel the sting of it right down to my toes. I scream out at him to stop, but his hand goes to my throat, pressing me back against my door.
“I need to stop the bleeding, nothing else, now calm down,” he says through gritted teeth. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He glances at my cheek, to what I suspect must be a bright red slap mark, and to his credit he looks guilty about it.
My chin trembles but I stop fighting him, letting him pull my straps down my arms so he can look at the cut between my breasts. He slowly pulls my hand away and looks at it before rooting through his first aid box again and pulling out some tape. He looks back up into my face, his eyes looking at my cheek again.
“I’m sorry about that, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I know this is scary for you.” He pours some liquid onto some gauze and slowly pries my hand away, swapping it for the gauze. It stings and I hiss painfully, and he looks shameful that he hurt me.
“What’s going on? Where are you taking me?” I say my voice almost a whisper in the confined space.
Dean looks up into my eyes, a frown puckering between his eyebrows. “You have to be strong now and listen to me carefully. I’m going to protect you.”
I don’t say anything, and I don’t object when he swaps one soaked cotton ball for another.
He continues. “The apocalypse has started. I’m going to take us somewhere safe.”
He swaps the ball for some gauze, taping it over the wound, and then pulls me forward so he can wrap a bandage around it all. It hurts and burns and I hiss again, but my thoughts aren’t on my wound, they’re on what he just said, and how far into insanity he must have fallen.
“The apocalypse?” I snort incredulously. He only nods and continues checking that the tape is tight enough over my wound.
“But we’re going to be all right, Anne. Don’t worry about anything, I have everything under control.” He doesn’t smile but a light is in his eyes, as if he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life.
Three.
We drive into town, avoiding crashed cars and homes that are ablaze. The worst horror though, is the people we narrowly avoid hitting with the car. They stumble into our path, arms raised and teeth snapping as if possessed by the devil. I press a hand to my mouth to stop the scream escaping from my throat as I watch the horror unfolding. Nothing could have prepared me for this. Not Dean’s words. Nothing. I look across at him sharply, his jaw twitching as he grinds his teeth.
“How did you know what was going on?”
He swerves around another person with expertise. “I was watching the news this morning, there have been reports for days of some new outbreak all over the country, but today it seemed to reach a whole new level.” He glances across at me. “They said that they were shutting down hospitals and not accepting any new patients, that people had to stay at home.”
“I heard no such thing!” I snap. “You’re making this up.”
He shakes his head. “This was across state. It stood to reason that whatever this is was going to spread here. When all you lemmings got on the school bus, I drove my car into town and saw,” he gestures around us, “this.” He seems almost apologetic as he says it, as if this was all his fault.
“So, what now? We need to get to the town hall—my parents are there waiting for me.” I realize that I’ve dropped my phone into the pool of vomit at my feet and I grimace.
Dean looks across at me with a frown. “No one is coming out of there,” he says, and slows the car as we pass the town hall. Blood covers the steps leading up into the building, bodies litter the open doorway, and smoke is pouring through one of the lower windows.
“My parents!” I cry, tears breaking free of my eyes again. “I need to go and see if they’re there.”
“They’re gone, Anne.”
I scowl at Dean. “I need to go see, this can’t be happening.”
“You’re not going in there, you’ll get yourself killed!”
“Let me out of this damn car right now.”
Dean shakes his head and looks back at the town hall. I grab the handle of the door and dive out. The car is only going slow, but man it hurts when my shoulder hits the ground, my body rolling unapologetically. My head cracks against the hard ground and sends stars into my vision, and I groan loudly.
I hear Dean slam on his brakes and yell my name, but I force myself to stand even as the world continues to spin, and I jog in the direction of the town hall. My equilibrium must be completely off because I can’t seem to run in a straight line; instead, my body wants to go left, so it doesn’t take long for Dean to catch up and tackle me back to the ground.
“Get off me!” I yell at him, but he doesn’t; he grabs me by the back of my sweater and drags me to my feet, pulling me back toward the car. “I said get off me,” I yell again.
“You’re going to get us both killed, now shut the hell up,” he yells.
Dean pushes me back inside the car and clicks my belt in place before slamming the door shut. He watches me through the window, obviously knowing that as soon as he makes a move for the driver’s side I’m going to make a run for it again. He looks back at the town hall, and his face pales. I reluctantly follow Dean’s gaze, my chin beginning to tremble again as I watch bloodied people stumbling out the door of the town hall. I don’t recognize any of them, but then I’m not sure if I even would since they don’t resemble anything human anymore.
People are bloodied from head to toe, limbs dangling uselessly or missing completely. Gaping holes cover their arms and faces, as if they’ve been attacked by wild animals. I finally see someone I recognize—Steph’s mom. And I begin to cry silently, tears spilling down my cheeks. She drags herself out of the doorway by her arms, pulling her body behind her. Some of the other people follow her out, walking over her back and tripping over her head, but they don’t care and she doesn’t care. None of them seem to notice as she puts her nose to the air and looks like she’s sniffing.
The driver’s side doors opens and Dean climbs in. His hand touches the bottom of my chin, his fingers rubbing away some of my salty tears. I look away from the abomination that is Steph’s mom and into his eyes.
“I told you, I’m going to protect you. We’re going to be all right. Okay?” His other hand reaches over and he cups my face in his hands, keeping my attention on him. “Okay?” he repeats.
I nod, more tears spilling down my cheeks. Dean’s eyes flit to my mouth and then back up into my eyes, and for a moment I think he might kiss me. A shudder runs through him, and he briefly closes his eyes and then opens them back up, a small smile on his mouth. And I briefly wonder what I’ve gotten myself into.
“Dean?” I whisper, wanting to pull away from him.
“Yes, Anne,” he says almost breathlessly.
I nod toward his window, and he reluctantly tears his eyes from mine and follows my gaze. The people are stumbling toward the car, and they look…Angry? Hungry? Possessed? I don’t know how to describe them, but they definitely don’t look friendly.
“Shit!” Dean curses and lets go of my face.
I silently feel relief as he moves away from me, but don’t dare voice it. Right now I need him. I need him to protect me and keep me safe until I can find my parents or the army or something comes into town to sort all this mess out. I would not survive out there on my own; I’m not stupid. I watch the side of his face as he slips the car into gear and we squeal away. I need him, and he wants me. I don’t know what is worse, or what else there is to fear. He’s just a high school boy and those things outside the window are…whatever they are. Monsters? Surely they�
�re scarier than him?
“Where are we going?” I ask quietly. The pain in my chest is bad, but the pain behind my eyes is worse. I feel like I’m hungover, like the time I drank my dad’s liquor. The pain is an incessant thudding inside my skull, as if there’s too much pressure in there. I close my eyes and squeeze the bridge of my nose tightly in the hopes of relieving the pain.
“I’m taking you to my grandpa’s house,” he says matter-of-factly. “Everyone in our family used to call him crazy, but not me. He was a prepper of sorts—he’ll have all different systems in place for this,” he lets his words trail off, and I know that he wants to say apocalypse or end of days, or something equally as frightening.
I nod and rest my head on the seat back. My heart is still hammering, my chest still burning, and my head still pounding. I take a couple of deep breaths, the smell of my earlier vomit reaching my nose and making me gag.
“I’m sorry about the puke,” I mumble, feeling embarrassed.
Dean chuckles. “That’s okay. We’ll hose it out when we get there.”
We drive in silence for a while. I still feel the car swerving around what I presume to be the monsters roaming the streets or perhaps car wrecks, but I don’t have the energy to open my eyes back up. The stress and pain of the day is taking its toll on me, and while there’s no chance of me sleeping anytime soon, I decide keeping my eyes closed to avoid the nightmares is a better option than keeping them open.
The car eventually slows, the ride becoming bumpy, and I force my eyes to open. Dean stops the car and climbs out, looking at the large house in front of us. It’s a Victorian style with a sloping pointy red roof and a large awning all the way around it. A small swinging bench hangs on the porch, with a black cat sitting upon it. I decide I can’t stay in the car with the smell of vomit any longer and I open the door and climb out, moving around the front of the car to stand with Dean.
His hand moves over, his fingers brushing against mine, but I move and fold my arms over my chest. He tuts and looks away.
The Dead Saga (Novella Part 2): Odium Origins Page 10