Into the Night

{New} Ch. 13 : The Magic School Bus

On that Monday morning the bus driver's shades reflected a sad image. Instead of a blur of students getting on board it showed a transfer student rooted to the sidewalk. He cleared his whiskey scented throat in hopes of getting his attention.

Calla's eyes remained as reflective as the driver's shades. And they hid trauma just the same. While his eyes masked the images of past few days, the driver's hid bags under bloodshot eyes.

If he hadn't come to Fairfax then he would have been the driver of that bus. He would have inspected it, noticed the grievous repairs needed, and reported it. That would have caused a three hour delay. It would have placed them out the range of any hungry creatures.

But no.

He followed his heart.

He got trapped.

"You gonna get on the bus, kid?" His voice rattled and hissed like his mother gave him a cigarette to suck on between feedings.

"I don't know."

Calla's feet were planted fairly deep to that spot. He couldn't walk away or walk in. Underneath the gaze of the unpacked school bus he felt remarkably vulnerable.

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

Calla looked over the bus, at the many faces staring back at him. None of them put his mind at ease. They had the same unknowing look that the others had. Right before they died...

"It would probably be best if I walked."

He kicked at the gravel at his feet.

"Are you serious?"

He was and bus was already whispering about it. That was until they forgot that the focus of the gossip was even there-- then he no longer mattered.

By the the time the transfer student stepped into the hospital they knew him better than his father's side of the family. His hair color, eye color, first name, last name, and ten of his middle names.

They had nothing better to do than probe the details of his life. It was a small town with access to social media. Mysteries were no longer able to exist.

They were too hungry for content. One by one they scanned their prey for flaws that were missed. His life, his trauma, what made him himself-- they'd chew him up and spit him out. Then leave him with the rest of the town's crap.

He'd be used, forgotten, then acclimated to their world. That thought felt like an old wound opening, but he didn't know why.

"You listening to me?" The driver asked once more.

He did, but he heard something more concerning. Higher than the buzz of mosquitos, their gossip grew unbearable. They were ready to feed off him.

"I don't get paid enough for this. Get on the damn bus. "

"No."

"C'mon, you're gonna make us late. "

Somewhere in his mind a tiny crack began to grow. From a fracture that turned handles to a crumbling wall that slammed doors shut.

"No!"

He didn't say the word to him, so much as he said it at him. It wasn't communicating, so much as it was a spout of water shooting forth. A knee-jerk reaction. One that he felt course from the back of his skull, down his spine, and through his arms.

Thunder rumbled without the presence of clouds. All at once a shudder passed through the bus, stretching from the back to the front. The release lever flew in reverse, slamming the bus door shut. In a panic the driver tried to pull it back but to no luck.