Dead & Gone (DARAGON)

The long and winding road ~

Everything was dark. Everything was
flying by me at a million miles an hour.
Trees and cliffs and ocean streaked with
tiny flashes of light, all whizzing past on
automatic like when you change the
channel too fast. My face was smashed
hard against the cold glass, all humming
and rattling. The seat was bouncy, every
little bump sending jolts up my back.

Bounce, bounce, bounce.

I sat up. Slowly peeled my face off the
window.

Whoa.

My whole body felt sore. Like I'd just
run a half-marathon or gone to my mom's
cardio kickboxing Class of Death five
times in a row.

I touched my cheek and felt something
wet.

Oh, gross. Did I totally drool all over
myself?

I rubbed my eyes, lifted my arms high
above my head, and stretched. My
stomach let out a wild grumble as I
flopped back against the seat and took a
look around.

"Last stop, five minutes," crackled a
deep voice over the loudspeaker.

I glanced up and saw an old man in a big
rearview mirror. Thick glasses. Superbald,
super-wrinkly. Dressed in a navy
Windbreaker type of jacket. He looked
about a hundred and fifty. Definitely too
old to be driving a bus.

Wait a second.

What am I doing on a bus?

I did a quick scan. Okay, weird. I was
the only one on the bus. Rows and rows
of empty seats surrounded me. I started
to feel anxious, like my pulse was racing
or my heart should've been beating
extra-hard. Except it wasn't. I put my
hand over my chest and didn't feel a
thing. I felt empty. A strange sort of
hollow.

"Uh, excuse me?" My voice was
scratchy, so I cleared my throat. "Sir?
Where am I please?"

"NoCal Transit." Shadows flashed
across his face as we sped down the
highway.

"Where are we going?"

"Big Sur to Coyote Point Park."

Coyote Point? That was, like, twenty
minutes from my house. I glanced
through the chilly glass and tried to make
sense of the scenery, but it was too dark
outside and we were moving too fast. I
wiped away some of the fog on the
window, but it didn't help.

"How'd I get here?"

He laughed. "You're asking me?" His
voice sort of reminded me of my
grandpa Frank. Sarcastic—sweet. Even
though I wasn't in the mood.

"Wait a second." I squinted out the
window again and thought I saw
something familiar. Was that a
lighthouse in the distance? Maybe even
Pigeon Point, where Dad used to take us
to play Frisbee? I pressed my nose
against the glass.

It is! Isn't it?

I called up to the bus driver. "Sir? Can
you take me to my house, please? It's not
that far. My mom and dad'll pay you, I
swear."

He kept driving. Didn't answer.

"Sir?" I tried to stand up to get a little
closer to him, but the bus swerved
suddenly and I was thrown back into my
seat.

Bounce, bounce.

I tried again, gradually making my way
down the aisle. "Sir? Sir, please." I
clung to seat after seat, inching my way
toward the front of the bus and trying not
to topple over in the process. My shoes
stuck a little on the floor. Like someone
had spilled a soda and never bothered to
clean it up.

It took me a minute, but I finally made it
to the seat right behind him. A little
lightheaded and dizzy from all the
bouncing.

"Excuse me," I said again, louder this
time. "I asked if you could please drop
me at my house? It's number eleven
Magellan Avenue, just off Cabrillo."

"I'm not authorized to make any
unscheduled stops."

I suddenly felt nervous. How was I
going to get home? I didn't have a phone
or any money or anything.

"Where's everyone else?"

Bounce, bounce, bounce.

"Already got off."

"How long was I asleep?"

Bounce.

"Long time."

"Why didn't you wake me up?"

"Not my problem." He reached up for
the microphone. "Last stop, two
minutes." A shrill, high-pitched screech
came over the loudspeaker. I flinched,
covering my ears.

We rode along in silence, the nighttime
flying by, until I felt the bus shift and
groan into a lower gear. We were
slowing down. Tires crunched as we
rolled into a gravel-filled parking lot, a
red neon light glowing just ahead of us.
Finally, the bus came to a slow, grinding
stop. It let out a massive sigh as it took
its last breath and settled into park.

I rubbed another clean spot on the foggy
window and tried to read the strangely
familiar neon sign.

Wait. What?

In an instant, my head began to spin as
forgotten sights and sounds and smells
came crashing back. A tornado of hot,
ripping pain and shooting stars and
bottomless black holes. Laughter and
tears and echoes of a boy shouting to me
across a smoke-filled highway littered
with motorcycle debris. Candles and
claustrophobia and earth and fire and
mud, seeping, searing into the cracks.

I clutched my head. My brain felt like it
might explode.

Digging.

Let me out.

Scratching.

Help me.

Clawing.

Please.

Silence. Stillness. Staleness. Darkness.

Endless.

The old man's voice broke through,
snapping me back. "That's it, everyone
off."

I swallowed, shivering. The fire and
pain vanished as fast as it had hit.

"Where am I?" I whispered.

Nowhere. I'm nowhere.

"Last stop." He reached over, grabbed
the yellow lever, and pulled it open with
a grunt.

I felt a rush of cool air as the bus door
opened, and noticed the familiar smell of
ocean mixed with wildflowers. Only
now, there was a tinge of something
new. Sort of like dirt. Also, it was
chilly. I crossed my arms and wished I
had a jacket.

No, my hoodie. The one with the baby
penguins on it.

I still had one more question, but
something told me I wasn't going to like
the answer.

"Sir?"

His smoky eyes burned into mine as I
took a deep, nervous breath.

"What's the last stop?"

He nodded toward the open door.
"Welcome to forever."