There is a school bus.
It is the color of stale decay. It is unnatural. It sits in the grass, weary and drooping, a final exhale of the world that put it there.
You are not sure how it is there. There isn't a road for days. Only the tracks.
You go up to it carefully, but you make sure you don't look unsure. Things know when you're nervous, even if they aren't alive.
But maybe they are alive. Does anyone know for certain they aren't?
The windows are gone, leaving only shards of glass in the metal frame. The doors are open and inviting. They look like they want to trick you into entering. They are the color of manipulation and unsettled situations. You are curious. You enter anyway. Sometimes there are valuable things found in ruins. After all, you found the book in the rattled frame of a car.
The stairs creak as you walk up. You turn the edge and look around. The inside is desolate but deliberate. The seats are cut out of the frames. There is cloth scattered around. The windows are covered in curtains. Someone lives here.
Who? And where are they? You haven't seen a soul for five days- and there is nothing else around as far as you can see.
You blink. You feel someone. Someone is there, and they feel like the color of the barmaid's lipstick- flaring in the air, cutting a jagged slash in the endless ringing. They don't belong here. You turn around and they are there.
He is short and wiry. He is only a boy. His hair is cut rough and laying smooth. His eyes are deep and foreign.
He is holding a shard of glass out to you- threatening you. You do not move. There is nowhere to move. You realize you are in danger, but you do not feel afraid. He will hurt you, or he will not. You do not worry.
The boy is talking but you do not understand. It sounds like words but it feels like the sky. You shake your head.
He keeps talking and this time you understand. Who are you and what are you doing here?
You shake your head again. I'm only passing through. Do you know the way to Kansas City?
His eyes glance over. West. That way.
You are caught off guard.
The boy narrows his eyes. What?
You blink and try to explain yourself. You know which way is west. I didn't know anyone knew that.
He didn't move. Of course I know. It's only twenty days from here. Now, be on your way.
Thank you, friend. you say. What do you take in payment?
For a second his eyes light up and they become the color of a smile. A book to read, if you have one.
You do have one. You don't want to give the book to him, but God help you if you refuse to pay. You shrug your pack off your shoulders and dig through it. You pull out the book. The boy grabs it tightly and flips through it. He freezes.
What is it? You ask. You hope it is good enough payment.
This book. You have a copy. His eyes are wondering and suspicious.
I found it, you say.
This book will save your life, you know.
I know, you say. It has.
The boy hesitates. He seems to come to a conclusion. It is wrong to take it from you, but God help me if I refuse payment. I will come with you to Kansas City.
