Head in the Sand (Bastille)

The Silent Type

     Luna's POV

     Somehow, I had managed to survive several waves of undead fans, and escape with Dan Smith and Kyle Simmons of Bastille. Now I've been accepted into the band's tour bus. We had just found out the devastating news that the entire world had been infested with zombies, so that excluded our plan to send me to the airport to fly back home. When Grandma called me, I explained the whole situation. I couldn't even say a proper goodbye to her before getting cut off the the overseas phone signal.

     THUMP!

     THUMP!

     "What was that?!" Kyle shrieked at the sound coming from the bus doors.

     "Dave?!" Dan called from his seat.

     "There's two people, a woman and a man," he yelled back. "They're not zombies, but they're banging on the door to let them in."

The frontman paused for a quick second. "Let...let them in then, more survivors are better," Dan instructed.

We heard multiple "thank you's" to Bastille's bus driver after the doors opened to the strangers. I watched as everyone's shoulders began to tense up with unease. A pair of footsteps slowly came up the stairs to the guys' sleeping bunks.

     Confusion ran through me when I saw Dan's mouth drop in shock and horror of the sight of the two adults. I soon understood: they were fans that came to see Bastille tonight as well, and the woman was just plain rude, shoving the younger girls in the front row for a better spot. We exchanged bitter expressions, then toning down as the guys greeted the strangers.

     "Thanks for letting us on here, Dan!" her happy tone of voice squeaked with joy.

     "No problem," he mumbled, clearly annoyed already with her presence.

     "I'm Eunice, and this is my boyfriend Geoff!"

     He didn't ask for your name bitch, I narrowed my eyes. And he's definitely not interested in your shit.

     "The hell you looking at, you Indian?!" The woman shouts at me, shocking everyone around us.

     I hated it when people like her treated me like a bag of dirt, only because I was an Aboriginal from Canada. Luckily my feisty mouth decided to keep shut tonight.

     "That's what I thought," she scowled at my presence, pulling a nasty face before she tried to get away from me.

     "Are you from around here?" Charlie attempted to ease the tension.

     "Oh! Yeah, I am," she blinked with fake innocence and shyness. "I work at a gun and ammo factory store," she shot a fan-obsessed state at Dan.

     Um, last time I checked, you don't just tell your occupation to a guy like that!

     I pursed my lips at her strange behaviour. "If you want I can lead your bus driver there and we can grab some weapons for protection?" she suggested.

     "Yeah, that seems like a good idea," Will piped up as he came out of the bathroom. "It's easier to kill zombies using guns and other weapons because close combat fighting is more dangerous than ambushing."