A Shrine to an Unknown God

HERETIC GODS

I GRAB HOLD of the seatbacks in front of us when I stand, expecting to violently tumble backwards the second my feet hit the aisle. There is, instead, the tiniest of pulls. Still, I'm glad to have handholds. I walk to the bus driver's throne and sit on the ground beside him.

"Excuse me."

"Ain't got any bathrooms on the bus, kid. We've got another stop in Patras. You'll just have to hold it 'til then."

"I'm not looking for a bath," I tell him. "I'm looking for answers."

He groans into the wheel. "Not this again."

"How does this thing move?"

"Whaddya mean?"

"This bus. How does it move? I was told it runs on fuel. I don't see how something so large could possibly move so quickly, let alone without any horses to pull it."

"Well, ya see, energy is released when ya burn fuel, and cars and buses and trucks—they all use that energy to move."

It still isn't clicking. "How?"

"Look, kid, I'm not a mechanic. I dunno. Get back to your seat and google it. You're a fire hazard sittin' in the middle of the aisle like that. I'm only liable for your death if you do dumb shit."

"How do I google it?"

He gives me the strangest look and doesn't answer.

So I ask: "Is that how I pray to you?"

"Religious nutjob," he mumbles.

I storm back to my seat. Marisol wakes up as I sit down, then adjusts herself so that she's laying with her head in Dahlia's lap, her legs spread out over mine and Ezra's. I lean my head on Ezra's shoulder—though he's still snoring and obviously not conscious, he immediately tilts his head so it's resting against mine—and shut my eyes. It's weird, how immediately comfortable I feel with these people. Like we can fall asleep leaning against each other. Like we can trust each other.

I'm supposed to kill one of them, I remind myself, though as of yet, my mind is still on the bus driver.

Even heretic gods, living so close with their subjects, will only tell you half the truth.