THE BUS FILLEDwith laughter. Mr. Easton chuckled and pulled out his phone. “Good joke,” he said. “Bus broken down? I’ll just notify the farm—and the school—we’ll have to get a replacement out, if we can’t fix it. We might be here awhile. Well, no day is perfect.”
Ollie, frowning, got out her own phone.
Somewhere over her head, she could feel Brian eyeing it. “I didn’t know they still made those.” Ollie’s phone was a heavy thing that flipped open. She had to text by scrolling through numeric options, and it took forever. But the phone had been her mother’s. Dad had tried to get her a new one for her birthday, but she had screamed at him and thrown it across the room.
NO SERVICE, said the screen.
“My phone doesn’t work,” said the whole bus in complaining chorus.
Ollie looked out the window again. How long had they been driving? She had gotten muddled while reading. The farm was notthatfar away—and they definitely had service there. She couldn’t think of any no-service spots between the school and the farm, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any.
The noise in the bus was rising: a discontented, phoneless howl.
“Enough!” bellowed Mr. Easton. He had already stowed his own phone. “Well, bad luck,” he said to the driver. “Care to pop the hood? I’ll hop out and see what the trouble is.”
The driver pulled the lever for the hood. But he didn’t get out to help Mr. Easton. He sank back down in his seat and stared straight ahead. Mr. Easton shrugged, pulled the lever for the door himself, and went outside.
A creepy feeling ran down Ollie’s spine. What had the driver said?They’ll come for the rest of you.Mr. Easton thought it was a joke; Ollie remembered the driver whispering in the graveyard and she wasn’t so sure.
The inside of her window was fogging up. Ollie reached over Brian, wiped the sleeve of her sweater on the glass, and looked. The trees were bare. The road stretched away flat before and behind them. The grass between the road and the forest was long and wet and flopped onto the asphalt.
How long until dark?
The overhead lights flickered. Ollie felt a cold tugof memory. Hadn’t Beth said something about candles flickering?
But this was totally different, she reassured herself. The bus had broken down, that was why the lights were blinking. What time was it? There were only dashes on Ollie’s phone where the time should have been.
Ollie’s watch was also a compass and an altimeter. It had been her mother’s. Ollie glanced at it, but only out of reflex. Ollie’s mom had worn it that last day, and it didn’t work anymore. The watch gave wildly varying altitudes and completely inaccurate times; the compass did not point north. Now there was a countdown where the time should have been (45:02), and just below that, the digital readout saidRUNin gray letters, flickering like the lights.
The word gave Ollie a strange, sharp jolt. She looked back toward the front of the bus. Mr. Easton was still outside. The driver hadn’t moved. Maybe the bus would be moving in a minute.
Or maybe it wouldn’t. Ollie grabbed her backpack, so that Phil couldn’t put a frog or something in it, and marched up the aisle. All around, her classmates talked, laughed, yelled. She ignored them. Deliberately she took a step across the yellow line in the front of the bus. You weren’t supposed to cross that line, but the bus driver didn’t even turn his head.
“What happens at nightfall?” Ollie demanded, wishing her voice didn’t sound so breathless.
The bus driver’s mouth curved up at a strange angle, as though a child had drawn the smile on. His tongue and his gums were very red. He said nothing.
“Who is coming for us?” Ollie asked, getting control of her voice.
Still no answer.
Ollie clamped down on her fear. After all, Mr. Easton was right outside and the bus was full of people. From the front of the bus came a series of loud bangs and some un-teacher-like swearing.
Suddenly, the bus driver said, “Can’t tell you. Already said too much.”
Won’t tell me,Ollie thought.Not can’t.She remembered lunchtime, the driver’s vast plate of food, his red, biting mouth. Maybe... “Are you hungry?”
This time the driver turned to face her. Ollie got a terrible shock. His eyes had turned white, white as an egg, pupil-less. He might have been blind except he was definitely looking at her. His teeth were perfectly white too, sharp against red lips.
Ollie reached into her lunch box, got out a quarter of her turkey sandwich. The driver licked his lips and reached out one stealthy, grabby hand.
Ollie stepped back. “No,” she said. “It’s mine.” Heroinesin books always sounded brave, but to her own ears, Ollie sounded scared. “I’ll trade you for it.”
The white eyes narrowed.
“You answer my questions,” Ollie said. “I’ll give you my sandwich.”
A long silence. “Shouldn’t,” grunted the driver.
