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Most busses weren’t driven by folks who were so public with their weapons. I paused and gestured at the guns. “Expecting problems?”
“Not lately, but I do like to take precautions.” He motioned to my weapons belt. A short sword and gun hung on either side of my hips. He asked, “You? Running from or toward trouble?”
“Neither. Just prepared if trouble crosses my path.”
We exchanged nods, and I walked to the back of the bus, glad I was early enough to avoid walking through a crowded bus with weapons visible. Sometimes people got nervous at the sight of me. I blamed it on my weapons, but Jesse argued that I simply don’t smile enough.
Several busses crossed the ghost zone on day trips to the outskirts every morning around dawn. They started bringing people back mid-afternoon. Despite the inherent appeal of nature, no one stayed out of New Orleans after dusk. There was no sheriff, no police, and the few souls who lived in the Outs were mostly unpredictable.
Jesse and I grew up in the Outs, so I was at ease there—despite the “Wild West” attitude that prevailed in the Outs. It was home, and weird as fuck or boring as watching paint dry, home was always special in some way. I grinned at the thought of being barefoot in a field in a few short hours.
The bus crossed through the city walls into the ghost zone. It was the first casualty of thedraugrreveal. A few people dismembered at a park-and-ride lot made international news.Draugrhad existed for centuries, but for reasons no one knew, one random Thursday a bunch of violent newly-infected dead folks started attacking across the country. People moved in mass exodus to cities, and a lot of cities had found ways to be completelydraugrfree.
Blood tests. Wealth. And a shit ton of laws. Those cities weren’t for me—and to be completely honest, even if my blood was pure, I wouldn’t trade my weapons for such an existence. Walls were made to go over or under, and the idea of total trust in any faceless governing body made me cringe.
Others had vacated entire towns. Either way, the suburbs were completely emptied in mere weeks. Too widespread to wall and too filled with anxiety to stay. Every city had a ghost zone now—anddraugrclaimed whichever vacant houses they wanted.
People watched out closed windows anxiously. A fewdraugrwatched the bus from the shaded porches of stolen houses. And I tried not to shudder at the feeling of so very many dead things gathered near.
The more miles between New Orleans and the lake, the more open it was. Windows opened, and the unmistakable scents of nature filled the bus. Trees, soil, and flowers. It was a kind of dizzying perfume that cities couldn’t offer. Beyond the ghost zone was the Outs—where I had been born and raised.
The few people who lived here now held as much land as they wanted, but it wasn’t part of a town or city. No utility services. No sheriff. No law. To live in the Outs meant you handled your own law. If not for my allure to the dead, I’d prefer being outside society. Solar or wind power, well water, your own self-defense. In this, I was my mother’s daughter. I saw the appeal in that sort of life.
Mama Lauren was handy with a gun, and now she had roll-downs for every window, door, chicken coop, and greenhouse on her farm. Some of those were added after she had me. The first time she found a cluster ofdraugrnapping in the barn and one under her chicken coop, she added more roll-downs.
The roads became dirt and gravel about ten miles outside New Orleans, and the street lights were replaced by trees. Now that we’d passed the ghost zone, nature was all there was. The murmurs of the others on the bus grew louder. Families brought their children out here, and seniors went to sit on benches at the lake or walk along the short trails there. During the day, it was perfect.Draugrweren’t all trapped by sunlight, but the newly-infected ravenous ones were.
The bus pulled in with a rattle andwhoosh.
The driver repeated the same announcement that all the bus drivers made each day: “First bus back will be here at 4PM. Last bus thirty minutes before dusk.”
The busses were consistent in their schedule. They made sure to count each passenger to be sure no one was left behind in the dark. For the most part, that was for the best. I waited until everyone else was gone before I stood and walked to the front of the bus.
“I won’t be on any of the return busses tonight.”
“Miss, you can’t stay out here. I see you’re armed but—” He stared at me in the way of those who think they’re dealing with the very stupid or very depressed. He wasn’t sure which. “There are things out there."
“Draugr. I know, but—”
“Let me take you back. It’s suicide to go out there in the dark.”
“I know what I’m doing,” I explained.
And he very obviously took my words wrong. His face slid toward a kindness that made me hope he was quick enough to keep himself safe. Good people made me hope that for them.
“There are other choices,” he said as he reached out a wrinkled hand. “Whatever happened. Whatever brought you to this. Remember: Bleak days pass.”
I had a momentary urge to hug him, but instead I accepted his outstretched hand. “I’m not suicidal. I’m a witch, and my mother lives out there. I’ll be back tomorrow. Tonight, I’ll be tucked in with gross tea and steel roll-downs.”
When I lifted my chin in the direction of home, the man stared at me with a new understanding. “You’re Lauren’s baby girl?”
I nodded.
He laughed. “That explains everything. That woman’s as stubborn as a herd of mules.”
“And I am my mother’s daughter,” I said lightly.
“Get there before dusk at least.” He waited until I nodded again and then sighed in a way that said that he had met my mother more than once. “Tell her Bud sends regards.”
