Seventy-Two

SEVENTY-TWO

The bus came to a stop.

Jack pulled himself up off the floor. This is it, the voice in his head told him. He poised himself to run.

Sarah wanted to grab this hot-headed young man and hold him. She pitied him for his machismo. They weren’t going to survive if one of them made a martyr of themselves. With every death, the group would come more unhinged. They were welded together now by tragedy, and a risk by one was a risk to all. Why can’t he see that? she wondered. Oh, Bill, please make him stop.

The bus shifted into reverse. “What the fuck?” Jack said.

Michael glanced up at the ceiling escape hatch, which was open a crack to allow airflow into the bus. He imagined himself getting up and forcing it open the rest of the way, but he was frozen in place. Terrified. The driver was alert now. Were he to attempt escape there would be the eventual bang! And in a flash his entire history would be wiped clean, all the problems, hopes and dreams that stitched him together—ripped