The Wayward Bus Novels & Stories

A bus entered the frame. Unmarked. Plain. Too clean. The doors opened. Men stepped out first. Then the children. Or rather— They were moved. My jaw tightened. They were walking, but wrong. Slow. Unsteady. Unresponsive. Drugged. One by one, teenagers were taken from the bus and escorted onto a waiting boat. No resistance. No awareness. No sound. I began counting aloud. “Three.” “Seven.” “Twelve.” “Fifteen.” No one in the room moved.

he stammered, his confusion quickly morphing into panic. She didn't look at him, but her eyes flicked toward the rows of passengers in front of them. "This bus isn't for the living," she said, her voice barely audible over the silence. She explained that the moment he stepped on, the passengers—entities trapped in a perpetual loop of transition—had marked him as their replacement. One of them could only leave if a living soul took their place on the vinyl seats. Arthur looked at the man in the row ahead. The man’s neck began to creak as his head slowly turned 180 degrees to face Arthur. A dozen other heads began to follow suit, their expressions twisting into hungry, desperate masks.

The moment was captured by the press and given the caption, "The Muse's Kiss." By winning first place, I proved that I was talented and didn't rely on Isabel or her family's company to gain my fame. Meanwhile, after I left, the design department at Atkinson Group fell into chaos. They needed to win this competition to prove that the design department could thrive without me. Isabel had only teamed up with Miles because he'd promised victory, but in the end, they were soundly defeated. In fact, they even got involved in a physical fight after the competition. It was caught on camera by reporters, who blew every detail out of proportion.

The girl leaned against me and whispered, “Mister, that felt so good just now. Is that what people call making love?” It seemed like she was really innocent. She probably had never even seen an adult movie. Plus, no one had ever explained these things to her. That was why she did not understand anything. Soon, the bus arrived at the campus. The girl turned her head and looked at me with a hint of reluctance. “Sir, this is my stop. I’ll get off now.” I took her hand and said, “Let me walk you to school.” Amid the envious glances of those around us, she and I got out of the bus.

Right now, a wide boulevard stretched out in front of Hayley. Several car crashes had piled up along the lanes, cars sitting at odd angles under thick layers of dust. A few zombies wandered between them, scattered and slow. Near the curb stood a bus stop sign. Just ahead of it, a city bus idled with its doors hanging open. There wasn't a single passenger inside. Only the driver remained, already turned. It was trapped in the seat behind the wheel, thrashing and growling as it struggled against the narrow space.

"I do so enjoy watching chaos unfold. And you eight are chaos incarnate." The bus doors opened. That familiar cheerful voice echoed from the speakers. "ALL ABOARD! Hope you enjoyed your little vacation! Time to get back to work! Your next destination is waiting!" We climbed on board slowly. The bus was different somehow. Darker. The seats looked wrong. And when I glanced out the windows, the fog seemed thicker. More oppressive. "This feels bad," Brady muttered. "Everything feels bad," Walter replied. The doors closed. The bus started moving. And then the intercom crackled with a new message. Not the cheerful voice. Something else. Something cold and mechanical.

The wind whipped through the opened windows and the freshness was a welcoming bliss. The ride was longer than I thought. An hour and a half in and we came upon a crossroads. The GPS was failing, so the bus driver, Able, and Mrs. King opted to do this the old-fashioned way, by reading and following a map. We selected the left path as the map suggested, but something felt off in the pit of my stomach. Soon the smooth roads were left behind as the bus hit gravelly, bumpy terrains. The inconsistent sharp jostles mingled with occasional violent bobbing from the vehicle made my insides twist.

The other inhabitants of this waiting room, and it’s receptionist, are all looking at me like I’m the deadbeat dad that’s being kept out of the appointment for not showing up on time. It definitely doesn’t help that Culture Converse’s older editions are part of the reading material in this waiting room. One of them even has a not so flattering picture of me on the cover. I’d do anything to make that appointment go faster so I can get out of here. I really do need to get out of here. Eliza is only the first stop on a list of people I need to go see on my side quest to help Cam. And perhaps even help myself along the way.

Glad because she no longer suffered under Earle’s tyranny. I shift, making my way to the gate past the clearing. Where all the new Breeders are being chosen, Marked and Mated. A familiar scent wafted in my nostrils. A scent that I have not smelled in years. I continued trotting past the moans, grunts, groans, crying, and screaming. As the scent of lemon blueberry muffins grows stronger. I spot the semi-truck that left almost 3 weeks ago to collect Breeders from all over the states. They nestled it on the earthen road, within the trees. I see an Omega tossing a bleeding Breeder over his shoulder. He slaps her butt while grinning and walking to the clearing behind me. He nods, “Morning, Alpha.

But as the tires screamed around the corner toward the highway, a terrifying thought crossed my mind. If my father was pulling the strings, then the bus wasn't heading to safety. It was heading to a trap. And I was the only one who could open the door. POV: Charity The bus was dark. The driver had turned off the overhead lights, leaving the aisle bathed in a dim, amber glow. Most of the passengers were asleep, their heads lolling against the seats, the steady, rhythmic hummmm of the engine vibrating through the floorboards. I looked out the window. The landscape was passing by in a blur of trees and black shapes.