Seventy-Nine

SEVENTY-NINE

Julia’s head pressed against the seat. Skin clung to the leather. Its grip drew her face into a deformed jester’s smile.

“See!” Jack pointed at her.

She closed her eyes again. Something dark and primal pounded in her, a second heartbeat that couldn’t be ignored. “Who knows when there will be police?” she said. “You’re right, Di. This is James Bridge, and there’s never any cops at the station. If they come, they’ll come from half an hour away in any given direction. God only knows where we are. Any idea?”

“Trees and more trees,” Jack said. “I can’t see a thing.”

At the front of the bus, Michael tried to imagine what the others were talking about. He longed to be with them—safety in numbers, as they say—and not here at the mouth of the lion’s den. Or lioness. Either way, if the driver moved, he and the prayer-happy teenager would be the first to know. The first to die. Michael’s urge to join the others grew and pulsed.

If you join them, you will be seen, he told himsel