An old bus squealed and hissed as it came to a halt. Ten days ago it was an antique, and the man who owned it and maintained it was an eccentric: his mind was in the past and not the present, and he loved experiments more than practical accomplishments. Now that the cataclysm had wiped out the magic engines and weapons and computers, this steam-powered bus was suddenly one of the most advanced pieces of technology on the planet, and its owner was reaping a fortune driving people out of Thyrion and into Falcon Point. His fares were modest, but he was paid well on delivery: a third party was eager for bodies.
“Alright,” said the driver, standing to his feet and pulling a list of names out of his pocket. “Some of you are supposed to get off here.” He read the list of names. Jaysynn and Kyrie and her family were not on it. “Have your ID ready as you get off. If you don’t, the guards outside will turn you back around.”
Jaysynn had lain in the aisle for most of the trip, but now he was in a seat next to Kyrie, watching the people on the list getting off the bus. “I don’t like this,” he said.
“Maybe they’re criminals,” Kyrie said.
Her father sat in the seat in front of them. He was an ex-military man, and still wore his hair according to regulations. He turned around to face the others and added, “Maybe we’re the criminals.” He nodded once like he’d just delivered the ultimate commentary, but the others were not yet convinced.
“There’s a lot of people still on the bus that don’t have any connection to Jaysynn,” Kyrie said. “I don’t think we’ve been caught.”
“Maybe not,” Jaysynn said. “But I still don’t like it.”
Kyrie’s father glanced around the bus. “Aside from our family,” he said, “there’s only one woman staying on the bus. That’s not a good sign. And she looks kinda criminal.”
Kyrie, each of her siblings, and Jaysynn all turned to catch a glance of the woman; and the young ones, in particular, were not subtle about it. This woman was their test: if she looked like a captured convict, they all were convicts.
She looked poor, unwashed for at least a week. But not many in Thyrion had the luxury of bathing in that past week: all were poor. The real clue was her jaw: it was muscular, strong as stone from over thirty years of gritting her teeth.
As this strange thing was happening—as half the passengers were allowed to get off and the others forbidden from leaving—this woman sat silently, expressionless, except for a tight forehead and a slight frown that probably never left her face.
She took no notice—or pretended not to—when three girls and two boys and two grown men turned around to catch a glimpse of her.
As each of them tried in his own mind to decide if she was a lawbreaker, an argument started just outside the bus door. A frantic man with a high-pitched voice had been talking for some time, but suddenly his voice raised to a shout. “I forgot my ID. Let me go get my family and they can tell you who I am.”
“I’m sorry sir,” said one of the guards. “You’ll have to return to the bus. Your family will know where to find you.” He motioned toward the bus.
“No,” said the man. “This isn’t fair.” Two of the guards grabbed his arms and helped him into the bus. He kicked and flailed. “I don’t want to stay on the bus. I want to go with them.”
“You’re going to go to a place that has food and water and shelter,” said the guard. “And that’s better than where these people are going.”
“Why? Where are they going?”
“They’re free,” said the one guard.
“Free to starve,” said the other.
The man grew suddenly passive as the guards pushed him into an empty seat. His face was red and beads of sweat popped out of his skin. But he was breathing slowly and deeply. A strange, despairing calm had washed over him.
“You’ll live,” said the guard. “Be thankful.”
They exited the vehicle, chests puffed out in silent celebration of their authority, and the bus squeaked and squealed as it built its momentum and rolled down the road.
Kyrie tapped Jaysynn on the shoulder. “Why don’t you ask the driver where we’re going?” He shifted his weight in his seat. The bus trembled as it rolled over the rough mountain road.
“I’ll talk to him,” her father said. He stood and walked up the aisle. He moved slowly and only with the help of a crutch, because the muscles on one of his legs were worthless—the reward for his service to Thyrion. When he reached the front of the bus he leaned over the driver and said, “What’s this about?”
The driver was unintimidated, almost bored, like this kind of exchange was as routine as glancing over his shoulder when changing lanes. “I’m about the luckiest man in the world, I figure,” he said, “‘cause businesses are all going in the tank. The mines are shut down, and the factories. Everybody’s hungry. Nothing to do to earn a living any more. But me, I got a job. And you’re all gonna have jobs, too. This bus is going to Tarc’s farm—it’s a refugee camp. And old Tarc, he’s gonna take care of you. It’ll be some hard work, but hard work—any work—is the best blessing in the world right now.”
“Why didn’t you tell us this was part of the deal before we got on the bus?”
“Sorry if you didn’t know, mister. If you don’t want to work, just let old Tarc know. He pays me to deliver, so I deliver. And then if you decide you don’t want a job, well, that’s fine with me—I still get paid.”
“Well, fine,” said Kyrie’s father. “I just don’t like the dishonesty. That’s no way to treat people.”
“People don’t always treat each other good,” said the driver, his eyes on the road.
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