Chapter 6 The Bus
When the bus pulled out of Portland, Kyle was the only person on board still awake.
He sat in the back row by the window. Next to him was an old man. Two rows ahead sat a woman with a child who kept asking if they were there yet.
Kyle kept his backpack on his lap. In his left chest pocket, the edge of the USB drive pressed against his chest through the fabric.
The bus left the city and got on the highway. Trees on both sides retreated backward.
The kid stopped asking. Probably fell asleep.
Kyle closed his eyes.
He dreamed of that painting—not the one folded and tucked in his sleeve, but the one hanging on the mantelpiece. The man in the painting sat behind a table, holding up a sword. The flames on the sword were orange-red, painted on, not moving, but he stared at it for a long time and the flames seemed to burn.
Then he woke up.
The bus had stopped at a gas station. The woman with the child bought a bag of chips. The kid was awake, crying.
Kyle got off and stood in the corner of the gas station.
His phone vibrated.
Marcus's number.
"Where are you?"
"On the way to Seattle."
"That car's still downstairs. Changed position, but hasn't left."
"Do they know you're alone upstairs?"
"Yeah. Car door opened twice, nobody got out. They're waiting."
"Waiting for you to come out."
"Right." Marcus's voice was flat. "Can you come back?"
Kyle didn't answer.
"Raven?"
"You come out. Take the stairs, back door, go south along the alley. Turn right at the second intersection, there's an auto shop. There's a blue pickup parked out front, key's behind the gas cap. Drive to the bus station, take a bus to Seattle."
"You're not coming back?"
Kyle looked at the woods across from the gas station. "Not coming back."
Long silence on the other end.
"Okay," Marcus said.
Then he hung up.
Kyle put the phone in his pocket and got back on the bus.
The bus got back on the road.
Kyle pulled out the envelope Lisa had given him from his backpack.
He opened it.
Inside was a stack of papers. The first page was printed, with the title: The Sterling Group Biotechnology Department · Experimental Record Summary.
He turned the page. The second page was a list of names.
A1, A2, A3, all the way to A17. Each number had a name after it. After A7 was Irene's name.
On the last page of the list was a handwritten memo. The signature read: Harold Sterling.
The date was three years ago.
Kyle put the stack of papers back in the envelope and stuffed it deep in his backpack.
He leaned his head against the window glass. The glass was cold, the vibration making his temples tingle.
His phone vibrated again.
Not Marcus, a different number.
He answered.
"Raven?" The voice on the other end was low, like sandpaper on stone.
"Yeah."
"Heard you're coming to Seattle."
"Tomorrow."
"Nature's Nook Market. The fish stand. Three PM."
"Okay."
"Bring cash."
"How much?"
"All you got."
The call ended.
Kyle leaned back in his seat.
The phone screen lit up again, a text message, Marcus's number.
He opened it.
Just one line:
[Car door opened. Someone got out.]
Kyle stared at the screen and replied: [Who?]
Send.
The network seemed to have dropped.
Send failed.
Kyle hit resend. Send failed.
He got up and walked to the front of the bus. The driver said the signal was bad in this stretch.
Kyle went back to his seat. The phone screen was lit, the signal bars still empty.
He stared at that text message.
The phone vibrated.
One signal bar appeared.
The message went through.
Send successful.
He waited a minute. No reply. Two minutes. Five minutes.
He called Marcus's number.
No answer.
Kyle hung up.
He put the phone on his knee.
At two PM, still no message from Marcus.
Kyle called every twenty minutes. Every time it was turned off.
Suddenly, the phone screen lit up.
A message from Marcus.
He opened it.
Just one line:
[I got out.]
Kyle replied: [What about that car?]
Send. Send successful.
The reply came quickly.
[Followed me for a bit. I lost them.]
Kyle put the phone in his pocket.
At seven PM, it got dark. The woman with the child pulled an energy bar from her bag, broke it in half—one half for herself, one half for the kid.
Kyle reached into his sleeve and touched the edge of that painting. The paper had softened, the creases starting to turn white.
The phone screen lit up.
Marcus's number.
Got to the bus station, what time's the next bus to Seattle?
Kyle opened the search page.
[There's one at eleven PM, arrives tomorrow afternoon.]
Marcus replied: [Okay, why's your phone been off?]
Kyle replied: [Dead battery.]
Send.
Kyle shoved the phone in his pocket.
He leaned against the window glass.
At three AM, everyone in the bus was asleep.
Kyle wasn't sleeping.
He kept looking out the window. In the darkness, one or two lights flashed by occasionally. There was a billboard that read: Jesus Loves You.
The phone sat on his knee, screen dark.
He didn't know if Marcus had gotten on that bus. Didn't know what would be waiting for him when he got to Seattle tomorrow afternoon.
He didn't know.
But he knew one thing.
He reached into his left chest pocket and touched the USB drive.
He didn't take it out.
The bus kept going, toward Seattle.
At six AM, dawn broke. Sunlight came through the east-facing windows, cutting the bus in half—one half bright, one half dark. Kyle sat in the dark half.
The kid woke up.
"Are we there?"
"Almost."
"How almost?"
"Go back to sleep and we'll be there."
Kyle reached to touch his sleeve. The painting was still there.
The phone screen lit up.
A message from Marcus.
[Got on the bus.]
Kyle looked at the timestamp: 4:17 AM.
He replied: [Got it.]
Then he added: [See you in Seattle.]
Kyle put the phone in his pocket.
Sunlight came through the window and fell on his knees. He put his hand in the sunlight. His hand was warm.
The bus kept going.
Kyle closed his eyes.
This time, he smiled. Very slight. Very brief.
