The Bus

By Josie Schultz

Rubbing my eyes, I sit up, realizing I had fallen asleep. I blink slowly as everything comes back in a flood of memories.

I was with my best friends on a road trip. We all wanted to travel away from our small town, and this was our chance.  We had bought and refurbished a minibus, making it exactly as we wanted. The windows had blinds, and we removed some of the seats to open it up. It was divided into sections for us to share. I had shared the back area with Luke, who we deemed the comedic relief and planner of the group. Donovan and Brooke shared the middle, where Donavan would listen to Brooke's consistent yapping. Lastly, Juliette and Chase shared the front; they were like the angel and devil on your shoulder, but it's only devils. Since nobody else wanted to take the role, Chase was our driver. We didn’t have a set destination, just a few areas we wanted to visit. After that, we would have to think of other places. 

As we set our trip in motion, we picked out some entertainment, stocking up on board games, playing cards, books, movies, and various other entertaining things. Later, we would realize how pointless these things would be.

Barely an hour in, and the boredom was getting to us.

“Luuuuuuuuukeeee, I’m bored." I had said, dragging out his name and emphasizing my intense boredom, dramatically leaning on him in the process. 

“What do you want me to do about it?” He jokingly rolled his eyes, smiling as he spoke. 

“Not a clue... maybe we could play one of the games!” I sprung up after I remembered we had our random assortment of games. Quickly sifting through, I threw out names for Luke to pick something. Finally, we decided on chess, which we both had a very vague understanding of. The game didn’t really go anywhere as we playfully argued at each other's made-up rules. 

As we got deeper into the game, the others started watching, amused by our interesting tactics and lack of knowledge regarding the rules. 

“You can’t take my king without declaring war!” 

“Since when?! I can do what I want, and my knight wants to fight your king.”

“Fine! Rock paper scissors. Right now.”

“Rock…paper…scissors…shoot!” 

“Ha! Checkmate, my knight killed your king." I had won rock paper scissors, ultimately winning the game as well.

"What even was that game??” Donovan hesitantly asked.

“The best game ever!” “The worst game ever.” Luke and I replied at the same time, looking at each other and laughing.

We had passed a few hours with our silly game, and the sun was starting to set. Chase started pulling off to a public campground for the night. It was the perfect little spot for us, with a place to start a fire and cook a simple meal. We had brought hot dogs and other easy foods, making it a quick process. We were all just talking and having fun, but in the shadows, there was something. Something different. Something weird... it was just there, unnoticed by us. Waiting. Stalking. 

“Oh my god, guys, we should play a game!!” Brooke suddenly suggested. Everyone seemed down, so we decided on a classic: hide and seek tag. We quickly gathered some stray sticks and picked them blindly to determine who would seek first. 

"Why am I always the first one to be it?” Luke complained as he pulled the shortest stick. 

“Quit complaining and start counting.” Brooke retaliated. 

As soon as he started, we all scattered. I stayed close, taking the risk of assuming he would forget to look nearby. I was under the bus with a decent view of where everyone else was heading. Donovan ran straight to a tree, climbing high enough that he couldn't be seen, or gotten, easily. Chase and Brooke went to some nearby bushes, laying flat near them and covering themselves with leaves, quietly arguing that the other stole their spot. Juilete was the only one I couldn’t see, but she had gone a little deeper into the woods behind us, probably just behind a tree. 

“... Twenty-eight... Twenty-nine... Thirty... Ready or not, here I come!” Luke was quick to start looking, wasting no time on contemplating where we could be and immediately heading towards rustling. As he got to the bushes, he tagged both Brooke and Chase; it was almost an immediate find.

“SEE YOU GOT US FOUND!” Brooke playfully yelled at Chase, to which he instantly responded, “THAT WAS OBVIOUSLY YOUR FAULT!!”

“You guys argue too much,” Luke complained, looking for the rest of the hiders. As he looked around, he passed both me and Donovan a few times. Growing impatient, he started calling out for us menacingly. 

A loud, bloodcurdling scream pierced through the air, making everyone freeze instinctively. Slowly returning to their senses, Luke, Chase, and Brooke realized it was likely me or Juliet who screamed. I quickly came out of my hiding spot, joining the group to figure out what was happening. The screams continued again, and Juliette emerged from the forest's edge, stumbling over herself, trying to get away from... something.

Straying Hope

By Treyton Allphin

In the aftermath of the fall, the world lay in silence, the remnants of humanity scattered like leaves in the wind. He navigated the desolation, his eyes bright. 

Once a stray, he felt oddly free in this new, empty landscape. Once alive and bustling, the streets were now overgrown with weeds and wildflowers that broke through cracked pavement. The air carried a blend of decay and a weird dampness.

Prowling through the streets,  he weaved between rusted cars, his paws barely making a sound. A flicker of movement caught his eye — a rat darting into a crevice. What was abundant in the past is a rarity nowadays. He crouched low, instinct sharpening his focus. With a pounce, he captured it, savoring the taste of fresh meat amidst the ruin of this world. 

Feeling better after eating the rat, he ventured further into the city. He climbed onto a fallen street sign, surveying the remnants of a collapsed world. Tall buildings loomed; they were skeletal giants, their windows shattered, some reduced to rubble. The natural world was taking back what once was humanity.

He wandered into an abandoned grocery store. The door hung open, creaking gently in the breeze. Inside, the shelves were primarily bare. He looked for food from any source. He nudged a can with his paw, watching it roll and hit the ground, empty, just like everything else.

As he explored the aisles, he caught sight of a small group of others lurking in the shadows, startled by the knocked-over can. He paused, sizing them up. They were lean and wary like him, their eyes full with suspicion. He felt a mix of pride and caution as he slowly approached. One of them stood out of the group and approached him. The rest were scared, but this one wasn't. The two were point-blank; he was skeptical, but they kept coming, slowly nudging into him.

The others watched him for a moment, then began to move closer. They didn't speak, but their body language was clear. They were assessing him, deciding whether he was a friend or foe. He held his ground, maintaining a steady gaze. They kept approaching the two, but it wasn't the same. Their gaze became threatening as if they were pushing the two out. 

Days turned into weeks as he adjusted to this new reality. He had a new companion, they scavenged together, sharing food and warmth. They would curl up in the sun-drenched corners of the crumbling buildings, finding comfort in each other's presence.

One day, while exploring the neighborhood, they stumbled upon a small garden—wildflowers blooming among the rubble. The vibrant colors stood in stark contrast to the gray backdrop, filling them with a sense of wonder and hope.

He watched as his companion sniffed the flowers, their tails flicking in curiosity. It was a small oasis of life in a broken world, a reminder that even here, hope could thrive.

In this world, there was finally a little bit of warmth. As the sun set, casting a warm glow over the ruins, he felt hope again. Amidst the darkness, life could still flourish.

Hiding Out

By Savanna Proffit

Bang!!  

A bomb landed about 150 yards away. Yvea plugged her ears and ran into her and her family's small tent to hide. Her father had built it out of scrap fabric from what was left over after their house was raided and destroyed by the Germans. Her father and mother, the two most important people in her world, were taken from her and her little brother Lyad when they were out looking for any bit of food they could find on the outskirts of the camp they had been living in for several weeks. They had not returned, and an old woman from the camp who had gone with them said that they were killed by a party of Germans marching through the woods. They had only let the old woman go because she was old. Now, Yvea was left alone, at the age of ten, to care for her five-year-old little brother. 

She had been outside trying to get a small fire started so she could cook a little bit of the food they had left over when the bomb struck. When she ducked inside the tent, she grabbed Lyad and they huddled in a corner together, holding on to each other for dear life. After a few minutes, they went outside together and looked for the other people who lived in their camp. Slowly, they started stepping out of their hiding places into the daylight that was quickly waning. Each person looked around, and then one by one, all of their gazes fixed to the north. Fires burned in buildings, and people screamed, and ran toward them, telling them to go and hide.

“THE GERMANS ARE COMING!” they shrieked, and in the distance, they could see it was true.

Everyone in the camp ran around frantically, grabbing what little they needed and had to survive. Yvea grabbed the bag of food her parents had prepared for a time like this one. She grabbed her little brother by the hand and a blanket, practically dragging the two along as she ran. 

“Yvea, where are we going?” Lyad asked, trying to catch his breath.

“I don’t know… we are going to hide out somewhere,” she responded frantically. 

The two ran and ran as darkness quickly enveloped them. Yvea knew of a place that few other people knew about and was trying to find her way. At one point, Lyad tripped and fell, making him cry even harder than he already was. Yvea picked him up and put him on her back, wrapping him in the blanket and tying it around her chest. She continued to run, for she knew how cruel the Germans were.

She had heard stories of what they did to other Jews in Germany as well as France, Yugoslavia, and Poland. She was petrified with fear not only for herself but for her little brother as well.

They finally reached the hole in the ground that would be their hideout for who knew how long. She did not have a light, so she could not see any of her surroundings; all she had to rely on was her intuition and memory. 

Yvea and Lyad climbed into the hole. She found the matches she put in her pocket. Yvea put Lyad down to one side and tucked the blanket around him tightly. 

“I’ll be right back. Don’t move,” Yvea said, pointing her tiny, slender finger in his face. She quickly went outside, almost on a run, to find sticks. Once she grabbed as much as her small arms could carry, she went back into the hole and put the armload against one wall before going back out to repeat the process.

Lyad’s beady, dark eyes followed Yvea as she went in and out of the hole several times before deciding they had enough wood for the night. Next, she used a nearby rock to dig a shallow hole in the dirt. She set some of the wood into a teepee and started a fire. She cooked a few small pieces of food, and she and Lyad ate their dinner huddled close together with the sound of bombs and mistles overhead.

_______________________________________________

Smoke filled the air. Nazis were everywhere, taking people hostage and buzzing around like wasps chasing someone who got into their hive. Only, they were not protecting their “hive”; they were destroying someone else's home.

A two-story building stood on the outskirts of the Jewish city; upstairs was a family of four. They all huddled in a corner, the father holding a gun ready to shoot at any Germans who decided to come in. The two children were wrapped in a blanket and enclosed in their parents’ arms. 

At last, some of the noise subsided, the children’s parents looked at each other and nodded. They shook the two sleeping children.

“Adriano! Adriano! Wake up!” whispered their mother.

“Farah! Wake up, sweetie!” their dad spoke softly.

Adriano awoke and looked with troubled eyes at his parents' ashen, dirt-covered faces. They had tears in their eyes. Many troubled thoughts went through the twelve-year-old boy's mind. His dark brown, almost black eyes went back and forth between those of his mother and father. 

Once Farah was awake, their father began.

  “Adriano…this is going to be hard for you, and us, but I want you to listen to and do everything I say. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Abba, I understand.”

“There is a hole in the side of a small hill in the woods east of here. I want you to take your little sister and go there. Don’t stop on the way for anything. Here is a bag full of food. There are matches in it too.”

Adriano’s tears streamed down his cheeks as his mother pulled him close. She too had tears spilling from her eyes. The whole family hugged and cried together. 

A few hours later, when night had fallen and the stars shone over the land barely able to make themselves known through the smokey haze, Adriano’s father and mother woke up their two precious children, who had once again fallen into a troubled sleep. 

“Adriano…” his father said as his mother gently rocked him back and forth.

He looked up and knew what they were going to say.

“Adriano… take your sister and go now. Keep going until you reach the small cave. Don’t stop, do you understand?” His father asked.

“Yes, Abba,” Adriano whimpered, his voice shaking.

“Take care of Farah. We want you to know that we love you both very much, and we would not be asking you to do this if we didn’t know that it was for the best. Now, come here once more, my yeladim,” their mother said through tears.

“I love you too Ima, and you too Abba…” Adriano whispered.

“Me too, I loves you Abba and Ima…” Farah squeezed out of her tiny throat as she sobbed uncontrollably against her father and mother.

“Now go… Go! Now! And don’t stop for anything!” Their father said.

Adriano grabbed the food bag and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders and one around Farah’s. They ran down the two flights of stairs, out the door, and almost to the end of the street. Adriano looked back as a bomb hit the building they had left their parents in. It exploded into a million small pieces. Smoke, ash, and fire erupted from the building, now a heap on the ground. Farah wanted to scream. She grabbed Adriano and smashed her face into his stomach, sobbing. Adriano hugged her tight, his tears forming raging rivers down his cheeks.

“We… need… to keep… going, Farah.” Adriano grabbed her hand and wiped his tears and Farah’s. In a split second, they were running again, even faster now with no reason to turn around. Adriano knew that he had to keep his sister safe, and they had to make it to the hole. So they kept running. They ran and ran and ran. When they finally got to the woods, they could run no longer, and the night was falling, so they slowed to a quick walk; although exhaustion weighed on them, they had no time to spare.

____________________________________________________________________________

It had been almost two days since Yvea and her little brother arrived at their new, hopefully temporary, home. They were sleeping as soundly as they could. The night was strangely quiet, and the faint smell of smoke lingered in the air with an eerie fog that hung low to the ground, making the already hard-to-see surroundings more indistinct. Yvea startled awake to sounds closing in, sitting up straight and staring at the opening of the cave. She listened closely to whimpering, then footsteps; they grew closer and closer until two small silhouettes stood in the opening. They ducked in and sat against the wall. 

____________________________________________________________________________

Adriano had no idea someone else was with them. Darkness enveloped them and he could not see a thing. Farah clung to him still crying, closing her eyes as tightly as she could manage.

“You must try to sleep, Farah.” He said, trying to soothe his heartbroken little sister even though his heart was just as torn. 

____________________________________________________________________________

The fog still engrossed them, but not like the night before. Everything smelled of smoke, ash, and dust. Even with all of the bad smells, there was a freshness in the air that made it crisp. It would have been enjoyable except for the doom and gloom hanging over the land. The sun shone through the trees and into the dark hole where the four children slept.

Adriano stirred a little and his eyelids fluttered open. He almost let out a small yelp when he saw Yvea sitting against the opposite wall holding her little brother the way he was holding his little sister.

People Don’t Change

By Julian Denney

The small bar was rowdy, filled with the strums of guitar strings, slurred singing, and clinking glasses. Andrés was unfamiliar with the place; he’d been stuck in the town for a few more days than anticipated. It was supposed to be a quick place to sleep on his travels but was beginning to look more like a long-term arrangement as his mode of transport left him stranded.

“This seat taken, sir?” A dirtied man stood awkwardly, a bit tense. The newcomer's dark eyes stayed trained on him as they awaited a reply.

“Naw.”

The man sat down, not appearing put off by the curtness. His hair was tousled, grains of sand insistently sticking to his face and clothes. He settled into the seat with a now waggish grin.

“Name’s Beau, thanks fer askin’.”

I didn’t ask.

“Andrés.”

Beau stuck out his hand, waiting for a handshake that didn’t come. With a sigh, he dropped it. The guy seemed like a bad flannel mouth; he refused to drop a dead conversation. It was clear he’d seen his fair share of quick acceptions and rejections, though. He knew how to carry on every time Andrés thought it was blatantly over.

“Whaddya drink? I’ll buy you a glass of whatever booze you want.”

“Whatever gets me tipsy quickest. Listen, I don’t wanna listen to yer wobblin jaw. I came here to mind my own, you should try it.”

“Gee, sorry I asked.”

Despite the snarkiness of his tone, he ordered ryes for the both of them anyway. If anything, this guy wasn’t a half-bad distraction from the current predicament Andrés found himself in. His horse had gone lame a day’s walk from the town. It was unsalvageable. Until he found someone generous enough to offer a free ride out, he was stuck at sea. Frankly, that was the only plan he had. Beau stayed silent for a few short moments, analytically watching Andrés.

“Fall on hard times?”

“Sure did. My damn horse went n’ made himself crowbait.”

“Ah, no wonder you ain’t sociable.”

“I am. Just not with people tryin' to butter me up.”

“I ain’t tryin' to butter you up, I’m just making conversation!”

“Nobody buys a stranger a drink unless it’s a good-lookin’ girl, and I ain’t that. What is it you want?”

Beau stared at him, breaking out in another grin. He looked like he was rehearsing each line, cycling through a practiced dialogue. It was almost unsettling—like he was waiting on a fish to bite a lure.

“Is it so wrong to be generous when kindness is so sparse?”

“I ain’t a kicked dog, and I doubt you got the typa kindness I want.”

“And what kindness do you want?”

Andrés fell quiet now. It couldn’t hurt to try and hitch a ride sooner rather than later, but it still felt risky. Even if the man could spare a ride, was he the trustworthy type? By the looks of it, he wasn’t the helpful, down-to-earth sort. Maybe he was judging too harshly. In his imagination, he’d planned for his saving grace to be a merchant, or some sort of family man, or even a woman. The saying was to trust your gut, but the only sensation he was getting so far was some sickness from the booze.

“You got a ride west?”

“That’s something I can work with!” Beau barked out a laugh, slapping Andrés’ back.

By the next morning, Andrés was regretting his choice to accept help. The moment he’d stumbled back home last night, he’d started rethinking his choice of drinking. His head hurt, his body felt weighed down, and he was suppressing the urge to vomit—it was like his body's late reaction of disagreement. As it was now, he still felt shaky on his feet. He was used to hangovers, and that wasn’t what was happening; he knew it wasn’t. But, he had bigger issues to focus on.

“Sleep well, princess?” That voice was really starting to irritate him.

“Never better. What’s the plan?”

Andrés’ voice came out with more malice than he’d intended. Maybe the rough night was grating on him more than he’d thought.

“You want a bite to eat while we hash it out? Looks like you need it.”

“If yer the one payin'.”

Sitting across from Beau was more uncomfortable than sitting right beside him. His eyes were piercing, and watching the man examine him like a project was disconcerting. On the upside, the little joint offered foods that reminded him of home. It tasted like the warm biscuits his wife used to make, and he could almost envision his twins beaming at him from across the table. At least that memory had yet to feel sour. Yet to.

It didn’t take long to hash out the details of their plan. Beau doing most of the talking made it easy enough. It was haphazard, but as long as Andrés made it out of that town before sundown, he didn’t care.

They set off just before noon, the sun glaring down on them unsparingly. Andrés was stuck with a slower pack mule, while Beau kept to his quarter horse. He was considerate enough to keep a slow pace, steadily walking in tandem with the mule. The conversation started as shut off as it had been in the bar, though it gradually opened up more. Andrés even found himself cracking lighthearted jokes, rather than sticking to his snide remarks. It wasn’t half bad, if he was being honest with himself.

By the time the sun was about to set, they’d both loosened up enough for their interactions to be easy. Setting up a camp for the night was a breeze, the bickering limited to joking jabs instead of the full-blown arguments Andrés had been anticipating.

“I can take over cookin’. Not to be a braggart, but I fancy myself a good cook. Call it my payment for the help.”

“I ain’t ever gonna be against doin’ less work, if you wanna bust your chops then feel free.” Beau grinned.

Setting up a small dinner didn’t take much time. The fire cast a comforting glow over their makeshift camp, sizzling of meat in lard filling the silence. The scent of well-seasoned food lingered around them. Sitting so close to Beau, it struck him how much he’d really grown fond of the man. He couldn’t keep sitting with a guilty conscience, couldn’t keep letting the guy sit next to such a monster unknowing.

“I-.. I got somethin' I gotta get off my chest, Beau.”

“Have at it, Andy.”

“I got a bounty over me. My family’s dead, and everybody thinks it’s my fault. I know it ain’t, but it feels like it sometimes. Hangin’ around me is dangerous. I know I didn’t kill ‘em, but that don’t change that I coulda prevented it. That don’t change that they’re in the earth now. It’s a big price over me, Beau.” It all poured out at once. Even though it should’ve felt like a weight lifting, the only emotion he felt now was dread. What if he’d just lost his only friend?

“...It’s alright, Andrés. I believe you. I got somethin’ to tell you too.”

He paused.

“What?”

“I’ve killed people. It was my fault. I pulled that trigger myself, didn’t have nobody makin’ me do it. It was my job, but I didn’t feel remorse for ‘em. I don’t know what them people did, but I always assumed it was bad enough if someone needed ‘em dead.”

The sizzle of meat was the only thing that filled the silence, and it felt a bit less comforting than it had just moments ago.

“Ah- that was a lot. I’m sorry, I just couldn’t keep it to myself any longer. I understand if you don’t want to stick around anymore. I swear, I’m a different man.” Beau seemed to fumble for words for the first time.

“It’s.. it’s alright. I used to give the benefit of the doubt more, but I got a lot more resentful after my whole… ordeal. Guess this is my sign to go back to bein’ kind, huh?” He hesitated for a moment before giving Beau a friendly hit on the back. Beau smiled.

“Thank you. You don’t know how much that matters to me.”

Andrés offered a nod of acknowledgment as he got to his feet, plating both their meals before sitting back down. Beau went back to filling the quiet with stories, yarning the hours away long past when their food was finished. By the time they’d readied up to go to sleep, it had to be near midnight.

Falling asleep was shockingly easy. Andrés had developed a hate-hate relationship with sleep after he’d gone on the run; it was hard to knock out, it was hard to stay out, and his dreams made sure he woke up still exhausted. While drifting off, he’d almost been able to realize something was wrong—that the day had been too good to him.

He knew he was right when he woke up. It was still dark—no more than an hour or two after they’d gone to bed.

Beau was hovering over him with a musket, letting Andrés have a view straight down the barrel. His expression matched what Andrés had envisioned when the man had come clean about his history—there wasn’t a lick of remorse in his eyes. Rather, it looked more like enjoyment. Andrés found himself tripping over his words as he adjusted to the situation.

“What the hell’re—”

“You had a bounty over you, and you still bought into a stranger's niceties?” There was no more warm southern accent when he talked, just a monotone northern mockery.

“I told you the true story! You-.. I…” He couldn’t find what he wanted to say—damned ten-cent man.

“And I told you mine. You shoulda kept true to your guns—people don’t change.”