feet crunching in the snow underneath. He looked left and right up the road, looking for corpses more than cars, then took another step. The object up ahead resolved into the front of a large vehicle. There was a large grill and two big round headlights. The metal around the headlights and grill was yellow.
"Fuck me," said Park. It was a school bus.
He began walking across the road. The school bus had swerved off the road and stopped just before falling the rest of the way down the hill. Park didn't know how long it had been there, but it must have been years. Kids didn't go to school anymore.
He stopped. The windows were dirty, but he thought he'd seen movement inside.
He heard something behind him. He spun, slipping the rifle from his shoulder. He stared into the trees across the road, the way he had just come. He stood as still as he could, staring into the trees. Waiting for something dead to stumble out. Nothing did.
"Losing my mind," he said, snorting into the cold and slipping the rifle over his shoulder. He wasn't sure he believed that.
He turned back to look down the hill. At the dirty windows of the long-wrecked school bus.
Something moved inside. He was sure he'd seen it this time.
He started down the hill, slowly and carefully heading for the hood of the bus. He leaned back as far as he could to keep from sliding down the hill. The drop was significant. Even with the snow to cushion him, a fall would be serious.
He was a few feet from the front of the bus when his footing gave way. He slid the remaining distance, holding his hand out to catch the bus. His palm hit the grill and he stopped. The bus shuddered in the snow, shifting under his weight. He wondered how sturdy it was, how close the bus had been to finishing the drop when it had skidded to a halt years ago.
"Pretty damned close," said Park to no one.
He looked over the hood of the bus and through the windshield. It was dirty and broken, but he could see the driver still strapped to his chair. His stomach was ripped open and his grey, half-frozen organs were splayed out across the steering wheel and dashboard. The organs had chunks missing. Three years ago, that would have counted as a mystery. Now, it went without saying that they had been eaten.
The driver groaned and reached for Park. He was caught in his seatbelt, sitting with his back to the ground and face to the sky like some sort of dead astronaut. Park was thankful corpses didn't have the presence of mind to work seatbelts. The only question was what had eaten the driver.
Park saw more movement from the bus. He focused further back and had his answer.
Numerous dead children wandered the back of the bus, clogged up against the back door by gravity. A few climbed slowly on the backs of seats. A few others saw Park and hissed at him, reaching up with tiny gray hands. Their fingers were coated with ice.
"Shit, kids," said Park, looking down at them with his palm pressed up against the hood of the bus. "How long you been in there?"
He thought about how rotted they didn't look. And how it hadn't always been this cold. There'd been springs and summers, same as before. As the years had dragged on, he'd noticed the corpses decomposed more slowly than one would expect. Of course, he reasoned, they were also walking and that was already pretty different from what one would expect.
He heard noise behind him. He turned, putting his back to the bus. It groaned under his weight. He slipped the rifle off his shoulder and listened.
A loud rustling came from the woods on the far side of the street. Park pushed himself off the bus, which groaned in complaint. He used the momentum of his push to stride back up the hill and onto the road.
He stared into the woods, listening. He waited for a corpse to emerge. Or a crazed animal to charge.
Neither happened.
Which meant it was a living person.
"Hey!" yelled Park into the trees. He pointed his gun across the road. "You suck day-old dick at following
"Fuck me," said Park. It was a school bus.
He began walking across the road. The school bus had swerved off the road and stopped just before falling the rest of the way down the hill. Park didn't know how long it had been there, but it must have been years. Kids didn't go to school anymore.
He stopped. The windows were dirty, but he thought he'd seen movement inside.
He heard something behind him. He spun, slipping the rifle from his shoulder. He stared into the trees across the road, the way he had just come. He stood as still as he could, staring into the trees. Waiting for something dead to stumble out. Nothing did.
"Losing my mind," he said, snorting into the cold and slipping the rifle over his shoulder. He wasn't sure he believed that.
He turned back to look down the hill. At the dirty windows of the long-wrecked school bus.
Something moved inside. He was sure he'd seen it this time.
He started down the hill, slowly and carefully heading for the hood of the bus. He leaned back as far as he could to keep from sliding down the hill. The drop was significant. Even with the snow to cushion him, a fall would be serious.
He was a few feet from the front of the bus when his footing gave way. He slid the remaining distance, holding his hand out to catch the bus. His palm hit the grill and he stopped. The bus shuddered in the snow, shifting under his weight. He wondered how sturdy it was, how close the bus had been to finishing the drop when it had skidded to a halt years ago.
"Pretty damned close," said Park to no one.
He looked over the hood of the bus and through the windshield. It was dirty and broken, but he could see the driver still strapped to his chair. His stomach was ripped open and his grey, half-frozen organs were splayed out across the steering wheel and dashboard. The organs had chunks missing. Three years ago, that would have counted as a mystery. Now, it went without saying that they had been eaten.
The driver groaned and reached for Park. He was caught in his seatbelt, sitting with his back to the ground and face to the sky like some sort of dead astronaut. Park was thankful corpses didn't have the presence of mind to work seatbelts. The only question was what had eaten the driver.
Park saw more movement from the bus. He focused further back and had his answer.
Numerous dead children wandered the back of the bus, clogged up against the back door by gravity. A few climbed slowly on the backs of seats. A few others saw Park and hissed at him, reaching up with tiny gray hands. Their fingers were coated with ice.
"Shit, kids," said Park, looking down at them with his palm pressed up against the hood of the bus. "How long you been in there?"
He thought about how rotted they didn't look. And how it hadn't always been this cold. There'd been springs and summers, same as before. As the years had dragged on, he'd noticed the corpses decomposed more slowly than one would expect. Of course, he reasoned, they were also walking and that was already pretty different from what one would expect.
He heard noise behind him. He turned, putting his back to the bus. It groaned under his weight. He slipped the rifle off his shoulder and listened.
A loud rustling came from the woods on the far side of the street. Park pushed himself off the bus, which groaned in complaint. He used the momentum of his push to stride back up the hill and onto the road.
He stared into the woods, listening. He waited for a corpse to emerge. Or a crazed animal to charge.
Neither happened.
Which meant it was a living person.
"Hey!" yelled Park into the trees. He pointed his gun across the road. "You suck day-old dick at following
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