A World Apart

Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Stella

My foot barely got the chance to kiss the pedals before Logan came to the front of the bus and shooed me away. I glared back at him before complying. He's been the driver this far, it would probably be bad luck to change up the roles now. Besides, it's been an eventful few nights, I could do with a rest.

The seats are as comfortable as I remember, the leather just as cracked and peeling. I've been picking bits off since I sat down and have congregated an enviable mound beside me. The bus hits a bump in the road and the pile scatters onto the floor. I watch the little pieces flutter about until one flies over to where Joey sits across the aisle.

He's got his feet on the seat and his knees tucked up against his chest. When he notices me watching him, he tightens his arms around his legs and turns to look out the window. Just in time for a large green sign with the letters Las Vegas printed on it to come into view. It points off in a direction that has me wondering why the bus was parked where it was.

Really, I should be making the most of this time to sleep, but what Logan said has gotten into my head now. About there needing to be a lot of coincidences for Joey's story to work. That part is true, but the spot where we found the bus wasn't going towards Canada. So what was it doing there?

This is the problem when things are peaceful. You start looking for trouble.

For a little while I try to think of other things, but it persists in nagging at the back of my mind. Where could Joey have been taking the bus if not Canada? I look over at him again, huddled up in his seat, and I decide that I'm not going to get any rest until I've asked him.

"Joey?" I say.

It takes him a minute to finally look at me.

"The park where we found the bus, it wasn't exactly on a route to Canada. . ." I trail off, suddenly realizing I haven't thought how to phrase this accusation. Thankfully he seems to understand what I'm trying to ask.

"We had to make a detour when we got to the edge of Vegas, there was this half-built wall of debris stopping us from taking any of the main roads. Figured our best bet was to aim West and try go around it. Bit ironic hey, that you probably would have ended up at the coast either way."

Ironic is one word you could use.

"A wall of rubbish stopped you from going to Canada?" I ask skeptically.

"That adds up," Logan says from the driver's seat. "I found a journal in the shopping center written by the group who were cleaning up the city. They talked about wanting to build a wall to keep anymore infected out. Guess they must have gotten started."

"The Great Wall of Vegas . . . that's something for the history books," I muse.

With that mystery put to rest, maybe I can actually get some rest now. It would seem Joey has his own mysteries to solve though.

"Stella?" he asks.

I look back at him.

"Are you still hoping to find your friend?"

My teeth clench at the question. It's an automatic response now whenever this topic is brought up. I can't help it. It's a conversation I hate having, no matter who it's with. They've come this far on what little detail I've given, can't they just hold out a little while longer?

"Yes," is all I say back to him, hoping he'll take the hint that I don't want to talk anymore. Unfortunately for me, that's never been a social cue Joey has cared about.