HOTSPOT

11

Clearing the piled-up mutated corpses takes the rest of the day. By the time we've moved them all away from the tires to give us enough space to move, the sun is sinking below the horizon, turning the sky pink and orange. I upend a bottle of lukewarm water over my hands, scrubbing off the blood, then hand it to Noah.

"Maybe we should get some sleep and hit the road again tomorrow."

He hesitates, then nods. "Yeah. Sure."

The floor of the bus is splattered with gore, which I carefully step around. Several of the barricades on the windows and door have given way beneath the relentless attacks, but Noah doesn't seem bothered. It's not much of a place to live anymore—just a method of transportation.

Noah stubbornly refuses the mattresses in the back, instead choosing to sleep in one of the seats, backpack slouched next to him. At least the day's activities have worn him out—he falls asleep almost immediately, while I lie awake for a while, wondering how Ama is doing. If she's struggling to sleep, not sure if I'm dead or alive.

The next day dawns bright, but the thunderheads on the horizon have flattened into a dull grey sheet of low-hanging clouds that prowl slowly in our direction. The rain will hit us by nightfall.

Searching for cars with full tanks of gas and then bringing it back to the bus takes up most of the morning. When the sun is high in the sky, we're ready to go again, the bus protesting more than yesterday after the abuse it endured I get it started and Noah retrieves the blood-splattered map from the floor, directing me through the city.

By the time evening falls again, the Golden Gate Bridge is visible through the tangle of buildings, sticking up into the clouds. A light rain has started, pattering off the windshield and swaying the leaves of the palm trees that line the street. I stall the bus, letting it idle. Noah gets up to stand next to me, staring outside. I take my hands off the wheel, dropping them in my lap and looking up at him.

"Well? You ready?"

"Yeah. Let's just wait until it gets dark."

"Okay. Here, you should eat something in the meantime." I shut off the engine completely, getting up out of my seat with a wince. Driving for hours, trying to find detours around car pileups, takes a lot out of a person. I rummage around in my backpack and toss him a sealed bag of jerky, moving to sit in one of the passenger seats. Noah sits down beside me after a brief pause, opening the bag and then holding it in his lap, staring down at the contents.

"I'm not really hungry."

"You should eat anyways."

He complies, taking out a piece and chewing it painfully slowly, like the idea of eating makes him sick. I sigh and look out the window at the growing rainfall. Movement catches my eye.

"Oh, Noah, look at this." I tap a knuckle against the glass. Noah leans over me, peering through the rain-streaked surface. From behind a phone booth, overgrown with greenery, a slender, rain-slick head appears, crowned by two antlers bearing a single offshoot each.

The deer steps out, ears flicking in every direction. It watches the intruding bus with large, watery eyes, fur shiny with moisture. It's followed by two more—both does, flanking the male on narrow, delicate legs.

Noah has forgotten about his food. "Are those deer?"

"Yeah." I smile, watching one of the does nip at a patch of grass on the ground. Deciding the strange blue vehicle in their territory isn't a threat, they lower their guard, flicking their stubby tails and taking careful steps toward whatever greenery looks edible to them. "City was overrun with them for a while—guess they figured they'd move in after we all moved out or died. Then the mutated realized how delicious they were, so their population is a lot more controlled now."