Story #310 - Bus Stop

Bus Stop

Pren Worth recalled the bus flipping end over end, the sickening feeling of seeing earth and sky pass by in alternate measures. He had no idea what they’d hit or how such an accident could even have occurred, but it didn’t much matter in what he was sure were the final moments of his life. Questions both broad and narrow passed before his eyes – had he made a mistake in letting Susan go? Had moving south been the wrong choice? Was the kettle still on?

None of them mattered, none could be answered, and then the bus hit the ground and the last thing he remembered was the roof coming for his head, crushing pointed metal that spelled his death.

He’d awoken surrounded by the dead but not one of them.

At first he’d assumed some massive stroke of unexplainable luck had saved him, something that he didn’t deserve but gave him the opportunity to be eternally grateful. Looking down at his clothes told a different story; he was covered in blood and there were deep bruises in his flesh, already oozing a pained stiffness when he tried to rise and move around the crash site.

It took over an hour for his perceptions to catch up with his senses, and he realized not only most of the bus been obliterated but that he should never have lived. No one else had – thankfully, he’d been too shell-shocked to recognize their remains as he searched the wreckage.

After throwing up the little he had in his stomach, Pren stumbled into the woods and began walking – his cellphone was missing and while most of his ID was still in his pocket, a drivers license, two credits cars and a library pass would do him little good once the sun went down. The bus company might be sending someone to investigate, but a strange fear told him he didn’t want to be around when anyone arrived.

“Pren,” he spun at the sound of a woman’s voice, but though the forest around him was thick with brush it was devoid of any life he could see. He shivered but pressed on – it would be no surprise to find that his mind had been affected more than he knew.

“Pren,” the voice came again and he stopped, taking his time to glance not only around but up into the trees and listen of any sound of disturbed dirt or whisper of movement.

Nothing.

“Pren,” the word rebounded off his skull before he had a chance to move again, and he fell to his knees.

“WHAT?” He screamed into the woods, producing a substantial echo and scaring a group of pheasants out from a nearby bush. There was no answer from the voice.

Five minutes in the dirt and he struggled back to his feet – his bruises were coloring already and Pren knew if he didn’t keep moving he’d be in pain and immobile for the rest of the day.

He’d gone less than three hundred yards when he heard it again, but forced himself to focus on his footsteps and trees he was moving quickly past.

“You were spared,” the voice said. It was familiar, almost – and yet like nothing he’d ever heard. That it was in his head instead of coming from another individual accounted for some of the oddity, along with the strange ringing sound of the words, but the inflection was something he knew. “You were chosen.”

“Karen,” he said aloud, “I don’t know what kind of sick joke this is but I’m not laughing. Your work might be in dealing with head-cases, but that doesn’t mean you have permission to mess with mine.”

“Karen…” there was a pause, “she provided only the way. I provided the act.”

Pren slowed his pace, frowning. “What?” He said again. “What are you talking about?”

“The female you speak of was jealous, controlling. You were attached without knowledge.”

“Dammit!” He cursed. Karen had promised she would never use the tech she was developing on him, but he should have known better. She’d always been a bit crazy. “So she did this to me – and what the hell are you?”

“The chooser. You are not worthy of my gifts, but were chosen nonetheless as an example. Already, I guide your steps.”

“Gifts?” His head spun. “You’re the one who saved me from that crash?”

“Saved,” the voice said, “caused.” There was a pause. “I do all.”

“You killed those people!” Pren howled, driving his feet faster in the dirt. He had to get away!

“And saved you. Gratitude is the common response.”

“Like hell!” Ludicrous didn’t even begin to describe his circumstance – more than likely the crash had pushed him over the edge. Karen would never have risked government tech just to keep tabs on him, and he was sure shock from the crash must somehow account for the voice he was hearing.

A quick leap over a fallen log in looming darkness meant he didn’t see the broken branch next to his planned landing spot. Pren heard it crack and looked down at the sensation of pressure, the feeling of sharp pain in his stomach. He could see the jagged edge of the thing pressing against his abdomen but making no inroads into his fragile flesh.

“Again, gratitude would be expected.”

He pulled himself free of the wooden spear and began to run desperately, hoping that speed and exhaustion would drive the voice away. A minute later and he was tumbling over the edge of a grassy knoll and down into a clearing, his eyes sending messages of a silvery craft resting on gentle grass in front of him with each roll.

“Welcome, Pren Worth.” The voice was outside him now, and as he righted himself he saw a shimmering form standing next to a ship that had no business on earth. “You have arrived with more haste than expected.”

“Shut up,” he managed before his vision clouded and he tumbled to soft ground.

- D