In The End Box Set | Books 1-3 Stevens, GJ (story books to read TXT) 📖

I took the chance to read my comic. A classic Wacky Racers my granddad left me when he'd died, with a little note to make sure I kept them in the plastic sleeve. I would be thankful when I was older. I don't know why.

Outside there was loads of noise. A woman with a cigarette in her mouth and a small dog in her arms. It didn't look like they'd been woken from their beds. She was arguing with the solider, arms waving back and forth. Why she wanted to bring a dog on a trip, I don't know. Unless it was the seaside, of course.

“Mum,” I said, but didn't wait for her to turn my way. “When are we going home?”

“Don't worry, dear,” Mum replied, her hands still diving in and out of bags. She always used the same tone when I wouldn't like the answer.

“Rusty?” I said and looked to my sister, forcing her finger to her mouth as she looked back. She didn't know.

Stuffing back the tears, I didn't want to start Tish off and turned to watch the woman still shaking her head. She would freeze if she didn't get on soon, just dressed in a short top with thin straps. It was the middle of winter.

In the end, the dog was returned to the house and she came back with her friend who had more sense and was wearing a coat.

The old man was coughing again, but it sounded like he was getting better. The coughs were more gentle, quieter and whoever he was with, a woman about his age, stood and asked if there was a doctor on the bus. Everyone seemed to ignore the question.

The neighbours were soon swaying down the aisle, filling the air with the smell of garlic bread and strawberries. It was a strange mix but made me a little hungry.

The woman whose husband was sick shouted to the driver as he closed the door. He looked kind of sad in reply, shaking his head and said there were doctors where they were going. Lots of them.

The lights were left on at her insistence and I tried to block out her sobs but was thankful she didn't do it as loud as my sister.

When the tears weren't getting in the way of my concentration, it was the neighbour talking like she was alone with her friend, or if everyone else was joining in the conversation. They woke Tish with their laughter.

I stared at my sister, looking to see if when she finished rubbing her eyes she was going to spit the dummy and make us all miserable with her own shrieks of pain, but instead she just kept pointing at the woman, shouting Mickey.

That's when I saw the tattoo on the woman's neck; Mickey Mouse as the apprentice from Fantasia.

Right on cue, the woman erupted in a chesty laugh, just like Muttley from the comic in my lap.

I was still smiling at the coincidence when a scream ripped through the coach and we shot forward, the soldier slamming on the brakes. It was the old woman again; she was screaming her husband was dead.

I felt sorry for her, but I don't know why we had to run off the coach.

36

Tish wailed. The soldier screamed.

He waved the gun in his hand, shouting for everyone to get off the coach.

Confused, I turned to my parents, but they stood, peering over the seats and watched as everyone rose. I stayed where I was, the aisle already blocked.

The coach had come alive with movement. Everyone was awake and pulling on coats, grabbing their belongings.

Mum pulled up bags from the floor. Dad tried to making himself taller to peer over the crowd, but no one seemed to move down the bus.

Screams took up from all around. A wave of motion radiated towards us. I saw five or six people who had been pushing up the aisle now backed up, the last of them on top of me.

Mum was screaming, as was the majority, her hands flapping, looking to Dad for answers. I turned back to the aisle and saw the neighbour with the tattoo.

For the first time, she wasn't laughing, instead pushing her way past the guy who was about to crush me. I thought she would clamber over to get to the window, but she looked down and gave a slow smile before leaning over and swinging a stout bottle she'd pulled from under her arm.

Ducking when the window shattered, I almost said a bad word as the glass showered down. It was my only answer to the craziness but I stopped myself as I felt the rush of cold air.

She hoisted me up, her hands in my arm pits like I was five again and angled me through the window.

I watched as people turned toward us and pushed at her back, their faces screwed up as they tried to get past her.

Without realising, I'd scooped my bag up in the crook of my arm and was out the window and into the darkness quicker than I'd expected.

Dad lowered Tish into my arms; the screams roaring from inside were louder than her wailing like she was under attack.

I stepped back from the bus as more people appeared from the sides to climb out of the missing window, but the lady who'd helped me, the one with the tattoo, she'd disappeared.

Other faces, other families took her place and were climbing over the back seats, hands out, pushing others aside.

Seven or eight people were out by now, each running or limping down the road until they disappeared from view. The screams were fading, but my sister's weren't. I felt like my head would explode, then Dad appeared at the space where the window had been.

His eye