Chapter 4 #2
Dad and Elizabeth collapsed into a row of seats behind me, adding their grumbles to the din of irritated people.
As the last passengers settled in, an excited man emerged through the bus’s front door, shouting in a strange language.
He looked around forty, heavyset, with dark hair and blue jeans.
He exchanged a flurry of heated words with the bus driver.
I wondered what the disturbance was about, when the man turned and pointed at me .
“Robespierre!” he shouted.
My heart jumped out of my chest. The man grabbed me and tried to yank me from my seat, pointing toward the door with his other hand.
I screamed like a child on a roller coaster and curled up against the wall of the bus, sure it would be my death if he pulled me away.
My hands trembled, and my breathing quickened.
Liam Neeson films flashed through my mind. He was trying to take me!
Dad leaped from his seat and confronted the man. “Leave my daughter alone!”
The intruder let go of my arm and put his hands up defensively. “Okay, taxi.”
The bus driver and other passengers exploded in a cacophony of foreign words.
I couldn’t understand anything. Elizabeth wrapped her hands around me, a tremble in her grip.
The stranger kept pointing at the door and shouting.
Dad stood like a mountain, until the strange man shrugged and walked off the bus.
“Ralph,” Elizabeth said in a shaky voice. “What in heavens was that about?”
“I don’t know, but we’re staying on this bus together.”
I nodded in fearful agreement. The mechanical door hissed shut, and the driver shifted gears. We rode down a gravel road and left the airport. Wherever the bus was going, we were along for the ride.
***
After thirty minutes, I calmed enough to take in Pelagonia as it flashed by my window.
Rigid mountains jutted upward like pointed knives.
Quaint villages dotted the rocky green landscape, each with a mosque or old Orthodox church.
Trash covered the narrow roadside, as well as graffiti and billboards that looked older than me.
The bus had to slow to avoid countless potholes as tiny German cars raced by us at breakneck speeds.
The driver turned on the radio, which blared Middle Eastern-style music blended with techno beats and hip-hop—the sound of hell.
None of the passengers paid me any attention, as if a lost American tourist nearly being kidnapped was a common occurrence.
No one sat by me either, which I appreciated, even if that was probably due to my ever-growing body odor.
The one time anyone spoke to me was when I tried to open a window, and the man ahead of me promptly waved a finger in my face with an authoritative “no, no.” It seemed they didn’t like fresh air in this part of the world.
Tears welled in my itchy, tired eyes. How had I ended up in this nightmare?
I should’ve refused to go to Malegonia for Will’s stupid wedding.
He wasn’t my brother, after all. He was just a troll I was forced to live with after our parents got married.
How had he survived in this forsaken corner of the universe for the last two years anyway?
We’d not even reached our destination yet, and I already hated every second of the trip.
The road twisted up into the mountains. The already narrow street became narrower, especially for our oversized bus.
On one side, an unrelenting mountain hugged the road.
On the other, a rusty metal rail stood between me and a deadly fall into a wooded valley.
The locals had a cavalier attitude toward traffic lanes, and my breath stopped every time an oncoming vehicle appeared.
I’d never felt carsick before, but the constant turning and stuffy cabin made my belly churn like a drunk college freshman.
After two hours we stopped in front of a long, wooden cabin perched on a mountain summit.
My stomach rejoiced, even if I had no idea what was going on.
Someone yelled a word that sounded like “pause,” and the other passengers filed off the bus.
I shared a confused look with Dad and Elizabeth, something we’d done a lot lately, and followed the group.
As we approached the cabin, I realized it was a restaurant or café of some kind.
We stepped inside, unsure of what to expect.
The interior reminded me of Starbucks, or at least a decent imitation.
American blues music played over the radio, and the inviting aromas of coffee and baked goods hung in the air.
Customers lined up at the counter at the far end of the busy dining area.
I looked at the menu but couldn’t decipher a single word of the Cyrillic writing.
Dad busied himself connecting his phone to the Wi-Fi, while I kept an eye on the bus, as if it could disappear at any moment.
He rang Will, but the call went to an automated system in a foreign language.
A text message also failed to deliver. We shared a sigh, and he slid the phone back into his pocket.
A resigned expression spread across his face, and he looked around the room, as if trying to get his bearings.
“No Will, but at least this place doesn’t seem so bad. ”
“Ralph, do you have any Pelagonian money?” Elizabeth asked.
“No, I hope they take dollars.”
“They won’t, mate,” a man with a thick Australian accent said. “I’d be happy to treat you though. ”
I turned toward the stranger. He smiled as if he understood how overwhelmed we felt. His olive skin and dark features fit with the locals, but his blue polo shirt and khaki shorts did not. I guessed he was a few years younger than Dad, although he stood a head taller and twenty pounds lighter.
“The name’s Mirko. Your first time in Pelagonia?”
Dad nodded. “We’re trying to get to Malegonia for a wedding, but something happened with our flight.”
“You weren’t trying to fly into Achris, were you? They closed the airport for a NATO summit.”
I shared a sigh with Dad and Elizabeth. “They didn’t tell us anything,” I said. “We landed, and they just pushed us onto a bus.”
Mirko nodded knowingly. “Stuff like that happens all the time here. You’re only about a two-hour drive to the border though. You should make it by evening.”
Elizabeth’s face lit up like a neon sign. Mine probably did as well. Even groggy Dad looked happy at the revelation. Mirko bought us three cups of Americano coffee and a weird snack that fit roughly into the doughnut family. We sat at a table in the corner .
“I fled the old system and made my way to Sydney,” Mirko said. “I come back every few years to visit. This place has changed a lot.”
“I feel like I’m drowning,” I said.
“Yeah, the first year in Australia was like that for me. If you stick around, it gets better.”
“What do we owe you for the refreshments?” Dad asked.
Mirko waved his hand dismissively. “Nothing, mate. I said I’d treat you. That’s how we do it here. You’re my guest, and the guest is sacred.”
“You’re the first person that’s treated us like guests since we arrived,” I said.
“If you know someone, everything is smoother in this part of the world.”
“I’m glad we know you now,” Dad said.
“The pleasure is mine. Who’s getting married in Malegonia?”
“My son,” Elizabeth said. Even exhausted, she beamed with pride.
Mirko raised an eyebrow and nodded. “He’s marrying a Balkan girl, eh? Congratulations. You’re in for heaps of fun once you get there. Speaking of, your ride is about to leave. ”
I glanced through the window and saw the passengers climbing back onto the bus.
“We can’t thank you enough,” Dad said.
Mirko patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t mention it. You’ll have a great time at Lake Achris. It’s an amazing place. Best of luck, mate.”
Mirko stepped out the door and disappeared around the corner.
I frowned that we had to leave him. He was the only bright spot on the trip so far.
I hoped he was right about Lake Achris, although nothing on the trip had been amazing so far, at least not in a good way.
We lumbered back to the bus and took our seats.
At least we were moving in the right direction.
Since we’d already had so many problems on the trip, things had to get better. Right?