4
Jessa
A gun. He ’ s holding a gun.
There were maybe five feet between us, from where I sat in the driver ’ s seat and where he stood on the dirt road, leaning up against the bus door.
If he fired that gun, he wouldn ’ t miss. The only thing separating us right now was a flimsy piece of cracked glass that rattled when the bus drove on the highway.
Keeping the gun pointed at my head, he motioned for me to open the door.
The black box in my brain fired instructions at me before I could fully process what was happening.
Do what he wants.
Don ’ t give him a reason to use that weapon.
Don ’ t fuck this up.
It couldn ’ t have been much more than a second that I hesitated with my hand on the pull-bar for the door that opened the bus door.
It felt like an eternity, though.
Behind me, the kids were making worried noises, asking what was happening. I knew I should say something to them, maybe tell them that everything would be all right. But my jaw was locked shut.
My eyes flicked to the cubbies full of cell phones—then back to the man standing at the bus door. He wiggled the gun in his hand menacingly, one finger on the trigger.
I stared at his face, still frozen.
He wore tight pantyhose pulled over his head that smashed up his nose and mouth. Like the after pictures at a theme-park roller coaster, taken right as the cars start screaming down the tracks in the wind. The opaque fabric concealed the lines of his nostrils and mouth. The afternoon sun made it sparkle a little where it was tied in a knot at the top of his head. I could just barely see the place where his eyes were supposed to be. They looked like two dark holes.
Still keeping the gun pointed at my head, he spread his feet shoulder-width in a wide stance. “ Open the door, now, bitch,” he barked.
Where the hell had he come from? I hadn ’ t seen anyone get out of the van blocking the road ahead of us.
My eyes flicked to the white shuttle that had pulled up behind us as my brain spun through my options. There wasn ’ t room on either side of the narrow orchard road to get around the gray van. Not without slamming directly into one of the trees on the sides of the road. And the shuttle was so close behind us I ’ d run into it the second I yanked the bus into reverse.
The smell of rotting cherries coming through the air conditioner suddenly made me want to vomit.
This is your fault.
My stomach recoiled at the thought, but it was true. I ’ d almost blown right past the strange DETOUR sign in the middle of the road. I couldn ’ t see any road construction ahead. There was plenty of room for me to skirt around it and keep driving on our normal route.
Instead, I ’ d obediently put on my turn signal and driven left into the orchard on this bumpy, sketchy-ass dirt road. Because what if a cop saw me disobeying a traffic sign and pulled me over? What if he ran my driver ’ s license, figured out who I was—and realized that I should absolutely not have a job driving children?
If that happened, he could report me to my parole officer back in Utah—and Bright Beginnings. Then they ’ d all know that I ’ d lied on my job application. And I ’ d never get Sophie back.
So I ’ d ignored the twinge in my gut telling me to blow past the sign. And this was where it ’ d landed us.
“ Ms. Jessa? ” one of the kids whimpered.
“ Sage? ” Bonnie whispered to her sister, a few feet behind me.
There was a chorus of squeaks from the cheap upholstery of the bus benches as more kids knelt on them, trying to see what was going on.
Somebody, I couldn ’ t tell who, let out a nervous giggle. Like maybe this was a joke.
Bang, bang, bang.
The man hit the glass with the gun again, harder than before, gesturing for me to let him in. “ Don ’ t you dare touch the phones.” He gestured toward the cubbies, visible to both of us along the handrail and bus entry steps.
Time seemed to slow as the thoughts whirled faster in my head.
I could reach the little cubby labeled MS. JESSA if I leaned across the aisle and snaked out my arm.
But he could shoot me long before I managed to open the cubby door and unlock my phone screen.
I turned my head ever so slightly so I could glance at the kids in my peripheral vision. I had to do something . But what could I do that wouldn ’ t make this worse?
“ Open it now ,” the man with the gun boomed.
My hand was sweaty on the pull-bar. I gripped it harder, wondering whether it might be too slippery to open at this point.
One of the kids started to cry, and the sound tore at my heart in a way that made it physically difficult to stop myself from turning around to murmur some kind of reassurance.
They didn ’ t deserve this.
You do, though, I thought distantly. Karma.
The voice in my head sounded just like my brother-in-law Gregg. If the masked man outside the bus put a bullet between my eyes right now, he would call it good riddance. But would Sophie?
I could already imagine the sound the gun would make, a deafening crack like close-up thunder. Only this time, I ’ d be the one to fold in on myself, tumble backward and go still.
The man was losing his patience, but I couldn ’ t move.
He abruptly shifted the gun away from my head and trained it toward the bus windows. “ You gonna make me start shooting kids?”
That finally unfroze me. I started to pull the lever that would open the door.
The man holding the gun cocked his head, like he was pleased, and moved his weapon so it was pointed at my head again.
“ Don ’ t let them on the bus, Ms. Jessa!” a tiny, scared voice called from behind me, just as a car door slammed from behind.
“ I have to,” I told her firmly, hating the way the words sounded coming out of my mouth.
Keeping my hand on the lever, I flicked my eyes to the rearview mirror to see that the driver of the white van was out of his vehicle now, moving toward us, fast.
For half a second I let myself hope he was just a random driver who had followed the detour sign. Maybe he could help us. Face off with the man with the smashed-up nose and black eye sockets.
“ NOW, ” the first man screamed.
You don ’ t have a choice. He ’ s going to kill us all.
My fingers felt cold and clumsy. I couldn ’ t see this guy ’ s eyes, but I didn ’ t need to. I already knew from the sound of his voice that there was a deadly gleam in them. Men like him were as predictable as they were erratic.
I finally forced my hand to grip the slick lever and pull.
Do what he wants.
My head swam and my stomach sloshed. The children shrieked behind me in earnest now.
Nobody was coming to help us. And I was opening the door. That was the only choice keeping us alive right now.
Now a second eyeless, smash-faced man standing next to the first.
The door mechanism was already engaged. I didn’t have to pull anymore.
My hand dropped limp to my side as the door swung fully open.