Chapter 5
Five
I opened my eyes to smoke.
It swirled around me playfully, making everything feel distant, unreal. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming, maybe sleepwalking again. It was only when sounds returned, loud and frantic, that I knew it wasn’t a dream. It was real.
I jolted upright, my heart pounding as I strained to see through the haze.
Just a malfunction, I told myself, not a crash.
My fingers released their grip from the metal armrest, and I tried to focus on anything through the smoke.
Around me, passengers screamed, stumbling over each other in a scramble to grab bags, to get to the aisle.
Some shoved, others cried out in fear, their voices muffled by the smoke and the roar of frantic movement.
“What’s going on?” I asked the woman who had been in the seat next to me.
She was standing, repacking her backpack with one hand and holding the sleeve of her other arm over her nose.
I had barely noticed her when she had gotten on in Atlanta.
We’d exchanged nothing more than a cursory nod.
Now she looked as frantic as the rest, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
“The stupid bus broke down,” she said, her voice hoarse.
“What?” My voice rose as I said, “What happened?” But of course, I wasn’t waiting for her, or anyone, to answer.
I yanked my backpack from under my seat and pushed my way into the aisle, following the woman who had already started to push forward.
Just as I stepped into the narrow space, a man barreled through from the back of the bus, clutching a child in his arms. He shoved between us and I lost my footing, stumbling backward.
My wrist collided with the armrest, and I yelped in pain.
The Aleve had helped dull the ache, but it had not healed.
The woman’s hand appeared in front of me, pulling me upright before she vanished into the throng.
Outside, the scene was chaotic, a few passengers bent over coughing with hands on their knees and others scrambling to find loved ones who had been separated in the smoke and now the night’s darkness. A larger group gathered around the bus driver, hurling questions at him like stones.
“I need everyone to please calm down,” the bus driver said. He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. He had dark circles under his eyes, and the rest of his features were pulled down. “I’ll try to answer your questions, but I can’t answer them all at once.”
Gradually, the crowd quieted to a low murmur, but the tension still hung in the air like the smoke we had just escaped.
“I’ve already called my supervisor,” the driver continued, his voice now steady but strained. “They know the bus broke down and will send another one, but they have to find another driver first.”
A ripple of disapproval surged through the crowd. “How long will that take?” someone from behind me shouted.
“I don’t know,” the driver said.
“Like…” one person near the front said, drawing out the word as if encouraging him to fill in a guess. When he didn’t, she said, “Five minutes? Five years?”
The driver’s jaw twitched. “A few hours,” he suggested.
“A few hours?” a woman repeated, holding a baby tight against her chest, rocking on the balls of her feet.
“Do we wait on the bus?” a man yelled.
The driver shook his head. “You can’t get back on the bus. It’s not safe.”
“It’s the middle of the night. What are we supposed to do?”
“We’re not far from Camden. There are a few hotels and a campground with cabins. You can try those.”
“Is Greyhound paying for our rooms?”
I held my breath in anticipation of his answer. I didn’t have any money left. From the worried looks on the other passengers’ faces, I wasn’t the only one.
The driver’s shoulders tensed, and his eyes flickered to the ground for a moment. Then he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “No, I’m sorry.”
Loud whispers of frustration spread through the crowd once again.
“You need to be back here around eight in the morning. The bus will leave soon after that,” the driver said, waving his hands in the air, a conductor concluding the concert.
“Two of the hotels are that way.” He pointed a finger in one direction.
“And the campground is real close that way.” He pointed in the other direction.
His cell rang and he answered it, walking away from the crowd.
There was a stunned pause, and the crowd began to move.
Most began walking wearily in the direction of the hotels.
Some remained, fuming, their voices rising and hushing and rising again as they aired their grievances to each other.
I headed toward the campground. I definitely didn’t have enough money for a hotel.
Ten minutes later, I arrived at the campground only to find the office dark and locked tight, the CLOSED sign swinging gently in the breeze as if mocking my arrival.
I exhaled slowly, and a heaviness settled on my shoulders.
I would sleep outside; the decision came quick.
There was no other option. It would be just for a few hours, anyway.
I had weathered many such nights before.
I found a spot beneath a sprawling tree branch, far from the cabins. I didn’t expect to go to sleep—I was happy for a safe and quiet spot to just sit and wait for morning. But then something was hitting my foot, followed by a man’s voice.
“Up, up, up,” the voice said. I jerked awake and blinked against the morning light. An elderly man stood over me, I saw as my eyes adjusted, his hands gripping a wooden cane that rested beside my foot. I pushed myself up.
“You slept out here last night?” the man asked, his brow furrowed.
“Yes, sir.” It felt too early for lies, and my brain couldn’t form a convincing one this early in the morning anyway. “I didn’t mean no harm.”
The man studied me, his eyes traveling over my disheveled appearance and the backpack at my feet. “Where’d you come from?”
“Georgia.” That lie rolled off my tongue with ease.
“Were you on that Greyhound that broke down last night?” The man didn’t wait for my response. “Damn Greyhound,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m surprised they’re still in business.”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “The driver told us there were cabins, but when I got here, they were closed.”
The man sighed. “Yeah…this town shuts down around five. I close down around that time myself.”
I slipped my backpack on one shoulder. “I’ll be going now.”
“No harm, no foul,” he said, shifting. “But I’m sorry to tell you that the bus just left.”
“What?” Panic surged through me, my chest tightening. “The driver said the bus was leaving at eight.”
He glanced at his watch. “It’s a quarter till nine.”
Dread washed over me, cold and biting. I knew Camden wasn’t a regular Greyhound bus stop, so that replacement bus was going to be the only one to stop here. I was stranded.
“Where were you going?” the man asked, his voice softening.
“Mississippi,” I said, just as a walkie-talkie in a golf cart a few paces away crackled to life.
“Walt, Beth called out again,” a voice called. “Said she’s going to be out all next week too.”
“Well, shit,” Walt said, shaking his head as he limped to the cart. He settled onto the worn seat and swiped a towel across his damp forehead before picking up the walkie-talkie and speaking into it. “Um…cabins 2, 6, and I believe 9 checked out today. How bad are they?”
“Pretty bad. Looks like somebody had a party in cabin 9. Beer cans and pizza boxes everywhere. Somebody cleaned their fish in cabin 6—whole place reeks. Cabin 2 has mud everywhere from the rain.”
Walt cursed again under his breath before saying, “Can you stay and help out?”
There was a long pause before the voice spoke again. “Sorry, can’t. My young’un has—”
“I can clean them,” I said over the voice. My hands instinctively covered my mouth, surprised by the words that had slipped out before I could stop them.
Walt turned, surprise mingling with skepticism on his weathered face. His hand, gripping the walkie-talkie, hesitated in midair.
“Walt?” the voice called, sounding a little concerned.
Finally, after another few seconds, Walt spoke into the radio. “I’ll call you back.” To me, he said, “Come again?”
I took a tiny step forward. “You need someone to clean your cabins today, right? I’ll do it. I’m just passing through and could use the money.” My voice held a steadiness I didn’t quite feel.
Walt continued studying me, the sun glinting off his silver hair, shadows etching lines deeper into his face.
I knew what he saw—the bruise, my clothes.
Maybe I shouldn’t have offered, I thought as time stretched.
But then he stood, leaning heavily on his cane, and extended his hand toward me. “The name’s Walt. And you are?”
“Leigh,” I said, my new name rolling off my tongue. It was the first time I had said it out loud, and I liked the way it sounded, natural and new. I shook his hand. It was dry and rough, a man accustomed to labor but not, I sensed, unkindness.
“It’s nice to meet you, Leigh,” he said, his voice light as he eased back onto the golf cart seat, a deep breath escaping him as if the effort to stand had drained him. “I can pay you fifty bucks a cabin. Cash, of course. No need for all the paperwork, since you’re just passing through.”
My shoulders eased. The cash would help me reach the next town—hopefully a Greyhound stop—and pay for food for a few days.
“Come with me,” Walt said, patting the seat cushion next to him twice. “I’ll show you the cabins and where we keep the cleaning supplies.”
The hours melted away as I cleaned. It wasn’t hard work, and I didn’t mind doing it.
I paused once only to nibble on the last of my tuna and crackers.
As I swept the porch of the third cabin, the hum of Walt’s golf cart rumbled in the distance.
I watched him walk up the porch with a Styrofoam container in his hand.
“I figured you might be hungry,” he said, extending the plate to me.