Chapter 6

The world's worst steel drum band played, and the boat rocked to the irregular beat. The passengers sang along, but they were so drunk they sounded like dull moans and the shrill screams of terrified children. Zoe's head pounded with the beat. Someone tugged at her arms, leading her out on the dance floor.

"Miss Simpkins, Miss Simpkins, wake up, please."

Zoe forced her eyes open. One of her kids looked down at her, His face was blurry and indistinct, but she recognized his voice. Billy Johnson, he lived on a small farm, but his parents weren't farmers. She was on the bus still, and it shook with a pounding noise. The noise in the background was horrid. Children screamed and cried, and what was that awful moaning? She was down in the stairwell, her back against the door. Someone pushed on it, rocking her back and forth. Zoe touched the back of her head, and pain lanced through her, followed by a wave of nausea. She held her fingers in front of her eyes, they were covered in blood, and danced as she tried to focus.

Billy and one of the fifth grade girls tugged at her, helped her crawl up the steps. A glance behind her showed awful faces and bloody fists pounding on the glass. A squeal of fear burst from her, but she wasn't sure if what she'd seen was real or a hallucination brought on by hitting her head. A wailing moan sounded behind her and the pounding on the door increased. "Now, fill it up." She couldn't tell who spoke, the voice was a hoarse croak. Kids tossed backpacks into the well, some landed on her legs then tumbled down, filling the space and preventing whoever was outside from opening the door.

Finally she reached the top of the stairs, dizzy, arms too weak to hold her up. She was vaguely aware of vomiting, before everything turned black.

Zoe wasn't sure if she'd actually passed out or not. She was on her side, something soft under her head. Mrs. Barlow looked down at her, face pale. "I don't have much longer," the old woman croaked, "so listen up." Zoe saw her through a dark mist, she seemed to be pinned to the seat by the crumpled wall of the bus. "I called in, told them about the accident. They aren't sending anybody to rescue a bus load of kids. They wanted the bus real bad, but when they found out it wasn't going anywhere, they told me these kids have to walk home. You're the only one left, you have to take care of them. Give her my purse boy." Billy picked it up and put it in Zoe's hand. She tried to hold it but didn't have the strength. "Something inside you'll need. I saw the news last night and brought it just in case." The old woman coughed, and blood trickled from one corner of her mouth. "Promise me you'll take care of these kids." Zoe tried to answer, but the words wouldn't form. "Promise me."

"I promise." Zoe whispered. She reached into the purse, and pulled out the first thing her fingers touched. A small pistol, a revolver. The grip fit her small hand perfectly. All she knew about guns was that you lined up the sights on something and squeezed the trigger. She wasn't sure she could shoot someone, but if they were after one of her kids, she'd do her best. The old woman watched her intently. "I promise." She said it as loud as she could.

The old woman nodded slightly, then opened her mouth to say something else. Whatever it was, she never said it. The light went out of her eyes, and her head lolled sideways. "I promise." Zoe whispered again, just before the darkness reclaimed her.