apartment building. Miguel had been right. It was a bus.
And it was sticking out of their living room wall.
CHAPTER 3
They took the steps two, sometimes three at a time. Fletcher's fingers couldn't quite get a grip on the keys, and once he had them out of his pocket, it took all his concentration to unlock the series of deadbolts his mother had on the door. When the brothers stepped inside, they were almost knocked flat by the fumes from the bus's exhaust. The engine was still running and the wheels continued to spin, though they were going nowhere as the bus was on its side.
"Mom!" Fletcher shouted between coughing fits. He held his shirt over his mouth and nose, but it didn't make any difference.
They squeezed past the bus and into the bedroom where Josh threw open the windows and stuck his head outside to suck in several deep gasps of fresh air.
“Do you see mom?” Fletcher asked.
Josh shook his head as he coughed. She wasn't in the bedroom, and as they searched through the house, they didn’t find her anywhere. The only place they hadn’t looked was under the bus.
The boys made their way back to the living room, afraid of what they would find. The couch was a splintered mess of springs and fabric beneath the bus. Fletcher held up a hand to tell Josh to stay back as he dropped to his knees. He crawled along the ugly carpet, trying not to picture what his mother would look like if he actually found her.
But there was nothing there.
Fletcher heaved a sigh of relief, though he regretted it as soon as his lungs with bus fumes.
"She's not under here," he shouted to his brother.
"Let me see," Josh said, as though he suspected Fletcher might be lying to protect him.
"Go ahead and look," Fletcher repeated, holding up a hand to stop Josh. "But just so you know, the bus driver and a few passengers are still in there."
Josh glanced through one of the shattered windows and retched with his lunch backing up into his mouth. He dashed for the bathroom to throw up.
“Fletcher! Get in here!” Josh shouted.
Fletcher was in no rush to watch is brother puke, but the panic in Josh’s voice drove him to the bathroom in a flash.
Their mother was unconscious on the floor, between the tub and the toilet. Her eyes were glassy and her skin was turning blue.
“Let’s get her out of here,” Fletcher ordered his brother, hooking his arms under his mom’s armpits. “She must have gotten knocked out by the fumes.”
He expected Josh to grab her legs and help carry her, but instead his little brother leaned over the toilet and let loose a torrent of vomit. Fletcher dragged his mother out the front door and onto the landing. He nudged her gently and coaxed her awake with a quiet, “Mom? Mom, wake up.”
When that didn’t get any response, he panicked. He slapped at her cheeks—maybe harder than he’d meant to—and screamed, "Mom! You’ve got to wake up!"
Still, she didn’t so much as twitch.
Josh joined him on the landing, bits of his lunch clinging to his shirt. Josh pinched their mother's nose and covered her mouth with his own, trying to blow life back into her.
"Wake up, Mommy," Fletcher cried into her ear, but no amount of pleading would bring her back.
“It’s not working,” Josh said with tears rolling down his cheeks.
Fletcher laid her head gently in his lap and gently brushed her hair with his fingers, the way she had done to him when he was little. He and Josh each took one of her clammy hands and held them tightly.
Josh took the other hand and let loose a squeal like Fletcher had not heard since Josh was a baby. Because at that moment, the fifteen-year-old Josh really wasn't any different than a newborn who wanted his mommy.
Neither one of them had any idea how long they'd sat there on the staircase. The bus had finally sputtered to a stop a while ago, but they didn't dare go inside. The fumes might clear out eventually, but the memories never would.
After what must have been hours, an
And it was sticking out of their living room wall.
CHAPTER 3
They took the steps two, sometimes three at a time. Fletcher's fingers couldn't quite get a grip on the keys, and once he had them out of his pocket, it took all his concentration to unlock the series of deadbolts his mother had on the door. When the brothers stepped inside, they were almost knocked flat by the fumes from the bus's exhaust. The engine was still running and the wheels continued to spin, though they were going nowhere as the bus was on its side.
"Mom!" Fletcher shouted between coughing fits. He held his shirt over his mouth and nose, but it didn't make any difference.
They squeezed past the bus and into the bedroom where Josh threw open the windows and stuck his head outside to suck in several deep gasps of fresh air.
“Do you see mom?” Fletcher asked.
Josh shook his head as he coughed. She wasn't in the bedroom, and as they searched through the house, they didn’t find her anywhere. The only place they hadn’t looked was under the bus.
The boys made their way back to the living room, afraid of what they would find. The couch was a splintered mess of springs and fabric beneath the bus. Fletcher held up a hand to tell Josh to stay back as he dropped to his knees. He crawled along the ugly carpet, trying not to picture what his mother would look like if he actually found her.
But there was nothing there.
Fletcher heaved a sigh of relief, though he regretted it as soon as his lungs with bus fumes.
"She's not under here," he shouted to his brother.
"Let me see," Josh said, as though he suspected Fletcher might be lying to protect him.
"Go ahead and look," Fletcher repeated, holding up a hand to stop Josh. "But just so you know, the bus driver and a few passengers are still in there."
Josh glanced through one of the shattered windows and retched with his lunch backing up into his mouth. He dashed for the bathroom to throw up.
“Fletcher! Get in here!” Josh shouted.
Fletcher was in no rush to watch is brother puke, but the panic in Josh’s voice drove him to the bathroom in a flash.
Their mother was unconscious on the floor, between the tub and the toilet. Her eyes were glassy and her skin was turning blue.
“Let’s get her out of here,” Fletcher ordered his brother, hooking his arms under his mom’s armpits. “She must have gotten knocked out by the fumes.”
He expected Josh to grab her legs and help carry her, but instead his little brother leaned over the toilet and let loose a torrent of vomit. Fletcher dragged his mother out the front door and onto the landing. He nudged her gently and coaxed her awake with a quiet, “Mom? Mom, wake up.”
When that didn’t get any response, he panicked. He slapped at her cheeks—maybe harder than he’d meant to—and screamed, "Mom! You’ve got to wake up!"
Still, she didn’t so much as twitch.
Josh joined him on the landing, bits of his lunch clinging to his shirt. Josh pinched their mother's nose and covered her mouth with his own, trying to blow life back into her.
"Wake up, Mommy," Fletcher cried into her ear, but no amount of pleading would bring her back.
“It’s not working,” Josh said with tears rolling down his cheeks.
Fletcher laid her head gently in his lap and gently brushed her hair with his fingers, the way she had done to him when he was little. He and Josh each took one of her clammy hands and held them tightly.
Josh took the other hand and let loose a squeal like Fletcher had not heard since Josh was a baby. Because at that moment, the fifteen-year-old Josh really wasn't any different than a newborn who wanted his mommy.
Neither one of them had any idea how long they'd sat there on the staircase. The bus had finally sputtered to a stop a while ago, but they didn't dare go inside. The fumes might clear out eventually, but the memories never would.
After what must have been hours, an
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