The Hunter's Moon Read Free Page A

had countered, delighted with the amount of sweets and treats that kept coming her way. “We’re on a granny bus!”
    Unlike her cousin, she was also enjoying the singalong orchestrated by the driver with the help of his microphone.
    A gypsy rover came o’er the hill ,
    And down to the valley so shady ,
    He whistled and he sang ,
    Till the green woods rang ,
    And he won the heart of a la-a-a-dy .
    “I hate folk music,” Findabhair groaned.
    She snorted impatiently as Gwen inspected yet another box of chocolates offered over the seat in front of them.
    Then the bus swerved.
    The movement was so violent, the chocolates flew into the air.
    “ Hey! ”
    Gwen scrambled to retrieve what she could, but most went rolling down the aisle.
    The bus swerved again. Some of the passengers cried out in alarm. The microphone was still on, and they could hear the driver swearing.
    Findabhair climbed over Gwen to look out the window.
    “We’re being rammed!” she yelled, excited.
    Though she couldn’t see clearly, a car appeared to be cramming their lane and sideswiping the coach.
    They swerved again.
    Gwen choked back her fear. There were no seat belts. What if they crashed? I’m too young to die . Why didn’t the driver slow down! Was he trying to kill them? She fought the urge to cling onto Findabhair. Her cousin didn’t look frightened. In fact, she looked exhilarated.
    Now the bus careened off the road and into a field. Everyone was screaming. A series of bumps followed as they hit rough ground. Luggage spilled from the overhead racks. People ducked to avoid being struck by flying objects. Gwen gripped the armrests till her knuckles went white. Would the bus topple over? She was sick with terror.
    At last, the coach jerked to a halt in the middle of the field.
    Silence.
    Followed by a burst of glossolalic babble as everyone began talking at once in their various languages. Some wept quietly.
    “Order, please, order,” the driver called out. He stood in the aisle, white-faced and shaken. “Is everyone all right? Anyone injured? Help is on the way. I’ve put in a call. Could everyone please stay calm.”
    “Come on, let’s get out of here,” Findabhair said to Gwen.
    She had retrieved their knapsacks and sleeping bags from the floor. Face flushed, eyes bright, she dragged Gwen behind her.
    “Shouldn’t we wait for the police?”
    “Are you mad? We’ll be stuck here all day. This is our chance to scarper. We’ve got places to go, things to do.”
    Gwen didn’t resist. The other passengers were disembarking too. Everyone wanted to feel firm ground underfoot. No one was badly hurt but all were in shock, and they huddled together in little groups to comfort one another.
    Standing alone in the meadow, the bus looked like a big lumbering animal that had lost its way. Beyond it, the highway rolled on into the distance. Cars and trucks sped past, oblivious to their plight. They were caught between two towns, in the middle of nowhere.
    Ignoring Gwen’s protests, Findabhair walked determinedly to the edge of the road and stuck out her thumb.
    “Don’t worry, it’s broad daylight. We won’t get in if anyone looks like an ax murderer.”
    “Like we could tell!”
    Gwen was about to say more when they both spotted the battered little car heading their way. It was already slowing down as it approached them.
    “What a dote!” cried Findabhair.
    Though it had seen better days, the Triumph Herald retained a dignity of its own. The rounded body and humped roof gave it a homely, friendly look. The rusted chrome on the headlights looked like bushy eyebrows. The forest-green paint was mottled and chipped like a freckled face.
    When the car drew up beside them, they peered inside to scrutinize the driver.
    He suited his vehicle. A wizened little man, he had a face like a dried apple and two bright beads for eyes. His suit was worn and frayed, of green tweed with brown stitching, and the jacket was closed with a big safety pin. On