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THIS DAY WAS different, that was evident. It possessed a bleak ambiance, contrasting to yesterday's intense jubilation. Half of The Dozen expected to wake up in their cell, surrounded by those familiar four pale walls, and find that they simply had a bad dream consisting of blood and death and violence. And when they didn't find that it was just another nightmare, a calamitous wave of disappointment washed over them.
The other half couldn't even sleep. They knew that night terrors would be unable to consume them if they remained conscious - but that statement only extended so far, for some of them collapsed into sleep the very moment they settled into their bus seat.
They were no longer simply elated to be outside, for the sun rose and the fear followed shortly after. The fear of knowing that this was a catastrophic reality, that it was a matter of survival and not a matter of living happily. The fear of being utterly alone, surrounded by twelve individuals who wouldn't hold any significance if they were simply passing each other on a booming sidewalk of people rushing to get to their jobs or to get home to their kids.
It was just them - a troubled bunch of tattooed strangers just futilely hoping that they'll make it through another day, aimlessly wishing that they'll be able to handle another morning of grave epiphanies.
One of the grave realizations belonged to the youngest of the troubled - Subject One. It had been years since she'd even heard her mother's voice, let alone seen either of her beloved parents. Being astonishingly intelligent for an eleven-year-old consequently led to her parents voluntarily giving her away, countless nights of crushing loneliness, and being a prisoner within a facility directed by those who made empty promises to protect children like Subject One.
Along with realizing that she now had the chance to see her parents, she also realized that the world wasn't everything all those summer anthems and inspiring news stories made it out to be. She didn't even want to think of what it would become now that the dead wandered the otherwise motionless streets.
The young girl stood to her feet. With a voice as bold as she could muster, she spoke, "W-We have to stop." Though she stood at the back of the bus, she easily noticed with hawk-eyes the way the bus driver's eyebrows rose in amusement as he glanced at her from the mirror above him.
A slight smirk appeared on his lips as he watched the child for a small moment, and with a swift pull of the lever beside him, the bus came to an abrupt stop. "Right here?" he called out, nodding towards the dusty windshield displaying the motionless, interminable road before them.
