Chapter 13 ... in progress

Katelyn's dream back home.

She was on a bus, a passenger near the front. It had been a peaceful if boring trip so far and she was thinking of the destination and of someone, waiting for her. A pop, sparkling shards in the air, glass shattered and she looks down to see she's covered with bits of brain...the drivers been shot. As he collapsed, she leapt forward to grab the wheel, trying to avert a crash. She kicked aside his feet from the pedals, peeling his fingers one by one from their already rigor mortis grip on the wheel. The door opened as he slid backwards down the stairs and his body was sucked out onto the blurry pavement. Someone shoves the hat that was on his sweat-soaked, bloody head down on Katelyn's head and she can smell him, his death.

She slid open the side window to get some fresh air until the nausea passes. An elderly couple, smiling peacefully, arm in arm in the rearview mirror catch her attention and for a moment, she almost forgets that she is still maneuvering the bus down the highway, going much faster than she had ever driven but acting as if she knew what she was doing. As long as she didn't panic, she keeps thinking, they'll never know they are all going to die. She is determined to save them AND keep them happy at the same time. Somehow she thinks this is her job. She turns up the music and sings louder than she should, putting a smile on her face, hoping they wouldn't notice the sheer panic in her eyes. That usually works, anyway.

Finally, she saw the turn off up ahead, and she pulled the bus into the parking place, air brakes whistling like a steam train. She tells everyone its time to leave. The people are laughing, still singing, passing her down the aisle and out the door. They don't notice that Katelyn is bent over the wheel, dry heaving into a paper bag. Sweat and blood trickled into her eye and she takes off the crusty hat, taking out the key, stand to get off the ruined bus, alone. The seats are torn, a fire is smoldering in the stuffing of a seat at the back, acrid smoke filling the air. Sewage is spilling out of the john in the back, making a thin, brown river down the aisle. She hadn't noticed how destructive people were being on the bus but, at this point, she just wanted to get off, to get out, and to get air.

Katelyn stepped off the bus and down into a crowd. They are gathered near the door, all standing together, looking down. She thought they were praying but she realized they are surrounding something on the ground. The old woman that had been sitting behind her, the one that had smiled at her so kindly, is lying on the ground, her frail hands at her sides, a grotesque bump on the side of her head showing where she fell. Her clothes are pulled back indecently to allow her to breathe. The old man had his head to her chest; he seems to know what he is doing, so everyone just watches. There is no movement from her as he performs a few compressions on her chest. Katelyn hears the popping of ribs as he bears down; he is very strong for an old guy. He leans over to give her mouth to mouth for a moment. She is not responding.

Dejected but calm, he finally stands and lifts his right leg, holding onto the shoulder of the man standing next to him for balance. Slowly, he lowers his foot onto her face, his heel to the nose of a face that collapses like a sodden sponge, blood leaking from every pore, and the violence spreads like a puddle beneath her head as his brown wing-tip presses down and down.

Katelyn heard the crunch of bones and she turned to look around, finding herself alone in her indignation. Most of the people have drifted away by now and the only ones left aren't paying attention anymore. She searched for a sign of someone familiar, someone safe, to see if, perhaps, she could get some help, but the faces are blurred or featureless. She spins back to find herself faced with her old, crushed face, sleeping serenely on the edge of the street, next to the pile of green trash bags, soaked pieces of carpet and broken furniture. Life goes on around them, around Katelyn and the dead old lady. Katelyn sits with her so she won't feel so alone, forgotten, discarded. She knows what that feels like.

Katelyn begins doubting her own sanity, looking closer at the old woman's translucent skin, looking for the bruises, for any sign that she saw what she thinks she saw. She reach out to touch her paper-like cheek, to make sure the old woman is real. Katelyn had seen some pretty lifelike corpses in her day and she can still feel the heat from old, broken body; she's only been dead for a few minutes, or hours. How long has it been, she wonders?

As Katelyn touches her, a gasp escapes from the old woman's lips and the stench of decay fills the air, burning her nose and eyes. Katelyn tries to call out for help for this lady; she is still alive and they've thrown her out, left her for dead! Katelyn felt her breath pass across her cheek; it left dampness on her skin, tiny droplets of blood spraying, a mist clinging to her skin and she screams as she tries to wipe it off.

Christ, I need to have my head examined, Katelyn thinks as she sits up in bed. These dreams are getting worse.