Aimee and Jim left the station at speed, pursued by a rumble of voices. From the turbulence surfaced strings of angry taunts on either side. It was indecipherable aggression, and it did not abate until a plastic cup sailed close to Aimee's head and splashed hot coffee over the tiles in front of them. Then there was laughter. By the time the mutants were expelled from the bus station, the atmosphere within was positively jovial. Strangers gathered in boisterous congregations, food was shared, and hot drinks passed around. So dramatic was the change that overcame their tormentors, that Jim half-expected to see them raise their little cups in a toast. Outside, he and Aimee found a bench, and waited for the next bus.
---
I-90, HAMMOND, INDIANA
The sun rose over Wolf Lake, chasing the night into the horizon. On one side of the bus, the sky was a rich pumpkin orange, on the other side, it was like sapphire velvet, and overhead hung every permutation in between. The lake itself was ablaze like liquid gold and the greenery was black. And towering pylons glistened like jewels in every direction. On the bus itself, the mood was placid, it was as if every passenger was sharing one big comforter. They had been travelling for twenty minutes and it was much too early in the morning to be anything but sedate. Jim stole a glance up the aisle, everywhere there were pairs of dark glassy eyes, shimmering with quiet contentment. Even Aimee was relaxed enough to snatch a moment free from her hood.
The journey to Chicago had been fraught with delay. When they pulled into the station at 10pm, they arrived only to discover that not only had they missed their bus, by two and a half hours, no less, but also that the next departure wouldn't be until first thing the following morning. Given the events of the night previous, the thought of spending the night at the station alone filled Aimee and Jim with apprehension. But, as fortune would have it, they weren't alone; they had Raymond and Ben. Raymond and Ben were a middle-aged couple from Des Moines who were travelling to Boston for a cousin's wedding. Both great mountains of men, between them they boasted seven championship titles in super heavyweight boxing circles, and, for the teens, it was a great comfort to spend the night flanked by each of them.
Presently, Raymond and Ben were taking turns in trying to conquer a particularly challenging level on Angry Birds. It started with Ben - the one with a salt-and-pepper short 'fro - who had over the course of the night hunkered intermittently over a tiny iPhone, and worked at it with his bulbous thumbs until, in a ground-quaking moment of weakness, he tossed the phone aside and bellowed the words: "God damn you, you useless candy corn bastard!" That was at 5am. Jim checked his watch with a smirk, it was 6:25, but to be fair to them both, they had wasted the first half hour on a hilarious argument about whether the yellow bird looked more like a piece of candy corn or a pizza slice. It was unsurprising then to find them labouring over the same treacherous level.
Beside him, Aimee shifted in her seat. She was gazing out of the window. Maybe it was just his relentless optimism, but she looked... not quite sad. But then again, as Aimee had learned the hardest way, appearances were about as real as that golden lake outside.
"We should do this properly one day," he said, she managed an inquisitive glance, "This. A real road trip. You, me, Alex, Ronnie, and Scott. Guess we could also squeeze Svetlana into the trunk."
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