A LIGHT IN THE FOREST

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SIX

July 1995

The woods were dark, the air rank with rotting leaves and wetearth that sucked at Donna’s tennis shoes. She ran, stumbled.The sharp edge of a branch whipped across her already-tenderface, and she cried out. But she kept running because nothingwould make her turn around. Nobody could ever make her goback home.Her face was wet with blood and tears that had soaked thecollar of her T-shirt. She couldn’t hear her father hollering for her,chasing after her, anymore. He’d stumbled at some point andfallen behind. Her lungs burned, muscles ached. It was silent inthe woods now, except for the swish of leaves under her feet, thehoot of an owl.She tripped, tumbling forward, and it felt like her heels hit theback of her head when she fell. Her hip landed on a knotted root;it bit into the bone, and she gasped at the pain. Leaves clung toher hair and skin, slimy and wet. She shivered and part of herwanted to stop, wanted nothing more than to give up. Her fatherwould find her. He always found her. When she was still smallenough to crawl under her bed or into the cabinet in the kitchen,where she could squeeze between the stockpot and the bakingsheets. Later, when she grew and tried the root cellar or the loft inthe old barn, which had rats in the hay and holes in the walls. Inthe middle of the night, while her mother slept or covered her earsso she could pretend like it never happened. He always found her.Donna hit the ground with her fist, the tang of soil filling hernose. A simmering rage seeped out of her. She pounded theearth. Tonight she’d fought back, bashed his head with a rock,screamed until her throat was raw, begged for her mother to helpher. Something had finally broken in Donna. Nobody would everhelp her but herself.She’d run, and while her father was bigger and stronger thanshe’d ever be, Donna was faster and not sluggish from whiskeyand muscles overgrown with fat. But she’d been running for milesnow, through the woods in their secluded holler, past a town shedidn’t recognize. She wanted to get lost. To disappear and neverbe found again.She pushed herself to her knees, ignoring the burning pain inher hip, the swelling that had closed her right eye, and she ranuntil she had nothing left, until she had no choice but to collapseand let him find her, because she’d given it everything she’d had.At least she’d tried.And that was when she saw the school bus. A greenish yellowin the fractals of moonlight, black spray paint blocking out theschool district name, replacing it with skulls and crossbones, fbombs, and pentagrams. Most of the windows were gone, butcurtains fluttered in and out of the holes, and it seemed to Donnaas though the bus breathed.She hesitated, staring at the bus, her chest heaving. It was outof place, here in the middle of the woods. Spooky and unearthly.From behind her, a rustling—leaves moving, branches tittering. Itkick-started her adrenaline, rolled her fear into a ball and buried itdeep inside. It didn’t matter that the bus looked like a portal to theunderworld; it was the only place she could hide. She picked herway toward the hulking piece of metal. Up close it looked worse.She tried to steady her breath and pushed open the folding door.The quiet night was broken by its soft creak.She dragged mud and leaves up the steep steps, holding on tothe handrail until she reached the top and looked down the darkaisle. Her parents were homesteaders, living off the grid, shunningeverything modern, and spending their days preparing for the end.Donna had never ridden a bus to school, having beenhomeschooled her entire sixteen years. But she’d often imaginedwhat school would have been like. The friends she would havemade. The boys she might have liked. She reached the top step,level with the dark rows of seats that stretched long. She imaginedit filled with kids, doing whatever teenagers did; she wonderedwhat that was like.The inside of the bus wasn’t what she expected. It was hard tomake out much in the dark, but the curved walls had been paintedwhite. In the back, a few of the seats had been ripped out, leavingroom for a desk with a mirror, a chair, and a lantern. She pushed abutton on the lantern and nearly jumped when it turned on. Thelight swung around, sending shadows popping up from behind theseats at the front of the bus. She shivered, turning away from thedark recesses and toward the soothing light. There was a portableclothes rack at the back of the bus, packed with what looked likeold dress-up clothes—sparkly costumes, furs, scarves, and hats.A selection of flats and shiny heels were neatly organized on thefloor below the clothes. She smiled and winced at the sharp stab itsent through her jaw. Must be some kid’s fort or hiding spot, shethought.Beside the shoes was a mattress with a blanket and pillow. Itlooked soft and the idea that she could stop running, if only for thenight, was the greatest gift anyone could have ever given to her.She silently thanked the little girl this bus belonged to and let hereyes close, pretending that this was her house, her bus, herclothes—and that her other life was the terrible nightmare.