“Not gonna happen,” Grace said.
Steve opened the door as James turned on the flashlight.
“Goodbye, asshole,” Steve said.
“You’re all gonna do this?” James said.
“I guess we are,” Grace said. “Anyone that isn’t, go now.”
“I’m crazy, but I’m sticking,” Homer said.
The rest of us nodded.
“Goodbye, dumb shits,” James said, waved the beam at the pulsating shadows in the door, made them scamper.
He went out.
Steve closed the door.
We moved to the back of the bus and watched James and his light. Actually, just the light. The shadows were too thick to see anything else. The light bobbed quickly as it raced away from us.
“Think he’ll make it?” Homer said.
“He can’t make it either way,” Grace said, fastening the back window down tight. “If those shadows don’t get him, the dinner bell is waiting for him on the bright side. Frankly, I don’t care if they use his balls for tennis. He made his own goddamn bed, now let him lie in it.”
“I hate to just let him go like that,” Homer said. “I mean, I did let him fuck me in the ass. It wasn’t that much fun, really, but I let him. I feel like me and my ass owe him something.”
“You’ve heard my thoughts on the matter,” Grace said. “I’m all done thinking about him. Your ears still popping, Steve? I can’t feel it.”
“I think our buddy has surfaced.”
“I think it’s time to do the big deed, baby,” Grace said.
Steve made with a wild rebel yell that shook me to my bones.
“My mama always said I was a little turd,” Reba said, as we filed into a seat next to one another, our hands gripping the seat in front of us. “I guess she was right.”
“Grab hold of something, and good luck to us all,” Steve said, and with the beams on high, a fresh yell on his lips, he punched the gas, and we jolted forward, and Reba sang at the top of her lungs: “We all live in a yellow submarine.”
“With bad insulation,” I said.
PART FOUR
1
Let me tell you, time can stand still.
It stood still as the bus went over the lip of the shitter. I envisioned us perched on the edge of a giant, dark toilet bowl full of someone’s little dividend, and we were about to dive in as if we had good sense. Shit-busters to the rescue.
Our own rescue, we hoped.
But, BAM. There we were, on the lip, frozen in time.
We just hung there.
Or so it seemed.
Then all of time gathered up and pushed, and we came unglued.
The bus, a long brightly lit, yellow, pontooned turd, dripped over the edge and took just two days south of forever before it hit that mess.
I was in my seat, facing down at the dark doom below us, my butthole biting at the upholstery, clutching the seat in front of me so hard my fingers ached.
And the shit hit the windshield. Hard.
I thought:
With our luck the windshield will blow and that pile of fish turds will smash us all the way to the back of the bus, fill our lungs with digested refuse, then, if we have a chance to live, if any one of us might be a survivor, that fish’s asshole will chew us up like a mole in a lawn mower, and out we will go.
Down we went, and the light was extinguished by the black goo, and I could feel Reba next to me, but couldn’t see her. I could hear her breathing hard, and there was a sensation of being like a BB sinking down into a vat of chocolate pudding, minus the nice smell and the fine taste.
Then the bus started to twist and turn, and I knew it was that weird digestion process that the Powers That Be had constructed, maybe left unfinished. The bus began to spin, and next thing I knew I was knocked into Reba hard. Was bouncing about the bus like a ricochet shot. The smell was terrible, and I could feel that mess on my hands, which meant it was easing in through the cracks in the windows and the doors, had possibly shoved through the window Grace had latched up in back.
But, no, I consoled myself. If that had happened, the bus would be full of that nasty stuff.
Then, as if thought were the catalyst, I felt the horrid mess press up against me like foam, filling my nostrils with its stench, pushing me either forward or backward, down the aisle. I was uncertain which, though I could feel myself bouncing between the seats. There was a loud crunching sound, like a smartass wadding up an aluminum soft drink can, and someone screamed, a loud horrible scream that could not be identified as man or woman. Then I was pushed up against what I realize now was the windshield. The shit shoved me. The windshield made a cracking sound, and I blacked out. But the blackness into which my mind fell couldn’t have been any blacker than the world that was already around me.
I came awake.
I was surprised at that.
I was still alive. I could still breathe.
But I was surrounded by wetness. Not the thick mess that I had felt before, but wetness. I was bobbing about in the water, and I could see the water rippling, and there was great white foam, and sticking out of the foam was the nose of the bus, the windshield gone, the roof crushed in, the front right tire blown.
I had been shoved through the windshield, and the bus had shot to the surface, if ever so briefly. Perhaps the pontoons (which had come loose of the bus) had done it, or as we went into the fish’s ass sphincter and he let us fly, the force of it had driven us out and up. Trapped air in the bus, maybe. I didn’t know. In that moment, nothing made sense.
Reba was clinging to the front of the bus. I could see her pretty well lying in a pool of what I realized was moonlight, silver as mercury. I could see a dark patch on her face where blood had bloomed like a flower, the moonlight made it appear to be a large black rose.
She clung to the bumper, lay across the hood in what could only be described as a dazed state. She looked in my direction, but I couldn’t tell if she was seeing me or not. She lifted her head a little, like a turtle sunning itself on a rock, then lowered her head against the bus, continuing to cling.
The bus started down, quickly. I tried to yell Reba’s name, beg her to let go, but all that came out was a hoarse croak. The water foamed around the bus, churned the fish turds that had come up with it, then the bus dove. Water lapped over Reba and rushed into where the windshield had been, then it was gone, taking Reba with it, leaving only a wide band of chrome-colored ripples that pushed me up and down in the water like a fisherman’s cork.
I dove after the bus, but I was too weak. My lungs wouldn’t hold the air I had swallowed. It was so dark I
