Ashley’s eyes opened groggily as the vehicle lurched. Her head bumped on the floor. The first thing she noticed was the distinct smell of must and aged leather of the booth seats. There were no seat belts that she could see, but the interior looked like any short generic school bus. When it clicked, the smell sent her back to being a child packed in a vehicle not too dissimilar. For the life of her though, she couldn’t be sure if it was a real memory or one hopefully formed out of want.

Her head ached. Tape remained over her mouth. Her eyes seemed incapable of clear focus, her vision came in waves, but whatever it was they gave her was wearing off. Fast.

I’m on a bus. A… moving bus? Trying to sit up she met resistance. Her hands were bound behind her back with duct tape. She tugged on the binding, finding they hadn’t reinforced it. From the ache in her shoulder and the numbness threatening to take hold below her wrists, Ashley couldn’t help but wonder how long she’d been out.

“How much did you give her?” a panicked Brendan asked somewhere towards the front of the bus.

“I don’t know,” Gabriel answered. “I filled the damn needle. You should be grateful, man. She was wailing on you.”

“What if she doesn’t wake up?” Brendan said with what sounded almost like genuine concern. But if anything it could just be more fear. Fear of losing their prize, fear of disappointing whoever was waiting at the end of the bumpy bus ride. “Do you even know what you gave her?”

“Something Helena used on Saul a few months ago,” Monte said. At hearing his voice, Ashley stilled and lay back playing unconscious.

Sunlight beamed in through the cracked and missing windows, reflecting on the glass strewn on the floor. She’d been out for a few hours at least.

No wendigos? The thought came on her slowly, slower than it should have. A moving vehicle in the city would be catnip to the lumbering undead. And sure, one or two couldn’t do much to a moving vehicle, but enough of them would mean slowing, stalling, and a stop. Then overrun. She’d seen it before, the last time was somewhere near Ottawa. She ventured on the highways picking off abandoned cars and crashes for any necessities she could get her hands on when it came out of nowhere. A mini-van wasn't practical, something fast and quiet would have been better but it came barrelling down the 401 in the middle of the night. What had been a quiet campout in the dry ditches beside the road turned into a loud screeching calamity where the vehicle weaved poorly between wrecks. Ashley caught a brief glimpse of the driver, a man with his kids. They looked scruffy and tired but it had only been a moment.

The next morning she walked on while it was still early and the road was bustling with movement. Keeping to the trees it took nearly an hour westbound to find the crash site. The family had long since been picked apart and the wendigos were happily scavenging around them. The noise, the movement, it wasn’t worth the speed. Not when it took only a small slip or one too many bodies to roll a vehicle.

“Take the on-ramp here,” Monte instructed whoever was driving. “The signs should still be up, so you can follow this to terminal three. Let me know when we’re close.” The bus shook as it hopped off the sidewalk in what Ashley guessed had been a pretty roundabout route to avoid the highways. At least they’d been smart enough for that.

“I'm surprised there aren't more of them,” Greg said from the driver’s seat. “The road's been clear since we left.”

“It's still early.” Gabriel sounded less impressed and as Ashley peaked from around the seat she could see his eyes and weapon were keen on their surroundings. “They're slow to rise I guess, don't know why though.”

Monte had his back to her, rifle slung over his shoulder, hands braced on the back of two seats. Beyond him, Brendan nervously tapped the top of the cushion, his foot doing much the same below. He didn’t hold a gun that she could see, but maybe a pistol on his hip was hidden? Just a little past him, two shotguns rested behind the driver’s seat. They were armed for a battle but had nothing else. No packs for supplies like food, water, or injury. They couldn’t think past the initial assault, hell they probably didn’t even have enough ammunition besides what was in the guns.

These men weren’t like the ones that came for her. Even though Laurence had been a piece of shit, he wasn’t dumb. He had a plan, he prepared for the worst, and despite that, he still ended up dead.

Ashley sat up and kicked one of the seats, purposefully. The sound made them all jump, the vehicle swerving a little as they did.

“She’s up?” Brendan asked, nerves quaking his voice. But he quickly looked away from her thereafter, eyes locked on the floor.

Ashley mumbled against the tape over her mouth, “I need a drink” but the words came out as nothing more than sounds.

“What’s that?” Monte asked, a smirk smeared across his lips. “Cat got your tongue?”

She levelled a glare at him as her vision came back into startling focus. The drugs had worn off, faster than they should have for an average person, but to keep up the ruse, she lolled her head around sleepily.

“Should give her something to drink,” Greg called from the front. “Those drugs are pretty rough.”

“The fuck I care if she’s comfortable,” Monte snapped.

“Safer if she can walk, right?” Brendan said. “I mean, carrying her to the meet would be risky. If we’re carrying her we can’t hold guns.” Finally, a smart idea.

Monte huffed, a sign he was wrong and knew it, but still stubbornly stood between her and the others. “Fine,” he finally said. “If you’re so fuckin’ worried, you do it.”

Brendan’s eyes widened for a moment, staring at Monte as though it’d been a joke but when no one laughed, he slid off the seat into the aisle. It was then she saw the backpack; light, half full, nestled on the seat with Brendan. He rummaged through it and produced a bottle of water. At least one of them isn’t a complete idiot, she thought.

He walked over, his steps careful the closer he got to Ashley. When he bent down before her, his dark hair hid his eyes. She never noticed before but a scar ran down the side of his face, by his left temple. Light, no more than a scratch but clearly a human’s nail. Like most survivors, she’d come to learn the difference. It looked years old, maybe four or five depending on how it was tended. Right around the time infection started, she guessed.

Lucky he didn’t lose his head, she thought as he took off the tape a little too slow.

“Thank you,” she croaked as he brought the bottle to her lips. She drank eagerly, half the water gone in a few gulps, more than a sip or two trickled to her chin.

“You know,” she said before he replaced the tape. “They go to ground at night.”

Brendan stilled. Monte and Gabriel looked back towards her.

“The wendigos. They’re not out in strength in the morning because they go to ground at night.”

“The fuck you say?” Monte barked.

“Don’t know why they do it,” she said, looking past Brendan. Freak ‘em out, Ash. Give them something worse than you to fear. “Maybe they remember what it’s like to sleep and the dark makes them feel that. But they’re in the sewers. In basements. And sure as shit when the sun rises,” she popped her mouth, the sound echoing on the bus. “They spring like daisies. Unless it’s raining. They always wander in the rain.”

Monte rolled his eyes and spat. “Tape her goddamn mouth again,” he ordered.

“They’ll be getting up about now,” she warned Brendan. “Getting restless. A bus like this makes a lotta noise.”

Monte wasn't stupid, or not the kind Ashley had hoped for. He turned and strode up behind Brendan, smacking the back of his head. “She's fuckin' with you, you twat.” He gripped the tape from Brendan’s hands and grabbed the front of Ashley’s shirt. She wasn’t a big girl, so he lifted her up easily, forcing her to stand. With a shove, Monte pressed her up against the back of a booth, her hands uncomfortably smashed between her body and the cracking leather. It was a small relief to stretch out her legs and take the pressure off her shoulder but inches from her face Monte's breath invaded her personal space.

“And you better shut the fuck up.” His left hand gripped around her throat while his right made quick work replacing the tape over her mouth. “I don't want to hear another peep from you or I’ll find a way to keep you real quiet.” His hand tightened on her throat, her breath scratching out weakly.

“Monte, maybe you should...” Brendan protested.

“Should what, Brendan?” His stranglehold didn’t wane. Tighter, tighter, her neck ached, her eyes fluttered. She should have passed out but the meager breaths she sucked in through her nose reluctantly kept her conscious.

“Jonas said she wasn't to be hurt,” Brendan seemed to have found his voice as it carried.

“Jonas isn't here,” Monte muttered, a sickening grin on his face. “Besides, she’s not infected now. Maybe we should have a little… fun before we sell her off.”

His knee was quick, coming up into her gut. Ashley doubled over his arm. But it meant her throat was released from his grip and she gasped in eager breaths. Monte took up a fistful of her hair and pulled her from her bent position as bile filled her mouth behind the tape. She swallowed the burning mere seconds before he tossed her face-first onto one of the boot seats.

“Jesus Christ, Monte!” Brendan shouted, but Ashley couldn't see him. Monte's hand gripped her hair tightly again, holding her down on the bench while she gasped for breath. The seat was so short her knees touched the ground while the weight of his body held Ashley in place.

“Come on, boys,” Monte yanked her head back, her hair feeling about ready to pull out as he whispered into her ear. “It’s just a game. She fucks with us, I fuck with her.” He slapped her cheek a little as he laughed. “Let that be a reminder not to screw around.”

Monte let go of her hair and grabbed her by the hip. He dragged her to the floor and Ashley’s face smacked off the corrugated steel lining the bus.

Brendan cursed behind him but relaxed a little as Monte stepped towards the driver’s seat. “Relax, kid,” he said. “She’ll behave now.”

On the floor, the glass from broken windows cracked beneath her and just as she had on the highway, Ashley found something sharp. It cut her hands but she palmed it all the same. It would be enough for the few strips of duct tape around her wrists. It would take time, it always did, but she sat herself up against one of the booths and started sawing.

“We're almost there, just gotta get to the terminal now,” Greg called from the front.

Ashley's mind quickly weighed the options; fight them here on the bus in a closed space. Nowhere to go and no way to get outside.

“If you stop fighting it'll be easier,” Brendan said to her. Despite his alliance with the small gang, he looked genuinely guilty and as he helped her sit upright, his grip was almost tender. Now's not the right time, she decided and nodded once.

“Where in the terminal are we meeting them?” Gabriel asked.

“Don't fucking know, you were the one who heard the transmission,” Monte snapped.

Greg started to slow the bus down as they began driving on the intricate roadway leading to the airport.

“Terminal three,” Brendan said.

“It's a big terminal,” Greg called back as the shadow of the multiple overpasses interrupted the morning sunlight.

[MAD Wendigo - Prologue Narration]

Thank you very much for your patience between postings. NaNoWriMo kicked my butt and then the holidays offered nothing but delightful distractions. But it's here! The first half of the chapter and the next will be out next week. Promise.