Droubble: Transit

Transit

I didn’t recognize the driver when I got on. That was strange in itself; I rode the bus everywhere, and I was pretty sure I knew every driver in our small county transit system.

I figured he was new, and this suspicion was confirmed, or so I thought, when we missed the turn onto Fifth.

"Sir?" I asked. "You were supposed to turn there...."

There was no response, so I walked to the front. The driver stared straight ahead. I tapped his shoulder, and my touch was met not with the give of flesh, but rather with hollow hardness. I looked closer. The mannekin was convincing, but definitely inanimate.

I opened my mouth to shout, but what could I say that wouldn’t just confuse the old asian lady and the developmentally delayed adult who were the only other passengers? I lunged for the door release, but wasn’t terribly surprised when it did nothing.

The bus turned in to an abandoned warehouse, and the doors rumbled shut behind us. It was almost completely dark, the only light coming from a line of small, dusty windows high on the wall. The bus rolled to a stop.

That’s when things really got weird.