Fog drifted along the barren asphalt. If my calculations were correct, it was a weekday and with the sun having risen not too long ago then the road should have been covered with fast-moving cars on the way to work. Instead, we were met with an empty freeway, permitted to speed along as fast as we dared in a bus.
“This doesn’t seem right,” Bristol murmured to herself.
I leaned into the aisle, giving myself a better view of the highway ahead. With further inspection, the nearing traffic jam of vehicles became more unsettling. From a wasteland to this: cars abandoned bumper to bumper, some even straying into other lanes and frozen in chaotic disarray.
“What the hell?” Brandon cried as he stood.
Bristol brought the bus to a compete stop, allowing everyone to take in the scene before us. There was no way she would be able to get a bus through all of the compacted vehicles. We were stuck.
“Maybe there was another fog thing like the one that happened in Texas years ago with the one-hundred-and-forty car pileup,” Toner said as he walked up the aisle of the bus.
“See if there’s anything on the radio,” suggested Harry.
Bristol pressed the FM button and turned the volume dial. A loud, ear shattering noise came through the speakers. Wincing, everyone clasped their hands over their ears. She quickly flipped through the channels, but it was all static.
“We must not be in range of any stations,” muttered Brandon.
“That makes zero sense. It’s a fucking highway,” grunted Andrew.
“There’s no way to drive through this.” Bristol sighed.
“Where’s all the police and ambulances? Where’s the fire trucks?” Destiny wondered.
“You’ll have to reverse down the highway and go back to the onramp. We either have to find a different route or just go back to the road we were on.” I sighed.
“You can’t drive backwards on a highway.” Destiny folded her arms with a scoff.
“Regardless, we need gas.” Bristol nodded toward the dials in the dashboard. “Someone is always at a gas station.”
“There was a gas station on the back road we took, the one Rudolph stopped at,” I said.
“Alright, let’s just go there. We could at least make a phone call and talk to the owner. This is exhausting and I just want to go home,” Bristol said.
Her home was Texas, not with me at West Point. Her comment could have been a general statement, but I couldn’t help but feel as though I was letting her down, like she somewhat hated me for what was happening to her because she had been visiting me. She was older, but this had to be my fault.