Hollow Men by Sommer Marsden Page A

I doubted hollows wander around with fake IDs in their pockets. They were usually too busy eating things.
    I shivered, found the book and took it up front.
    The guard looked them over, looked us over, then the bus. “Where y’all headed?”
    “St. Albans, Vermont. Family there,” Evan said, sounding just as clipped and all business as the soldier.
    “There are open spaces near the back with hookups that still work. Go down the main road. When you hit bath house three, you can choose a spot.” The man nodded. I say man, but he was really just a kid. Probably a few years younger than us. “You lucked out. They start to go fast once lunchtime sets in. People want to be off the road ASAP these days.”
    I tried to smile at him. My stomach was in knots. My head ached. I didn’t want to stop, but I didn’t want to be on the road, either. He was right. We still had many, many hours of daylight left, but the later in the day it got, the more twitchy I felt.
    “Wonder why that is,” Evan said, more to himself than the kid.
    “Mostly because if you break down later in the day the cops are busy. They’re dealing with attacks in rural areas, wrecks and the like. So you’re more likely to be sitting there waiting for help. And it might not be help that finds you.”
    Despite the heat of the sun, I felt goose bumps prickle along my skin. I cleared my throat. “Thanks, sir,” I said to hurry this along. “I think we’ll go hook up and get some food going. If you’re hungry, feel free to stop in and grab some. We have plenty.” I offered because I knew he wouldn’t.
    He tipped his hat to me. “Much obliged, ma’am.” He leaned in closer to Evan. “But I wouldn’t go advertising that if you get me.”
    “I get you,” Evan said and pulled away when the soldier gave him the go ahead.
    “Do we even need a hook-up?” I asked.
    He shrugged. “We certainly have stuff we can hook up. That toilet back there is chemical, but still, wouldn’t mind some coffee from a coffee pot in the morning. And the TV tonight. Why build a fire if you don’t have to?”
    The thought of sitting in the open around a fire at night spooked me. This was not my safe room. This was not the secure little bunker my father had built. This was being on the road. This was…different.
    I bit my tongue to sharpen my focus and keep my mind off my sudden panic. Who knew I’d become a shut-in, basically. Not me.
    “You okay?”
    I smiled. It felt stiff and fake as shit. “Fine.”
    “You look beat.”
    “That kitchen floor was not what I’d call comfy.”
    “I hear ya.” He piloted the giant vehicle into a spot nearest the bath house. He put the bus in park and cut the engine. Only then did he let out a huge breath. He was as pent up as me.
    “Shower? Food? Explore?”
    I looked out the window. “No. I don’t want to explore. Or a shower yet. I do want to sleep,” I said. What I didn’t say was I wanted to sleep because I was sad. The more time that ticked passed, the sadder I felt.
    It hurt my heart to think of the home I’d left. Even if it had been time to go, for safety sake.
    “I’ll watch, and you sleep.”
    “What about you?”
    “I’m not tired. White-knuckling it for this long has left me uptight. I can flop down in that chair and read.”
    My father or Mr. Peterson had bolted two big recliners to the floor near the makeshift bed. Being secure and on the go was one thing, but they were both men’s men. They needed comfort.
    “You sure?”
    “I am. I can think of nothing better than a cold soda from the cooler and some…” He perused a shelf of paperbacks with its bungee cord restraints. “Stephen King.”
    I rolled my eyes. “Wow. That’s what you need in this day and age…shit to scare you.”
    Evan grinned. “What can I say, I dig the King.”
    I lowered the table and put the bed roll over it. There were sheets and blankets and pillows in the cabinet. I made it swiftly, relishing the smell of dust on them. It was