Sunrise by Kody Boye Page B

he said. “Sorta.”
    “Worried about leaving?”
    “Worried about how I’m supposed to feel is more like it.”
    “Think of it this way,” Steve said, crouching down beside him. “We’re leaving to go somewhere safer.”
    “I’m worried about leaving...”
    “Leaving what?”
    “Home.”
    Steve remained silent.
    As the sun began to fall and the night began to lay it to rest, Dakota felt the last shreds of his old life dying.
    He’d been holding onto the past for so long.
    Now…he had to let it go.
     
    The sun passed by in a flicker of brief moments. First like light divided by plastic curtains, then like a glowing object slowly sinking in the sea, it crested the horizon until it eventually fell into nothing. Its light, however, did not wane. For at least an hour after the sun disappeared, its presence could still be seen in the sky by the halo pulsing in the far distance and the tones of pink and purple bleeding from its existence.
    When the sun finally disappeared—when the world finally went dark—all that was left was the road, the bus, the men inside it and an endless, rolling plain.
    Seated in the frontmost seat on the right side of the bus, Dakota watched the plains roll by with a dead sense of wonder, body slack and eyes slowly willing themselves to close. At his side, Steve navigated the stretch of road with a stunted yet fluid ease. It was obvious from the way he drove that he’d never handled a bus, let alone a vehicle bigger than the standard moving truck or something similar. He’d speed up, stop, then speed up again, much to Ian’s displeasure, who almost always slid about in his seat whenever Steve adjusted their speed.
    “Could you try and drive a little slower?” Ian asked, grunting as he fell back into his seat. “Or at least try and keep your speed?”
    “Never drove one of these before,” Steve replied.
    “I can see that.”
    Dakota chuckled. Steve cast a glance at him in the mirror normally reserved for watching the civilian passengers. “What’re you laughing at, kid?”
    “You,” Dakota smiled. “Hey, Ian, lean back in your seat and push your feet against the seat in front of you. No one’s going to care.”
    “That doesn’t help me any.”
    “It’s better than rolling around in the seat. Besides, at least that way you can get some sleep.”
    “I’m not even tired.”
    Neither am I, Dakota thought, but that doesn’t mean we really aren’t.
    Shaking his head, he bowed his head to his chest and closed his eyes, hoping that he could simply sleep this drive off.
    He had a feeling he would have no such luck.
     
    What seemed like a moment later, Dakota opened his eyes to find the bus still moving. His hopes dashed and his disappointment more than light, he pushed himself into a sitting position and looked out the window, sighing when he saw no identifiable signs of Arcburrow in the distance.
    “We’re still going,” Steve said, drawing Dakota’s attention away from the window.
    “How long was I asleep?”
    “I dunno, an hour, maybe.”
    “How fast have you been going?”
    “Fifty, sixty. I don’t like the way the bus moves when I’m going too fast.”
    “So we’ve still got at least a five-hour drive before we get there?”
    “Pretty much.”
    “Is Ian still asleep?”
    “I’m guessing. I haven’t heard him move or say anything.”
    Lucky bastard.
    Dakota stood and prepared to make his way toward the back of the bus, where Ian sat somewhere between the fifth and eighth row. However, when he gripped the bar above Steve’s head to support himself, he stopped to look at his friend. “You haven’t slept at all,” he asked, “have you?”
    “No.”
    “We can stop.”
    “We’re dead weight if we pull over to rest. I’d feel better and much more comfortable if we kept going. I can sleep when we get there.”
    “You have any ideas about where we’re going?”
    “Not really. I’ll probably just pull into a gas station and see if we can find a