CHAPTER 27 – The Last Bus North

  The Gainesville-bound bus hummed steadily along the highway, weaving out of Atlanta’s sprawl and into rising country—bigger trees, wider hills, shadows stretching long and soft across the morning light. The world felt different here. Less crowded. Less sharp. More wild.

  Fleta’s heart fluttered with every mile.

  One more ride.

  One more town.

  One step from the trail.

  But then the bus made an unexpected stop at a small roadside station—just a concrete slab with a vending machine and two plastic benches.

  A few passengers got off to stretch.

  A few got on.

  One of them dropped into the seat directly across the aisle from Fleta.

  She felt it before she saw him—an uneasy prickle at the base of her neck.

  He was maybe in his late twenties, wearing a dirty baseball cap and a torn jacket. His eyes were small, restless, always moving. He smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and something sour.

  When the bus started moving again, he turned toward her.

  “You traveling alone?” he asked.

  Her pulse jumped. “I’m meeting someone in Gainesville.”

  She didn’t look at him.

  Didn’t smile.

  Didn’t invite more.

  But he wasn’t the type to take subtle hints.

  “Looks like a long trip for a kid,” he said, leaning a little too close. “Where you from?”

  “Just… heading north.”

  He chuckled. “North, huh? North is big. You gotta be more specific.”

  She gripped her pack straps tighter. “Please leave me alone.”

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  He raised his eyebrows at her tone—like she was something amusing.

  “No need to be rude,” he said, voice lowering. “Just making conversation.”

  Fleta stared straight ahead, every muscle tight.

  He tapped his fingers on the seat arm. “Kids shouldn’t be traveling by themselves. Bad things happen out here.”

  Her hands shook.

  He leaned closer. “Unless you’re running away. You running away?”

  Before she could answer—

  before she could panic—

  a voice called from behind them.

  “Hey, buddy.”

  They both turned.

  It was the teenage girl from the Memphis bus—the one with the denim jacket and earbuds. She had switched buses too.

  “You’re in my seat,” the girl said firmly, chin raised. “Move.”

  Luke scoffed. “What? No. This one’s free.”

  “No,” she said again, stepping closer, “mine. Move.”

  The force in her voice wasn’t loud, but it was solid—like a locked door.

  Luke muttered under his breath but finally stood, shuffling past her to another seat at the front of the bus.

  The girl sat beside Fleta, dropping her bag onto the floor.

  “You okay?” she whispered.

  Fleta nodded stiffly, trying to steady her breath. “Thank you.”

  “No problem,” the girl said. “Creeps don’t get to ask questions.” Then she added with a smirk, “I’m Izzy.”

  “Fleta,” she whispered.

  Izzy nodded. “Cool name.”

  They rode in silence for a minute before Izzy leaned a bit closer—not enough to make Fleta flinch, just enough that her voice didn’t carry.

  “You gotta be careful, especially on these rural routes,” she said. “Guys like him don’t know boundaries.”

  Fleta nodded again.

  “I’ve seen you on a couple buses,” Izzy added. “You heading far?”

  Fleta hesitated. But Izzy didn’t press. She just waited patiently, eyes kind but not nosy.

  Finally, Fleta murmured, “Just… somewhere safer.”

  Izzy nodded, like that was all she needed to hear.

  “Well,” she said lightly, “if you want company for the rest of this ride, I’ll sit here. But if you want quiet, I can move.”

  “No,” Fleta said quickly. “Stay.”

  Izzy smiled. “Okay.”

  The bus dipped into a valley, trees gathering overhead like folding wings. Fleta’s pulse slowly eased, her breathing evening out as miles rolled beneath them.

  Luke didn’t look back again.

  As the bus climbed into the foothills, Izzy leaned her head against the window and fell asleep. Fleta stayed awake—watching the trees grow taller, the hills rise steeper, the air turn cleaner.

  Then the driver announced:

  “Gainesville coming up! Last stop!”

  Fleta’s heart leapt.

  This was it.

  The gateway to the Appalachian Trail.

  The beginning of everything.

  When the bus rolled into the small Gainesville station, she nudged Izzy awake.

  “I’m getting off here,” Fleta whispered.

  Izzy blinked sleepily. “Be safe, okay?”

  “I will.”

  Fleta slung on her pack, tightened the straps, and stepped onto the cracked pavement.

  The air smelled like pine.

  And mountains.

  And freedom.

  She walked away from the bus depot and toward the line of trees in the distance.

  Ahead lay the road to Amicalola Falls.

  Ahead lay the trail.

  Ahead lay her life.