The Ride Home, a short story by Fatima Azeem

 The Ride Home

The woman walked towards the bus stop, out of breath from running earlier. She realized long ago that there’d be no point in catching the afternoon bus from where she was. Frustrated and tired, she sat down with a sigh, rubbing her eyes before glancing around. It was dark now, she noticed, and it put her on edge, so she made sure to follow the shadows passing by every now and then. Cars rumbled on the street, honking, echoing through alleyways and around corners of the city. The woman turned her face towards the oncoming bus, relieved finally that she’d start her journey home. She stood up with another sigh, gathering her bag and fixing her coat before standing at the edge of the road. The bus honked twice before stopping in front of her, and the doors opened with a hiss. The woman allowed her feet to carry her into the vehicle, where she scanned her phone with a daily pass near the front of the bus. She muttered a “good evening” to the driver before narrowing her eyes towards empty seats. There, in the middle, was an empty seat, but an intimidating man sat right beside it. She felt eyes on her as she scanned the area, avoiding lingering glances before quickly stepping towards the back of the bus, sitting in a seat not so packed with people. The woman finally breathed again as the bus started moving, leaning back to rest her head. 

Still, she couldn’t help looking up towards the front of the bus, looking at the flashing numbers that would pop up now and then. 7732A, it read. The woman opened her phone to check her ticket, reading the numbers. A7732, it showed. This stunned the woman. Why would it be different? But it wasn’t that different on her ticket as it was on the bus she was on, so maybe it wasn’t that big of a deal…? She shuffled in her seat, sitting upright and looking around. Damn it, what now? How could I be so careless? She looked out the window to figure out where she was, recognizing a street sign. She knew where she was, so she quickly got up to press the “Stop here” button. She waited for the bus to stop. She watched the bus driver. Nothing stopped, so she pressed the button again, this time pressing longer. She heard the buzz, but nothing stopped. She held onto a railing, feeling the bus shake. What the hell is going on?

She yelled, “Excuse me!” only to find the eyes of passengers turn towards her. The woman wanted to hide, but she called the driver again. “My stop is here!” 

The driver glanced at the woman before saying, “No, it’s not.” The woman felt her heart beat race, shocked by the audacity of what she just heard. 

“What? What did you say?” She started walking up to the front of the bus, before a passenger grabbed her wrist. She looked at the woman, tense as ever. 

“You’re on the wrong bus, lady.” The passenger said. “It’s too late now.” Her eyes were dim as they met the woman.

“What do you mean by ‘too late?’ What is going on?” The woman said, voice trembling. She felt goosebumps start to run up her arm, the one the passenger held. She screamed as the bus started to accelerate, going faster every minute. She looked around, but nobody was scared like her. “Let me out!” she shrieked, “Just open the door, please!” She cried.

“The bus doesn’t stop. Ever.” Said the passenger. “You’re dead, now sit down for the ride.”