1:00 pm, Wednesday, 12th.
A dark blanket of smoke covered the crash site. Thick fumes rose high into the air and spread sideways, turning the area into a moving wall of black mist. Somewhere inside it, the bus was still burning, the metal popped softly as fire chewed through what was left of its insides. Shards of glass clinked as people crawled away from the wreck.
Phina lay on her stomach, her face pressed into the dirt, something heavy pinning her down. She recognised the weight as someone's upper body, a broad chest crushing the air from her lungs, but she didn't know who it was. Probably the second man who had helped her out of the bus. They had barely made it four feet from the door before the explosion. If the driver hadn't reacted quickly, dragging all three of them to the ground, they might have been ripped to shreds by the blast.
The smoke slowly began to clear. Phina could hear coughing and wheezing around her, though the sounds were dull with one of her ears pressed to the ground.
"Can I stand up now?" she asked.
"Oh. Yes. Sorry."
The man shifted his weight and pushed himself off her, then stood. Phina rolled onto her side and sat up. He turned and offered her a hand. She took it with her good arm and hauled herself to her feet.
Phina glanced behind him, the bus was barely recognisable.
Its side was torn open, the metal warped inward and outward in impossible folds. What remained of the windows lay scattered on the ground in fragments and smoke still leaked from the cracked engine. A few seats were visible through the gash in its body, but they had melted into ugly and crooked shapes. Nearby trees had caught fire during the blast. Their leaves were gone and branches stripped bare.
"Francis!"
The scream pulled Phina's attention away from the wreckage.
She turned.
The driver was crouched beside a boy lying flat on the ground. The other passengers had gathered in a loose circle, forming a shaken audience. The driver's hands were pressed to the boy's chest, pushing down again and again. After several compressions, he tilted the boy's head back and breathed into his mouth, then returned to his chest.
He repeated the process.
Once. Twice. Three times...
Phina clutched her injured arm and stood frozen, watching.
Close to the driver stood an older woman, clearly the boy's mother. She wore a faded blue ankle length skirt and a loose blouse, one sleeve torn at the shoulder. Her braided hair was coming undone as her fingers dragged through it again and again. Her mouth trembled, teeth digging into her bottom lip, her eyes flicked desperately between her son's still body and away, as if she couldn't decide where to look without breaking apart.
Beside the mother was the young boy from earlier who noticed that his brother wasn't moving. He stood, numb, just staring at what the bus driver was doing to his brother.
And the others just stood. Phina wasn't sure any of these passengers were doctors or had any idea to do in these kind of situations considering that they just stared helplessly, clothes dusty and eyes hollow.
Well, all except one.
That man from earlier.
He stood a little apart from the others, his suit jacket stained with ash, his white shirt grey with smoke. One sleeve was torn, but he didn't seem to notice. His once polished shoes were now dusty, yet his posture remained stiff and upright, chin lifted like he was still in some glass office building instead of a crash site.
His eyes were locked on Phina.
She stiffened when she noticed.
Their gazes met. His brows were drawn together, carving deep lines into his forehead, his mouth tight with restrained anger.
She stepped back sharply and bumped into someone behind her.
The young man who had helped her earlier was still there, standing close, like some kind of emotional support. He was slim and tall, probably in his early twenties, wearing a brown hoodie and jeans torn at the knee, probably from the crash. One side of his face was smeared with soot, the other scratched red from broken glass and bleeding but from where she stood, it didn't look so serious. His eyes were soft and constantly searching, like he was afraid something else might go wrong if he looked away.
"Are you okay?" he asked quietly.
"Yes. I'm fine." She replied quickly and looked back at the businessman.
He was still staring.
"He's dead."
The driver's voice cut through.
Phina turned away from the man in relief.
"No!"
The mother collapsed beside her son, falling to her knees and folding over the boy's chest, clutching him like she could force the life back into him through sheer will.
"No, no, no… Francis, wake up. Francis, wake up!"
Her shoulders shook violently with each cry. "Please. Please. No…"
A few passengers moved forward to hold her, murmuring useless comfort.
Phina barely saw them.
The businessman was walking toward her.
Fast.
His hand shot forward, finger pointed straight at her.
Before he could touch her, the young man stepped in front of her.
"What are you doing?" the businessman shouted. "All of this is her fault!"
"It's not—" the young man started.
"She tried to kill herself on the bus," the man snapped. "Now look around you! Everything is gone. My luggage, my documents, my equipment. I have meetings tomorrow. Important ones. By God, if we don't get back on that road and out of here, you'll never see the light of today again."
"Okay, that's too far," the young man said, voice shaking but firm. "It's not entirely her fault—"
"How is it too far?" the man shot back. "Explain to me why I shouldn't blame her for this disaster. Explain it... slowly, since you're all suddenly saints."
"It's my fault."
The driver walked toward them, exhaustion evident in his eyes.
Phina blinked.
Why was he protecting her?
"I saw someone on the road," the driver said. "He came out of nowhere. I swerved to avoid him and I turned too hard. "
A man?
There had been no man.
She knew that.
So why was he lying?
The businessman scoffed. "You're covering for her. Why? Look at that bus." He pointed at the smoking wreck. "Everything we owned was in there. And now it's ash. Don't take the blame for her."
The driver opened his mouth to respond, then froze.
His eyes slid past Phina.
To something in the trees.
He went silent.
Phina turned, but saw only burned branches and shadows.
"It's her fault," the businessman continued coldly. "And she should pay for it."
"Pay?" Phina stepped forward, anger surging through her suddenly tired of this man's bullshit. "Who are you exactly? And who made you the judge?"
She pointed at the driver. "He's the one helping everyone. He tried to save that boy's life. And you're standing here barking orders like this is some — some company boardroom meeting."
She swallowed, her voice cracking.
"I never asked you to help me. I wanted to die."
She realised what she was saying but didn't stop. It was the truth... the harsh truth.
"I wanted to die," she repeated, tears spilling over. "If you hadn't stopped me, none of this would have happened. So don't put this on me."
She turned away from them all and ran.
Into the forest.
Where no one could follow.
Where no one could stop her again.