nadia & avery; on the bus.
And just like that, public transportation was a thing once more.
All of the passengers had expressed their eagerness at leaving Austin in different ways: pressing their noses against the glass, camping out at the front with the current driver, keeping an eagle eye on the road and watching the rusting wrecks of passing cars as the Megabus wove between and through and past them. Despite the two years she’d spent travelling, Nadia couldn’t suppress her own excitement either, and she found herself staring at the horizon with a sort of undefinable excitement and anxiousness thrumming beneath her skin, her head leaning against the glass.
Olivia should have been here, was the only difference.
Their group had just parked their convoy and looped around to another small town to poke through its buildings (prioritised: police stations, pharmacies, grocery stores, gun stores, doctor’s offices, places they were most likely to get the supplies they needed). Taken a bathroom break, which mainly consisted of the men pissing against a wall and then the women taking turns behind a van. When they loaded themselves back up in the vehicles, Nadia plopped herself down in a different seat, curling her legs up under herself, ready for another stint on the road—when she noticed an angular shape denting the seat pocket in front of her.
A sketchbook.
Assuming it was a relic from the outbreak, Nadia had just started paging aimlessly through the book—and realised that it couldn’t have been old, the doodles were of the very passengers in the bus around her—when she noticed someone else was standing over her.