Brian shrugged, "No idea." And it was true; he wasn't a military guy or any of that.

Someone else piped in, "They sound like they're still pulling their heads out of their asses, and I bet the guys that are actually having to go out and look aren't as macho about doing it as the politicians and that preacher are -- I mean did you guys see what I saw? The freakin' giant earth monsters smashing vehicles? Who can fight that?" Female, younger.

Brian shrugged again while Daina's bandage got attention. He accepted that as truth, though he wasn't there to see it, "I didn't see any of it. I blacked out," he admitted that sheepishly, though there was a sense of guild there -- was the catatonia linked to the summoning of the things other described? He wasn't sure. 

Meanwhile, the bus was making its way through desert and more desert -- sometime during the day, they crossed from Nevada into Utah along roads that were, fairly heavy with traffic. They had to stop the bus eventually to get some diesel, and it was just like that the guy driving it had a commercial drivers' license, though he wasn't carrying it on him. They needed something to eat, a place to sleep, gas for the bus...all of this was confronting them all at once, and there seemed to be a diversity of opinions on how to do it. The argument whiled away the hours for some, while others looked out the windows in a frequent and shaky watch for military vehicles or police on the horizon; but for a highway patrol once in a while, they didn't see anything of that nature, which was a good sign.

Brian wasn't a participant in these conversations. He wasn't sure which way to go, and he had other things to weigh in on his mind. Others were the same way, of course, so he fit right in with the silent and brooding contingent, curled up in places on the bus where they could find the comfort, or discomfort, 

"We can drive this bus to where we're going, but we gotta get off this thing soon, it's hot," the driver, a guy named Smalls, a long-haul trucker from Nebraska, told them, "and eventually, they're gonna get it together and put out information on the missing vehicles. "Thing is, we can drop this thing off, but we need another ride."

Brian was awake enough for that shit -- and did the 'oh shit' face. He wasn't sure what they'd do.

"So what are the options?" someone asked; the little guy with the receding hair.

Smalls shrugged, "Well shit, we either turn this bus over to some shady types that'll take a stolen bus and do something with it and hope we can get transportation or we leave this one when we steal another. There are repair shops for busses all over the place along these roads, we can probably find something. It's up to you all..."

Choices. They had them. But they all stank.