The bus is behind a truck stop on the city limits. Frosty air leaks through hundreds of bullet holes. It smells like powerful chemical cleaners. From the right angle you can see the lonely city skyscrapers outlined in the darkness—one for each hamburger giant—poking up like dismembered fingers. The gas pumps and chicken fried steak place and gift shop are dark for the night. The only light is a phone booth waffled with cracked windows. Sonja drags Dimitri to the front of the bus. Helpless, his head swings limp from side to side.“Is he dead?” Martin whispers. “I thought so for a while, but now I’m not sure,” Hamler says, shivering. “We haven’t seen him talk or move since Los Angeles.” Sonja grumbles into Janomi’s ear. Henry can’t make out the words. The dying actor is a shadow in the dim light—his breath visible. Keith comes out with a backpack and slings it around Janomi’s bloody shoulder. They kick open the door and lower him.Snooorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt. “Whough…shit,”
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