He had no choice. Though he could often sense impending supernatural mayhem, he was sometimes captive to its pull. When every instinct for self-preservation told him to run in the opposite direction, he entered this altered state of consciousness where his body could not follow the safe course. Like an exhausted swimmer caught in a riptide, he was pulled inexorably toward danger. It wasn’t a question of courage or even family duty, but rather a matter of his skewed Walker genetics. His consciousness surfaced briefly when he’d heard Liana call his name, but the NJ Transit bus interrupted their line of sight and he slipped back into autopilot. Despite the imminent danger, a deeper part of his being insisted that he step onto the bus. He prayed that his more capable siblings would follow, but that was out of his hands. The bus driver, a burly middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a meticulously trimmed mustache, had a large Phillies button affixed to his sun visor. Logan directed a friendly nod his way, but the driver seemed too bored to notice subtle greetings.
