They’re wrong. The bus stopped hours ago. While they slept, half a dozen people climbed on, checked names and photos, marked them off on a list. The jewel-toned woman drifted up and down the aisle again, pressing her fingers to each forehead in benediction before rejoining the others outside of the bus. She insists on the pageantry of it, the formality, as they all bow their heads in a minute of silence. A few shuffle their feet, eager to leave. A few roll their eyes. And a few close their eyes in fervent gratitude. Then they’re done, and off to finalize all the logistics, or take their posts, or shut themselves inside their houses until the next meeting before it’s over at last.
With no evidence remaining of their visitors, the passengers stretch. Eleven phones are pulled immediately from pockets and purses. “No service?” Isabella asks, feeling panicky. What if she has a job offer? What if one of her infinite résumés has been flagged for potential? What if someone wants to connect on LinkedIn? No one has ever hoped to receive an email from that morass of despair more than Isabella.
“What provider do you have?” Jaden drapes his arms over the bus seat to best show off his biceps. He used to do these things deliberately, but now it’s reflex. He’s trained himself and his body to perfection.
“Verizon.”
“T-Mobile. Nothing.”
“AT&T,” beautiful Ava says, scowling. “Nothing either. Even the Ox Extreme Sports app we had to download isn’t working. I was going to go live on Insta.”
“What about the NDA?” Isabella says.
“Well, obviously I wasn’t going to say anything specific.” Beautiful Ava scowls.
“Yeah, that was the most intense NDA I’ve ever seen!” Jaden says. Most everyone else laughs and nods, though in reality not a single one of them has ever been involved in something important enough to have a nondisclosure agreement. But none of them are going to admit it.
“I have four bars,” Sydney says. She’s met with hungry—almost desperate—stares. “Prank you very much!” She cringes as soon as it leaves her mouth. She really needs a better tagline for her YouTube show. And now everyone hates her as they slump back into their seats. Even Logan leans away from her. So much for their genius app partnership. In the full light of morning, it all feels less likely.
“No one has any service? Really?” Rebecca walks down the aisle, a bit wobbly, EpiPen purse carefully clutched. Everyone holds up worthless phones. Rebecca stops at Mack and Ava. Neither of them have a phone out. Ava’s eyes are wide, her olive face pale.
“Phones?”
Mack shakes her head. Rebecca interprets it as Mack not having any service, not as Mack not having a phone.
“Your phone?” Rebecca asks Ava. “Do you have any service?”
“Leave me the fuck alone,” Ava mutters, not looking up. Ava had been so calm, so cheerful. This shift unnerves Mack. Rebecca continues her journey to wake up fake-sleeping LeGrand. He doesn’t have a cellphone, either. Those around him are struck with a bone-deep nervousness at the very idea. Their hands spasm around their own phones, now expensive cameras and nothing else.
Ava rubs her hands over her buzzed head. Mack realizes Ava has become Ava, not buzzed Ava. She’s the main Ava in Mack’s worldview. When Mack woke up—before Ava—Ava’s head was on her shoulder, tucked in. The soft tickle of Ava’s shorn head reminded Mack of a puppy. To her shock and mild dismay, she had been sad when Ava startled awake and away from her shoulder.
“Did you sleep?” Ava’s question is weighted with more intensity than it should be.
Mack nods. She can sleep anywhere. She was asleep when he finally ended it. She didn’t hear. The police had been there for hours before she woke up and emerged from her hiding spot. Sleep has always been her great escape, her great comfort. The nightmares are saved for her waking hours.
“I don’t sleep in public.” Ava looks around, twitchy. “Not on airplanes, or buses, or anywhere where I don’t know who’s around me, where I don’t feel safe.” She had been faking her nap yesterday, using the time to listen in on the conversations around herself and evaluate the competition.
Mack had felt safe when she woke up with Ava on her shoulder. Wasn’t that safe? “It was a long day,” Mack says, her voice whisper-soft.
“I’ve gone four days without sleep while traveling.” Ava’s jaw clenches and unclenches. She looks up at the front of the bus, where the driver and their hostess are both missing. Then she reaches for her bag, checks around the floor. “Where’s your water bottle from last night?”
Mack checks her bag. Her water bottle is gone. She shakes her head, some of Ava’s uneasiness wearing off on her.
“Hey!” Ava shouts, standing up. “Did everyone fall asleep last night? Anyone stay awake?” Heads shake. “Does anyone know where we are?”
“I can answer that!” Their hostess climbs aboard, her smile as bright as the morning sun.
Ava sits back down, scowling. “Fourteen people and no one stayed awake.”
“Maybe you felt safe?” Mack whispers. Her shoulder is cold where Ava’s head no longer rests.
“Do you feel safe?”
Mack looks out the window. She had, for those few seconds between sleeping and waking. And it had been the first time in a very long time. But the feeling is gone now, and it wasn’t shared, which makes it all sadder.
“Welcome to the town of Asterion! It’s a bit of a technological wonder,” their hostess says, giggling to herself. “An all-natural cell-free zone! There’s a particular type of mineral everywhere here—they used to mine it. It interferes so strongly with cell signals that the companies stopped trying. So I’m afraid for the duration of the competition you will be without cell service.”
“Wi-Fi?” Rebecca asks, the actress acting as de facto leader.
“We have some good old-fashioned pay phones. You’re welcome to use them this morning as we prep before going into the competition zone. Twenty-five cents, but long distance is more so you may need to call collect.”
“Who has change these days?” Rosiee voices everyone’s thought as she twists one of her heavy silver bracelets.
“Why have us download an app if we can’t even use it?” beautiful Ava grumbles.
Logan perks up at the mention of the app. The app is by Frye Technologies, the Silicon Valley giant he shares a last name with. It’s part of why he wants to go into making apps. He feels connected already, like he’s destined to share that success.
But the woman waves dismissively. “Oh! The app. I forgot about that. It’s for after the competition, so don’t delete it. Gathering information, feedback, blah blah. Not my department. And I am sorry about the lack of service—I know how you young people like your phones!—but it’s actually one of the features that drew us to Asterion. You’ll remember your NDAs. Ox Extreme Sports is quite serious about those. They’re still in developmental stages on the tournament, so they need to control the flow of information. They’re considering selling it as a reality show.”
Half the bus citizens perk up, like dogs on a scent. Half sink down, like those same dogs after years of abuse.
“But of course nothing is decided yet. We reserve all rights. Now, I’m sure you’re hungry. The Star Diner is ready and waiting. While we’re there, I’ll brief you on today’s schedule.”
Mack slouches in her seat. She doesn’t have any cash.
“I can cover you,” Ava says. Apparently Ava still sees her more than she wants to be seen.