The bus drives on.
Its three massive headlights illuminating tall trees, the rumble of its tires sending shapes scurrying high and low between them.
The bus drives on.
The road slants sharply upward and begins the twist.
The engine of the bus makes sounds of effort, sounds of effort that do not seem to match the movement of the bus itself.
The bus drives on.
Water now, on all sides.
The tires are still making sound against a solid surface, is this an island?
A bridge at high tide?
The bus drives on.
Now those mighty lights shine on an empty road and equally empty fields, woods flickering past faster than any mortal could follow as it picks up speed.
It approaches a series of walls and chainlink fences, red eyes shining out at from the road ahead.
The bus drives on.
And will continue driving.
Maybe forever.
But now it is as close to home as it can remember.