Chapter 7 – Fatigue

Margot’s POV

The steady hum of the bus had become something of a lullaby – one I wasn’t allowing myself to succumb to.

It had been hours now, the darkness outside slowly fading into the hesitant glow of early morning. Slivers of pale light seeped in through the cracks in the luggage compartment, casting thin, shifting beams over the bags and suitcases around me. I blinked against the burn in my eyes, exhaustion gnawing at me, but I refused to let it win.

We had just passed by stop six. That meant the next one was Meadowbank.

A sharp inhale rattled through my chest as I tried to shake the haze of fatigue. I hadn’t meant to push myself this long — I was supposed to switch with Cara hours ago — but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to wake her.

She had gone out like a light the second she got comfortable, her breaths soft and even, her face slack in the kind of rest that I knew she badly needed. I had told myself I’d let her sleep just a little longer. Then a little more. And then I had just… let it go entirely.

But now, I needed her awake.

I turned to where she was curled up against a duffel bag, her hoodie pulled over her face, completely dead to the world. I nudged her shoulder gently at first, but when she didn’t stir, I pressed my fingers into her arm and gave a little shake.

“Hey,” I whispered, my voice hoarse from how long I had stayed silent. “Cara, wake up.”

She made a noise – somewhere between a groan and a grumble – but didn’t move much beyond that.

I sighed. “Come on, get up. We’re almost there.”

That seemed to reach her, because after a few sluggish blinks, she peeled her hood down and cracked her eyes open. She squinted at me, her face scrunching up as if I had just dragged her out of the best sleep of her life.

“What…?” she muttered, her voice thick with exhaustion.

I let out a quiet breath of relief, “It’s stop seven next,” I told her. “Meadowbank.”

That did the trick.

Her eyes snapped open fully now, the haze of sleep dissolving as she sat up quickly, rubbing at her face.

“Shit,” she breathed. “I seriously slept for that long?”

I nodded, shifting my stiff legs and wincing at the ache that had settled in my muscles. “Yeah. I didn’t want to wake you before, but I couldn’t risk waiting anymore. I don’t know how much longer until we get there.”

She stretched, letting out a long yawn before cracking her neck from side to side. “Damn, Margot. You should’ve woken me sooner.”

I shrugged. “You needed sleep. And honestly, I wasn’t tired before, but now…” I trailed off, blinking heavily as a fresh wave of exhaustion pressed down on me.

Cara gave me a knowing look. “Now you look like you just crawled out of the grave.”

I let out a weak laugh. “Yeah, well, that’s what I get for playing hero, I guess.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, instead shifting so she was sitting up properly. “So, what’s the plan? We just wait for the next stop and bolt?”

“Pretty much,” I said, my mind already running through the possibilities. “We wait for them to unload the luggage. The second we get an opening, we slip out and walk away just like we belong there.”

“Right,” she nodded, rubbing her hands together. “Nice and easy.”

“Nice and easy,” I echoed, though my stomach clenched with nerves.

The bus continued to move forward, the road beneath us a constant, rolling vibration. Outside, the light was growing brighter, shifting from the dull gray of dawn into the golden hues of early morning. The sky was clearing, and I could tell that soon, the world outside this cramped compartment would be awake and bustling.

And then, almost as if on cue, the bus began to slow.

My breath hitched.

Cara stiffened beside me.

“Is this it?” she whispered.

I swallowed hard, my ears straining to catch any sounds from outside. The bus gave a familiar lurch – the same one it had done at every stop before – and then, with a slow hiss, it rolled to a full stop.

Silence.

Then, the sound of movement above us. Passengers shuffling, the murmur of voices, the faint clang of someone pulling down a suitcase from the overhead rack.

Then, another noise.

A metallic creak.

The compartment latch.

I tensed as a flood of fresh air rushed in, the heavy door lifting open to reveal the outside world beyond. A pair of legs stepped into view – a worker, maybe a driver – reaching in to start pulling out luggage.

Cara and I exchanged a quick glance.

This was it.

Our chance.

I shifted slightly, pressing myself further back into the shadows as I waited. The worker – an older man, by the looks of it – was methodical in his movements, reaching in, grabbing a suitcase, hauling it out. Then another. Then another.

The opening was there. We just had to time it right.

I nudged Cara subtly, signaling her to get ready. She adjusted her hood, fixing her posture as if mentally preparing herself.

The worker grabbed another bag, his back turned for a second.

That was all we needed.

With one last deep breath, we moved.

Silent. Swift.

We slipped out of the compartment like ghosts, keeping low, keeping fast. The second our feet hit solid ground, we straightened up, acting like we were just another pair of travelers retrieving their bags.

No hesitation. No looking back.

We walked.

Step after step, calm and steady, my heart hammering against my ribs. The terminal around us was waking up, people moving about, cars pulling in and out. The scent of coffee lingered in the air, the early morning breeze biting at my cheeks.

We had made it.

Meadowbank.

Cara turned her head slightly toward me, a grin tugging at her lips. “Told you – nice and easy.”

“Yeah,” I murmured, exhaling fully this time.

We were here. We were so much closer!

Now, the real journey began.

The moment we were clear of the bus, we didn’t stop. We kept walking — steady, casual, like we belonged there – until the terminal was a good few yards behind us. Only then did I dare to exhale, feeling the tight knot of anxiety in my chest loosen ever so slightly.

Cara brushed her hands against her jeans, her eyes flicking around the station, checking for any suspicious glances in our direction. But no one was looking at us. No one cared.

“We actually pulled that off,” she murmured under her breath, almost as if she didn’t quite believe it.

I nodded, but my pulse was still racing. “We need to keep moving,” I muttered. “Just in case.”

We wove our way through the terminal, dodging travelers and bus station staff, keeping our heads down and our pace steady. The last thing we needed was for someone to recognise that we hadn’t actually gotten off the bus the way we were supposed to.

After a few more minutes of brisk walking, we slipped past a row of vending machines and took cover behind an empty bench. From here, the station stretched out in front of us – busy but not overcrowded, the air thick with the scent of coffee, fuel, and fried food from a nearby snack kiosk making my stomach growl.

Cara checked over her shoulder once more before letting out a breath and plopping down onto the bench beside me. “Alright,” she muttered. “Moment of truth. What time actually is it?”

I glanced around at the walls for a clock, spotting one to the far left just above the newsagent stand: 1:10 PM.

“Oh! It’s later than I thought! But look, we made it,” I breathed, more to myself than anything.

Cara leaned over, peering at it for herself, before letting out a low whistle. “Damn,” she said, stretching her arms above her head. “We’ve even got time to spare if we can figure out the way to the port that is.”

I nodded, though I barely had the energy to feel relieved yet. The exhaustion I had been holding off for hours was settling in fast now that the adrenaline was wearing off and the fresh air had hit. My limbs felt heavy, my head a little foggy, and my eyes – God, my eyes burned like hell.

Cara must have noticed, because she turned to me with a smirk, eyeing me up and down. “Margot,” she drawled, “I love you, but you look like absolute shit right now.”

I groaned, rubbing a hand over my face. “Yeah, thanks for that.”

“I’m serious.” She snickered. “You’re like, two shades paler than normal, and your eyebags have eyebags.”

I shot her a tired glare. “Maybe because I stayed up all night making sure we didn’t miss our stop?”

“Which I appreciate,” she said, placing a hand over her heart dramatically, “but now, you’ll scare the prisoners off.”

I rolled my eyes and held back a laugh because I couldn’t argue back with that one; it was too funny.

Cara clapped her hands together, standing up with a new burst of energy. “Alright, come on then. Before you drop dead, let’s find a map and figure out where the hell we’re going next.”

I pushed myself up, ignoring the way my muscles ached in protest. The sooner we got to the port, the sooner we could rest.

Hopefully?

We wandered through the terminal, slipping between clusters of people waiting for their buses or hauling luggage across the tiled floor. My body felt like lead, fatigue attacking its way into my bones with every step, but we couldn’t afford to stop, not yet.

Not until we make it to our meeting point!

Cara led the way, her eyes scanning the area until she spotted what we needed.

“There,” she muttered, nodding toward a small gift shop nestled between a ticket counter and a coffee stand. It was the kind of place that sold overpriced postcards, keychains, and generic ‘Welcome to Meadowbank‘ souvenirs.

And, more importantly–maps.

We stepped inside, the cool blast of air conditioning hitting me like a shock to the system. The shop was quiet, the only customer being an older woman browsing through a rack of magazines. Behind the counter, a bored-looking cashier scrolled on her phone, barely acknowledging our presence.

Perfect.

Cara moved fast, her fingers skimming over a stand of folded maps near the entrance. She plucked one from the display and held it up like she was examining it, but I already knew what she was doing.

Without missing a beat, she turned on her heel, map in hand, and strolled right back out of the store as if she had every intention of paying for it. I followed a second later, glancing back just once to see if the cashier had noticed.

She hadn’t.

Outside, we ducked behind a concrete pillar near the edge of the terminal before unfolding the map between us. It was massive, the paper crinkling loudly as we spread it out.

Cara’s finger trailed along the streets, scanning for landmarks, until–

“There,” she said, tapping a spot near the bottom of the map.

I leaned in, blinking through my exhaustion. The port. It was clearly marked, sitting along the coastline just a few miles from where we stood.

“It’s not too far,” she noted, exhaling in relief. “A straight shot down Main Street, then a left at this intersection… we can walk it.”

I nodded, feeling a flicker of hope ignite once again. After all the chaos of sneaking onto the bus, hiding for hours, and fighting to stay awake, the idea of finally reaching our destination felt almost surreal.

“We better get moving,” I said, folding the map haphazardly and stuffing it into my hoodie pocket.

Cara smirked. “Lead the way, Captain Sleep Deprived.”

I rolled my eyes but made a move.

With the bus terminal fading away behind us, becoming a distant memory, we stepped onto the sidewalk, the scent of saltwater and diesel fuel drifting in from the harbor. We were almost there.

Now, we just had to find whoever was supposed to be picking us up…