Hope is a fragile thing. You hope to succeed, only to have your success shredded by a casual word. You hope to find love and find, instead, betrayal wrapped in a smile and tied with a promise. You hope for health while disease devours your organs in a silent feast.

You hope for hope when your eyes are blinded by despair.

Dorothy and hope were best friends. They were life-long companions who walked hand in hand through the slings and arrows of outrageous life. She hoped her parents would return, though she knew they could not. She hoped Hayley and James would live forever so she wouldn't have to face the grief her own parents' deaths had visited upon her again. She hoped she would be able to achieve the grades she needed for the career she thought she wanted but didn't know if she really craved. It would come. Inspiration, one day, would hit and she would discover her calling. She hoped the day would be soon.

She hoped the crying would stop. The pain would ease. Her breath would be less ragged. The weight on her legs would lift. The drip that was falling on her face would cease.

Family, on the other hand, are attached by an invisible cord that binds them together regardless of how hate might push them apart. A brother is a brother. A mother, a mother. Friends can be chosen and discarded, to be cast adrift if your own life takes you on another journey or if they forget the meaning of the word 'friend'. Family is a lofty title for something - or someone - stitched to you by the thread of birth. And, often, you can feel the needle's prick throughout your life.

The sibling of Hope is Hopelessness. Dorothy was drowning in this part of the Emotion dynasty. Her eyes were closed, too heavy to open, the fear of what they might see preventing them from even taking a peek. She wished for her bed. Her home. Her aunt's arms. Her mother's embrace.

Instead, she had noise and pain and breathlessness, all wrapped up in a shroud of anxiety.

A cough and moan close by startled her. She recognised the sound. Julian. She forced her eyes to open and looked around.

The bus was on its side. The exit doors were open above her, with one hanging limply and the other missing completely. The other passengers were... crumpled. It was the only thing she could think to call them. They were lying strewn across the length of the bus, looking like the ragdolls thrown by that impatient, tantrumming child whose bottom lip was stuck so far out they ran the risk of tripping over it.

A young girl had fallen across the back of a seat. Backwards. She was bent all wrong. The human spine was not meant to go that way. That far. Her eyes were closed and blood trickled from her nose, a feeble attempt to escape the broken body before life faded.

The driver was face down against the entrance. The door to his cubicle was open and his hand was still holding onto the handle, as if he'd tried to open it whilst they were in flight. It gripped the handle but was attached to nothing else. The stump dangled down, almost beseechingly, reaching out towards the rest of him. Dorothy couldn't see his unfinished arm. She was thankful.

A head a short distance from her turned and a boy looked at her. He was roughly her age. Handsome. Well... he would have been. One eye was bloodshot. The other was swollen shut, a crack in the nectarine of its socket. She smiled at him. It was empty of spirit, but all she had. He smiled back, his as devoid of meaning as hers. They were too stunned for anything to mean anything.

The moan again. She looked up and saw Julian. He was trapped above her, his legs caught between the seat opposite where they'd been - and Dorothy somehow still was - and the one in front. The back of the latter was pushed back and twisted, holding Julian's legs as firmly as the driver's hand clutched its handle. Luckily, the remainder of his torso had not become separated. He groaned and moved slowly, but at least he was alive.

Dorothy realised she needed to check herself for injury. She ached, but didn't think she was really hurt. Thankfully the bus had landed on the side she was already on. The seat had cushioned the fall and, miraculously, the window next to her was intact. Her head throbbed. Her ribs felt as if she'd been punched hard in the chest, but none seemed to be broken. Finally, she looked at her legs. The weight on them had made them numb and her brief, awkward movements told the blood it could begin to flow once more, taking with it a thousand tiny pins to prick her extremities.

The weight was a little boy. Small. Well dressed. Short blonde hair. Leg twisted. Face, thankfully, hidden. Dorothy watched his back, laying her hand in the centre to feel for either breath or beat. After too long, she felt both. Barely, but there. Carefully, she lifted him up so she could slide out from beneath him. She eased his body down onto the side of the bus - her floor, now - doing her best not to stand on the glass of the window. His head rested slightly to the side. Dorothy recognised him. He lived further along her street. Too far to be a neighbour, but close enough to warrant a nodded 'hello' if they happened to pass each other in the street. Tom? Tim? Something like that.

She reached up to Julian, taking his hand in hers. His eyes opened slowly. He looked from her to the seat holding him in place.

"Wha...?"

"I don't know," she said. "Some kind of freak storm. A tornado or something. It grabbed us and now it's let us go."

"Is everyone dead?"

"No." Dorothy shook her head. "That lad over there is alive. Someone was crying a minute ago, but they've stopped now. That little boy is still breathing. And there's us."

"Can you help me down, please?"

"I'll try."

Dorothy reached up and took Julian's shoulders, supporting as much of his weight as she could. Luckily, he was a skinny runt. Built for speed rather than stamina. He wore it well however, and that, coupled with his ever present charm, was an endearing combination. If he'd have been any bulkier, he would probably have found his legs partially missing rather than just trapped. He tried to pull the back of the seat away to give him some room to move, but couldn't. It wouldn't shift more than a few millimetres.

"I can't get out!" he said, his voice a fearful octave above its usual tone.

"Calm down," Dorothy told him. "Let me help."

She let go of his shoulders and jumped. On the first attempt, she missed her target, but succeeded on the second, grabbing hold of the metal bar running across the chair's upper back. She pulled herself up and turned on her side, planting her feet firmly either side of Julian. His eyes remained firmly fixed on hers and she was silently grateful for his timely courtesy. He could easily have taken the opportunity to look elsewhere on her anatomy. She'd have retaliated, of course, but his predicament was clearly more important to him than his libido.

"When I say 'go,' we pull together," she said. "But hurry, I can't keep this position for long."

He bit his tongue, avoiding the leading comment which prompted an automatically lewd response. Instead, he nodded. Dorothy took a deep breath and counted down.

"Three, two, one... GO!"

Simultaneously, the pair pulled. Dorothy knew neither she nor he were particularly strong individuals, but perhaps, working together...? The chair moved slightly. A minor triumph, but one which spurred them on to find an extra burst of vigour. They pulled harder. The chair moved further. Julian pushed against the floor and, suddenly, was free. With nothing to hold him in place, he fell, taking Dorothy with him, landing on the boy.

Ignoring the sharp pain in her arm and the yelp from Julian, Dorothy scrambled up. She was intertwined with him and felt as if she were untying herself. Her haste made the job more difficult but she was sure she'd heard the crack of something breaking.

A bone.

She knew it wasn't hers and really wanted it to be the arm, leg or rib of the older boy, leaving the younger one to not have anything else to suffer from. She forced Julian away, his scream indicating the crack had, actually, been a part of his body. Gently, she moved Tim. Yes, it was Tim, she was certain. She whispered his name. She felt his neck. She touched his back.

Nothing.

She tried to shake him. To rouse him. To get some sort of reaction.

Nothing.

"Tim!"

Dorothy slumped, defeated. She was no doctor. Her first aid ability extended to little more than asking her aunt to put some salve on to ease a graze or her uncle to apply a plaster. When she hurt herself, she often reverted to being a little girl, one who needed her surrogate mother to look after her. But, she recognised death. It had been her companion since the accident that had taken her parents. Even though it had taken a step back and remained in shadow, it had been ever present.

Now, Death had moved forward once more. It had reached down and taken the poor boy away. And their fall must have been the straw which severed the boy's back. She turned him over, wanting to look into the dead eyes of the child she had killed. When she saw his crushed face and neck, she clasped her hand to her mouth, wanting the shriek to be swallowed along with her guilt.

"That wasn't us," said Julian quietly, his hand on her shoulder. "We couldn't have done that. He would already have been gone."

"No!" cried Dorothy, yanking herself away. "He was breathing! His heart was beating!"

"Then he must have died just after you touched him! He couldn't have survived that. No way."

"He..."

Julian was right. Of course he was. She'd not actually looked at anything more than the side of his face, just enough to recognise him. She hadn't seen the damage already done. She had just wanted to ease his pain.

"I just wanted to help him," she said.

"You did. His last moments would have been of someone caring."

Dorothy didn't say anything. She didn't need to. The tears running down her cheeks spoke volumes.

A scream. A scuffle. A shout choked violently off.

The pair looked up sharply. Someone was dropping into the bus through the entrance at the front. Someone else already had. One of the surviving passengers, who Dorothy hadn't noticed previously, jumped on the first newcomer who was bent over the driver, only to have the second land on them, knocking them over. Dorothy and Julian couldn't see, at first, what was happening.

Then the passenger was thrown back, flying through the air as if they were a bus caught in a tornado. He landed on the window, next to Tim's body, smashing the glass. His neck was ripped out. His eyes were rolled up in their sockets. His body was trembling as if a multitude of small electric shocks were passing through it.

Julian dropped to a crouch, holding in the vomit threatening to fill the void where the man's gullet should have been. He stopped, suddenly, as the interlopers growled. The one in front leaped onto the boy who had smiled at Dorothy, bending his head down. There was a shake and the head came back up. In the mouth was the other's throat. Blood flooded the chin, painting it like a child's self-portrait. The contents of Julian's stomach could not be held back at that point and they spewed forth, splattering across the man and the boy.

The attacker roared, his head going back and his arms held high, fists clenched. It was a jubilant yell that was echoed by his companion. A cry that froze the hearts of Dorothy and Julian but spurred them into action. They needed no words to tell each other they had to escape. Words would have used breath more valuable as energy. They would have alerted the two... whatever they were. Otherwise occupied with feasting on the other passengers, they appeared ignorant of the friends' - because even enemies can become friends in times of despair - movements.

Dorothy gestured upwards towards the exit. The single, still in place door was like an outstretched hand, offering assistance and the hope she so desperately coveted. It was an offer she gladly accepted. Julian nodded and clasped his hands together for the boost she would need. Not daring to look at the horrors further down the bus lest they feel the attention on them, she quickly, and as quietly as she could, lifted her leg. With a grunt, she jumped, grabbing for the door, climbing quickly.

Julian followed, using the end of the side-on seat for the hike he needed. Dorothy took his arm to help him up and out.

His foot slipped, kicking the door.

The silence was broken by the thud and the creak and the gasp.

Hands grabbed his foot. His leg. Pulling, savagely. Her grip lost, Dorothy stumbled, her own foot twisting beneath her. She fell hard, sliding against the side of the bus. She tried to stop herself but there was nothing to take hold of. She landed on the ground, a thick layer of grass cushioning her but forcing the air from her lungs.

She couldn't move as she heard Julian call her name. Her limbs felt too heavy as she heard the animalistic roar, the sound weighing them down with fear. She tried to shout to him, but could only manage a hoarse rasp.

His scream began.

And abruptly ended.