The shaken and shocked driver pulled the damaged bus into the dark backstreet behind a pub and clambered out, his legs trembling violently beneath him. Pulling his bomber jacket collar up, he rounded the corner and entered the jaunty, loud establishment which was his daily haunt. The air thick with cigarette smoke.

He pushed his way to the bar, squeezing between two chunky men seated on unsteady barstools. He slid money to the barman and ordered a neat whiskey.

It was well past midnight when the barman served him his last drink. "No more whiskey for you, John. You get your drunken ass home now, you hear." John sculled the last of his drink with a nod and slammed the glass down on the bar. "You need a ride?" the barman asked taking the dirty glass from the bar.

"Maybe I'll walk, Bryce", John got off the chair unsteadily.

"Need to clear that head of yours, aye?"

"Something like that" John replied. He pushed the door open and walked out into the chilly night. He turned into the backstreet where he'd parked the bus. He approached its dark silhouette apprehensively. He could see Paul's wild, shocked eyes staring back at him accusingly. He blinked into the dark night, and something ahead of him blinked red and blue.

A couple of men in uniform were standing by the bus that was parked in a no parking zone. John was tempted to turn on his heel and walk back into the pub, but unfortunately for him, Officer Kent had already spotted him.

"John, you haven't been driving under the influence, have you?" he asked observing the damaged front of the bus, whilst keeping John within his sight.

John nervously cleared his throat, clenching his clammy palms, and tried to stand as straight as his drunken self would allow. "No", he replied.

"You drive this bus?" Kent asked, putting away his notepad. John was at a loss for words and simply nodded. "Humph. Sam reported the bus missing early this morning."

"Yeah, that'd be right."

"So, how'd this happen, John?" Kent asked, pointing at the front right corner of the bus where the damage from the crash had occurred.

"Err...an animal, tried to avoid it...couldn't help crash into a tree though", John slurred, swaying on the spot.

Kent nodded, eying up the soused man. "You're not planning on driving this tonight, now, are you?"

"No" John replied, rather too quickly. "Thought I'd catch a cab home, maybe..."

"Out here on the back street?"

"Err...just checking up on the bus, you know, to see if it's all locked up and that. Sam'd kill me if it were stolen and shit..."

"That'd be right." Kent considered the man for a while. "You need a lift home? Come on then, John, let's take you home."

"What about the bus?"

"What about the bus?"

"Nothing"

"Give me the keys and I'll have my partner take it down to the station and park it there for the night."

"The bus station...?"

Kent walked forward and grabbed the half-senseless man by his upper arm out of habit. John didn't protest. Possibly out of habit as well. As they approached the patrol car, Kent threw the bus key to his young partner and told him to take it down to the station. Then he put John into the back seat of the patrol car.

"What really happened to that bus, Johnny?" he asked, keeping his voice low and intimidating.

"Nothing, Kent," John said slurring his words, "just a dumb grazing animal,"

Kent nodded and shut the door, locking John in. He then rounded the front of the car and got in the driver seat.

"I'm going to have to report the damage to Sam. If you're telling the truth then, it's up to him to decide how he's going to go about the repairs."

"Yes"

Kent pulled the car out onto the empty night street.

"What do you reckon Sam's going to do to John when he finds out about that bus?" Logan, Kent's night patrol partner, asked upon seeing him enter the station.

"Oh, nothing besides sell even the clothes on his back to raise the money to cover his loss," he replied exhausted, dropping into his chair.

The phone suddenly rang. Kent picked it up, frustrated. "Charlotte Police Station"

"Is this Simon Stacey?" the male voice asked.

Kent sat straighter on his chair. "No, this is Officer Kent"

"Oh..." the voice was hesitant a moment, "its Larry Hanson from Snow Valley Lodge."

"Oh, yes, Larry, how's the weather up them peaks?"

"Splendid", he replied, "more snow by the minute." He sounded tired, no doubt the result of a long hard day. "But listen, Kent. I'm ringing about a situation up here. We were meant to have a busload of holidaymakers arrive at the very latest, eight in the evening, but the thing is, it's past two in the morning and no one's arrived yet. I'm starting to worry."

"Are you sure it was meant to be today?" Kent asked, leaning back on his seat.

"Yes, Sam rang up this morning and confirmed"

"Not Sam's lucky day today, huh" Kent twirled a pen. "Well, Larry, it could be that Sam got the date wrong and they are supposed to get there tomorrow, he's been known to make such mistake".

"Ah..."Larry was still hesitant. "Yes, I guess you're right".

Kent yawned. "Well, I could try and chase Sam for you in the morning, but it's quite late for tonight. But I wouldn't go past Sam having simply passed on the wrong date."

"Yes. Perhaps, I'll ring him at daylight."

"Not a bad idea, my man"

"Good night then, Officer Kent"

"Night, Larry"

* * *

Throughout the next half hour Clare kept an eye on John, keeping track of any change in his pulse.

She heard the soft crunch of snow under feet and looked up to see Matt.

"Are you okay?" His concerned voice drifted down.

"Yeah, why?" she asked him curiously. Big blobs of tears were making their way down her face without her noticing.

"The waterworks", he said calmly, sitting down next to her.

"I am?" She lifted her hands to her face. "Oh that, my eyes were stinging..." She forced a smile onto her face.

"How is he doing?" he asked peering at John Wilbur.

"He's lost consciousness."

"How long ago was that?"

She shrugged. "He's not going to make it".

Matt looked at her soft features illuminated by the partial presence of the moon. Finally, shaking his head, he replied, "No".

Brandon joined them, placing a bottle of vodka down as he sat.

"What's this?" Matt asked, grabbing the bottle.

"Life", Brandon said. "We can now dress our wounds and drink it too. It will help us keep warm a bit."

"It's only one bottle", Matt exclaimed.

"Whoever the bag belonged to must have been prepared," Brandon said, as he took the bottle from Matt's hands. "At least for the cold." He cleared his throat and cued Jack, who came, holding another bottle as if it were a prized possession.

Matt sighed.

"What about John?" Clare asked.

"As much as I hate to say it, but we can't do anything for him anymore," Brandon said.

Tears flashed. "We can clean his wounds and perhaps give him a drink."

"That'd be wasting it," Brandon muttered under his breath.

"What?"

"That'd be wasting it" he repeated.

"Wasting it?!" She held his gaze, anger building up inside, "Wasting? You three want to drink it and that's not wasting?"

"Try to understand, Clare, he is dying", Brandon said in a defensive tone as he looked at John.

"Yes, yes, he is dying, so that is why we should help him!"

Matt put a comforting hand on her shoulder, "Calm down, Clare, he's right"

She turned on him, her shoulder jerking away from his touch, "What? You support him?" she asked in disgust. When Matt didn't answer, she looked to Jack. "And you? What about you?"

Jack simply swallowed; he dared not utter what he thought out loud, but he did agree with Brandon.

"Am I the only one who wants to help him then?" she whispered.

"It's not about helping him." Matt spoke, keeping his eyes fixed on the snow. "If it would help him, then we would do it without a second thought, but it's not going to help him, Clare. Nothing we do will."

She shook her head. "I don't understand."

Brandon bravely put a hand on her leg in sympathy. "He's dying, he's lost too much blood, he's got hypothermia, and he's already unconscious. I hate to say this but John will die well before the night is out". Brandon swallowed, almost astonished at himself for sounding so calm. "I wish I could say something other than the truth but I can't. There is simply nothing we can do for him now."

"The alcohol won't help him...it's too late," Matt added.

She looked away; her body shook, breaking out into sobs which she could no longer control. Her little mourning for a man she barely knew, but it felt good.

Clare sat separate, one hand attached as if permanently, to John's wrist, monitoring his pulse. It had grown so weak she could no longer feel its throb. She checked the carotid artery in his neck. His blood vessel hiccupped ever so slightly and she braced herself for when she would no longer be able to feel it. Very, very soon.

"We can't just sit on our asses and watch the man die. Anyone of us could have been in this shit." Jack's voice drifted her way, and for a moment Clare thought the boys might try and help John Wilbur make it through till the dawn after all.

But she heard completely different thoughts within a few minutes. "I'm a bit hungry" Jack complained. "Did you find anything edible in the bags?"

"Not that I noticed," Matt replied almost robotically.

"Maybe we can find something in the bus" Brandon turned briskly towards Clare who immediately looked away. "We can search when day breaks. I'm sure somebody has packed something at least"

"I'm hungry now", Jack said petulantly.

"Did we find any torches?" Brandon asked.

Jack looked up. "Might have come across one in the same bag as the vodka"

Clare turned to the boys who were rummaging through the few bags. They were quite a noisy bunch of beavers working away with intensity.

She heard muffled, excited chatter, not sure whether they had found the torch, or whether they were lucky enough to have got their hands on some food.

She saw the flash light turning on and off as Brandon tested it. She let go of John's wrist and got up. "You can't possibly be thinking about getting into the bus in search of food?" Her eyes scanned the faces of the three in the darkness, and she could sense their eyes avoiding her own.

When the boys didn't reply, she nodded, licking her lips to moisturize them against the icy breeze that had begun to blow through the thin air of the cold night.

"What about the leaking fuel tank?" she asked, her eyes fixed on Brandon's face. "You couldn't risk igniting the tank before to look for first aid and now, when it's still dark, you are willing to go inside it?"

"I'm not going into the bus" he stated as he looked past Clare at the limp, body "I'm going into the luggage hull".

The two boys looked at Brandon, "What?" they gasped.

Brandon stepped back. "I would do the same had we found the torch earlier".

"You can't risk an explosion!" Jack nervously reminded him, "We don't know how big the leak is"

"I can't just stay idle!"

"Nobody is going anywhere". Clare said authoritatively.

"I know you're angry but there could be something in there that could help us!"

"We don't need anything immediately. John is the one who could benefit from this, but he is nearly gone,",. She took the torch out of Brandon's hand. "You won't go anywhere until the sun comes up".

* * *

Helen shifted in bed. With a sudden jerk her eyes flew open, body drenched in sweat. Breathing heavily she looked around the room. All was empty and still, yet she felt jumpy, her nerves jerking with uneasiness. Her thoughts reeled to Paul. No, he's up in the lodge. She wiped the perspiration from her upper lip. The kids? She got up briskly and left the room, and found her paranoid self hovering over her children in no time. They were both sound asleep in their own beds at each end of the room.

She leaned over and kissed their foreheads, then walked out of the room quietly, and hovered in front of the door a little while longer. "You're going crazy" she mumbled, shaking her head. She walked back to her room and scanned it from one end to the other. Satisfied that she was alone, Helen walked over to her bed and slid in. Not surprisingly, she could not get back