Upon returning to the bus, he took attendance, popped the list back into the envelope and slipped both into his inner jacket pocket. He slid himself in the driver's seat, started the engine, and drove the bus slowly onto the highway, following road signs which pointed the way up the mountain and toward the lodges.

After what seemed like an age of zigzagging through the forest on dirt roads, Paul finally turned the bus onto the steep curve of asphalt which hugged the sides of the mountain in spirals. The twenty or so passengers seemed to be either asleep or wowed by the breathtaking scenery. They were to be the first lot to try the renovated Snow Valley Lodge situated deep in the holds of the mountain region.

Outside the frosty windows, more snow-covered plain came into view, the wilderness stretching out before them as far as the eyes could see. As evening approached, darkness slithered across the landscape. The sun made its slow descent toward the horizon and splashed a soft golden hue onto the icy canvas of the snow.

Paul felt exhausted as he turned the steering wheel in his hands like a little toy that might belong to his two-year-old son. Perhaps he had really bitten off more than he could chew. He was surprised at how hard it was to keep his hands on the wheel, let alone concentrate on the road.

He glanced in the rear-view mirror, at his passengers scattered around the seats. For the past three hours he'd noticed a young man either concentrating at the windshield or out the side of the bus, forever moving charcoal over a notepad hidden from Paul's view.

Two passengers, no doubt husband and wife, seemed to be in deep argument every few minutes. The busily sketching young man behind them displayed a tortured expression every now and then, shooting angry darts at the older couple. Paul didn't doubt that the young man might actually harbor negative thoughts towards the warring couple.

Paul looked ahead; the road was still winding up the mountain but never seemed to grow shorter. He glanced in the mirror again. On the other side of the bus too. There was plenty of entertainment.

"But, like I was saying, skiing is a dangerous business. I've broken the same leg twice at two different places, trying to do mid-air tricks the Olympians do too easily."

Clare chuckled loudly, causing everyone in the bus to turn their way. The guy looked sheepishly back at her and whispered something else that made her laugh more. Paul smiled. The young woman looked very much like his wife when she laughed. He sighed, stepping on the accelerator some more. The next kilometres or so were one of the steepest strips of road on that mountain, one that concerned him a bit. The engine ground and whined and pulled the heavy bus further up.

He glanced in his mirror again. The noise hadn't seemed to faze anyone out. In fact, one seat behind the giggling brunette and the young man, another young man was keeping busy. He doodled pictures on the condensation that clung to the window. The things people did when they were bored! Paul turned back to the road...and his eyes flew open. He was quite alert now, perhaps for the first time that day.

He was looking at a bus coming at them from around the bend. His mind sounded alarm bells. They were on a collision course. In a split second instinct kicked in and he slammed on the brakes. Before rationality took hold, his foot hit the pedal beneath him. Don't skid, don't skid, he mumbled beneath his breath. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying to keep the tyres on the road. The passengers screamed fearfully as the bus jerked to the left. Where the hell did it come from? No lights, nothing! Paul's thoughts reeled. Wild Thing was on the verge of the road, a little nudge and it could fall onto the slopes below.

Paul hated to admit, but he was losing control of the bus on the icy road, wheels refusing to follow his steering command. Heart thundering its flesh and bone cage, Paul stared at the oncoming bus. A sudden jerk grabbed his attention and he eyed the side view mirror. The back wheels had run off the edge of the road. At that moment, his wife's fear rang loud in his ears.

Taking a deep breath, Paul closed his eyes, hands tightly gripping the wheel. His mind blocked out the piercing screams coming from behind him. He thought about his wife and kids. I love you with all my heart. He clenched his teeth as fear hooked its crippling claws into his every pore. His heart slammed like a tortured bird against his ribcage. And at the point, he knew he'd never see his family again.

The boom of the two giants crashing was deafening. Paul uttered a last prayer before the bus convulsed and morphed like an alien caterpillar, but the result wasn't going to be a beautiful butterfly. The sounds of death took over; glass breaking, metals scratching against each other; agonizing screams of people who had entrusted their lives to a stranger.

Then the hiss as the bus fell through the air. Paul gasped, remembering that morning with his wife. "The children would rather have you this season than presents, Paul." His wife's voice echoed eerily into his ear. It was the second last thing Paul Reeves ever heard before hearing his own skull crack against the sheer force of the bus coming in contact head on with the rock hard slope.

The bus crashed and slid, wreaking havoc amongst the forestry. When it finally came to a halt, it had left a trail-blazing tail of a clearing behind it.

Above, on the road, a shaken and scared driver of the other bus sped away almost immediately.

Time passed as if holding its breath. The sun set, leaving only streaks of light remaining in the sky. And in the crumpled wreckage of the overturned bus a few eyes opened. A few woke up.

* * *

"Is everybody okay?" A smooth rumbling voice cracked the still air. Brandon struggled to find his footing among the debris. He squinted into the looming darkness of the bus, hoping perhaps that everyone would reply, but he heard only three voices and a faint groan of pain from someone on the back seats.

"Who was that?" he asked, focusing on three figures rising up from the belly of the bus. He pulled himself forward, grabbing on to whatever support he could find. A sharp pain ran through his left shoulder as he reached out in the darkness.

"It's from the back," Clare answered, her vision blurred from drying blood that had clamped her right eye almost shut. For a moment, panic struck her; had she lost her eye? Her hand instinctively flew over her face to find both her eyes intact. It was her head which had received a mighty fine cut that had bleed down her face.

Brandon started to move towards the back of the bus. A dark shadow fell on Clare's face as Brandon's frame blocked the light. "Are you okay?" he asked.

He wasn't dumb after all, was he? She looked up at the dark shadow of his face and nodded. "Other than the cut on my head, I think I'm fine".

"Good, good." He nodded, holding onto his injured arm; to the other two guys, "How about you two, how are you guys holding up?"

"Alive," They let out a great sigh of relief in unison.

Brandon stood there a moment, trying hard to ignore the shooting pain in his shoulder. "Are we the only ones?" he asked turning to a body on the seat next to them. He stretched his arm under the neck, trying to locate a pulse. He stood back up slowly.

"Anything?" Clare asked in a raspy whisper.

Brandon shook his head and continued to scan the bus. He swallowed hard, fear seeding inside him as he realized for the first time that the bus was lying on its side, and people had been literally tossed about.

"What do we do now?" one boy asked, looking horror struck around him.

Just then the air was pierced with a male groan.

"I definitely heard that." the other one mumbled.

"Feel everyone's pulse," Brandon immediately advised. "There's got to be more people alive than us".

The four of them scattered about the bus, dividing it into sections between them, but their efforts were of no avail until one of the boys tripped over a body in the dark. The rest heard him yelp.

"Jack, you okay?" asked his mate.

"Yeah," Jack exclaimed as he reached down to find a pulse. Then he realized someone was trapped underneath that body. "Matt, give me a hand."

As soon as they managed to safely lift and put aside a woman's body, Matt located a head and felt for a pulse. A man groaned again.

"Can you hear me?" Matt asked gently. "Can you tell us how badly you're hurt?"

Again the man let out a short groan as he tried to lift his head, then rested it back down. "My wife...where is my wife...Nora, where are you?" His groans dissolved into small hiccoughing sobs as he turned his head to his left and saw his wife's body soaked with blood. His hand moved clumsily to stroke her face, "No, Nora No..." he cried out, shaking his head. His voice cracked with sudden dryness.

Matt tensely spoke again. "Please, sir ... are you hurt?" his voice as calm as he could maintain it.

The distraught man stared at him a moment before refocusing on his dead wife.

"We've got to get him out of here," Brandon whispered from behind.

Nodding, Matt turned to the man again. "Sir?"

The man nodded his trembling head and with a quivering voice he spoke. "I can't feel my right leg".

Jack squinted down to where the man's legs should have been, but he could see nothing. "Can't see his leg in this light," he said, patting the air. Suddenly, his hand found wetness of blood. "He's bleeding, probably a gash or something" as his hand brushed something sharp and thin sticking up from the right leg.

Jack touched the mystery object again, causing the injured man to scream. Jack yanked his hand away immediately. "Sorry"

"What is it?" Matt asked

"Some kind of a sharp object, perhaps a sheet of metal, it's not thick enough to be a piece of glass."

"We can't help him in this light". Brandon leaned over Jack's head.

"Do you think you can stand up at all?" Jack asked the grieving man, "we need to get you out of the bus."

"No," the man cried stubbornly, "not without Nora".

"We'll get her for you, but right now..." Jack hesitated.

"No, I want you to check on her. Please!" he pleaded, reaching out for his wife.

"Check on her" Matt jerked his head towards Jack, nudging him with his knee.

"Okay, okay," Jack nodded looking up. Then he moved towards the woman's body. A trembling hand reached out to check the carotid artery pulse in her neck. Jack slumped back, shaking his head. "I'm so sorry."

"No, no..."

Awkwardness passed between them, and suddenly Brandon spoke. "We can't help stop his bleeding in this light."

"We should try and hoist him out of here," Jack suggested.

"And how do we do that?" Matt asked quietly. "The bus is on its belly." His whisper hissed and echoed around them.

"From the front," Brandon stated before anyone had a chance to even think about it. "Through the windscreen area, it's wide enough"

"Okay, then," Matt pushed his jacket sleeves up slightly. "Help me carry him out gently,"

"I've got an injured arm, I can't help" Brandon replied.

"All right Jack, help me."

Seeing at least some sort of action, Clare relaxed a bit and watched Matt and Jack move the man.

Matt anchored the man under his arms, while Jack took the feet. "One, two, three...lift".

When the boys reached her, Jack turned around, "Sorry, what's your name?" he asked.

"Ah..." she stared at him "Clare."

"Well, Clare, could you please move things out of the way so we can get him outside without tripping over?"

Clare nodded and moved ahead of the two, feeling around in the darkness to move aside any handbags or jackets. But when it came to moving a body, she froze.

"What's wrong?" Matt asked as he saw her silhouette frozen on the spot.

"I...I'm... I'm going to need help" she struggled to keep her wits about her, "I can't...can't move the bodies on my own".

Brandon strode forward, "I'll give you a hand."

As Jack and Matt stepped onto solid ground, Brandon turned to Clare. "We should grab a few blankets and perhaps some sleeping bags, if we can find any. I have a feeling we are going to be here through the night"

Clare nodded as she stared out of the windscreen space, "Do you think he'll be okay?"

Brandon looked out to the injured man. "Depends."

He turned back to the dark inside of the bus, grabbing anything that he thought could be bags, and threw them out the front of the bus. Clare too started snooping around the interior of the bus, her hands brushing against a dozen things, but always reluctant to hold onto anything for fear she might grab onto a body. When Brandon approached the front of the bus, he stopped short behind her.

"Anything the matter?"

She swallowed hard, "I can't see a thing".

Brandon chucked out the bag he was holding, "Whatever I've thrown out should have at least a few things that might come in handy". He stepped aside a little. "After you."

Clare stopped just outside the bus, sniffing the air zealously. "Do you smell that?"

For a moment he smelt nothing but the slight hint of her perfume carried off by the breeze. He shook his head. "No, nothing. Why?"

She walked around the corner towards the wheels, continuing to sniff the air. "I think its leaking petrol." She turned to him, and couldn't clearly make out his expression.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

She nodded.

"We need to do something about the guy's leg. Bleeding's uncontrollable". Jack suddenly appeared behind them. "What's wrong?" he suddenly asked seeing their dead-pan faces.

"The bus is leaking petrol," Clare stated.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Exasperated, Jack sniffed.

"We need to stay a bit further away from the bus in case the tank bursts into flames" Brandon was struggling to speak through the pain in his shoulder. For a moment he had forgotten about it. Only for a moment though.

Huddled on the other end of the trail-blaze clearing, Brandon kept his gaze focused on the mystery object wedged into the old man's thigh. When he looked up, the poor man was peering at him, questioning his chances.

Brandon held out his scarf in front of Matt. "Tie it around his leg, just above the wound, as tight as you can. It should help with slow down the bleeding long enough." I hope, he thought looking up to the quiet night sky.

"Did you find a first aid kit?" Matt asked, tightening the scarf.

Brandon tore his gaze away from the leg. "We don't know what we grabbed; it was too dark to make out anything in there". He shifted uncomfortably, trying not to think about the crippling pain in his shoulder. "Majority of the luggage is in the luggage hull, we could try in there when it gets a bit lighter."

"Can't we do that now?" Matt asked desperately.

"I wouldn't want to risk it," Jack stated, staring at the bleeding leg with discomfort.

"And why not?"

"The petrol is leaking. We don't know how big the leak is or where it's flowing. A tiny spark can ignite the fuel", Jack replied.

"Great! This is just great!" Matt mumbled under his breath, struggling with the knot on the scarf, anger boiling under his cool demeanour. "What do we do then?" He looked up. "We can't even call for help. I don't suppose anyone has a cell phone?"

Clare, as if suddenly brought to her senses, reached into her pocket. A look of guilt washed over her pale face. She had a cell phone but that was not the problem. The problem was, as usual, she had forgotten to charge. The battery was flat, rendering it completely useless.

"This is great!" Jack chirped. "Why didn't you say anything before?"

She swallowed nervously. "Err...the battery's dead. I kind of forget to charge it."

"What?" Jack choked in utter disbelief. "What sort of a person forgets to..."

"Anybody else has a phone?" Brandon asked, making an effort to avoid sounding condescending.

"Excuse me". The injured man spoke. They turned to him. He was holding out a mobile phone. "This might work..."

Matt reached for the device. "No harm in trying." He stood up, peering into the little screen. He shook it, hit it, and held it high above his head, looking rather silly.

"No signal?" Jack asked, holding his breath.

Matt screwed up his face and shook his head.

"Nothing"

"Maybe the bus has a radio. We could try and find it in the morning. Better yet, I'm sure it has GPS tracking on it." Jack continued.

The others looked at him, but their minds were still on the phone.

"They may track us by the morning," Jack added.

"Let's hope so". Matt sighed and turned off the phone.

"What are you doing?" Clare asked panicked.

"Saving the battery, we may need the phone yet." He smiled gently and turned to Brandon. "So, we just wait I guess."

"Wait," Brandon said as he peered up to the road overhead, "hopefully they'll send out a search and rescue team as soon as the weather lets them".

As the night grew deeper, they sat around the foot of the cliff, huddled together to keep warm, occasionally checking on the injured man. The boys stayed close to each other; Clare sat separate, in shock. It had been a while since anyone had spoken. She sat crouched near the foot of the cliff, her slender figure shivering in the icy weather. She pulled her knees closer to her chest and laid her head down on them. Tears drizzling down her pink cheeks.

"Are you okay?" Jack asked, looking at her.

"Those people in there," she wiped her tears on her pants, "they're all de... I mean, out of all those people on the bus, we are the only ones that made it".

"Be thankful that you did," Matt said, putting a hand on her shoulder, and she nodded. He looked back towards the others. "So, what do we do now? We can't dress our wounds without a first aid kit." Brandon sat nearby, pain evident on his face. "You okay?" Matt asked.

Brandon shook his head, "I think my shoulder might be dislocated." He looked at Matt. "You think you could, maybe set it for me?"

Matt looked stunned; he had never set any dislocated limbs, and to be honest, he hadn't the slightest idea to how to proceed.

"I can guide you if that's what you're worried about," Brandon said quickly, seeing the hesitation. He needed his arm set, and set quickly; he couldn't imagine enduring the pain any longer. "Please, I need to have it set."

Matt heaved a heavy sigh. "Okay, so what do I have to do?"

Brandon looked around briskly. "I need a flat surface to lie on, knee-high".

Matt scanned the surroundings. "I can't see anything like that".

Brandon nodded. "On my back then"

He struggled to remove the clothes from his upper body, unbearable pain shooting through his tender shoulder every time he was forced to move his arm. Finally, when all the clothing was off, only then could he distinguish the exact state of his left shoulder. The entire joint seemed to be swollen and blue.

"Are you sure that's dislocated?" Matt asked, leaning in for a closer look. "It doesn't look dislocated, just very badly bruised - you must have landed on it...several times"

Brandon bravely scouted the surface of his shoulder, feeling for the bones. They seemed to be in place. "So it seems," he said through clenched teeth. He grabbed his t-shirt with a relief; he was already feeling the chill through to his core. As he finally zipped up his jacket all the way, he cleared his throat. "I might need to sling the arm though, until the bruises clear up a bit."

"Excuse me" They heard a soft, raspy voice behind them. The older man was struggling to sit up.

"Yes," Matt moved towards the man. "What can we do for you?"

With a swift but weak grasp, he held the front of Matt's jacket and nudged at it, trying to get him to come closer. "I don't think I can make it through the night" John Wilbur whispered. It was a statement, and not a question.

Brandon crouched down to Matt. "Shall we try the luggage hull regardless of our little situation?"

Matt shot a glance at him. "No, no, we have to think of something else, we can't risk an explosion."

From above Clare whispered, "We have to do something for him though".

"Perhaps we could tie his leg tighter, maybe it can slow down the blood loss till the rescue party arrives, hopefully at the crack of dawn," Jack nervously cracked his knuckles.

Clare flashed him a disgusted glance.

"Excuse me." They all turned back their attention to John Wilbur. "What about snow." He was struggling to talk. "Could it slow the blood flow to the leg?"

"No," Brandon said quickly, "we can't risk you catching hypothermia on top of your injury".

"I'm going to die here," John said, crushed by the nature of his condition. He laid his head down on the snow again, exhausted. Giving up.

The sheer helplessness of the situation spread and all fell silent; the air between them seemed to grow darker and heavier. Defeated, Clare seated herself closest to the bleeding man.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye every so often. A scared expression remained on his lonely face and she figured the least she could do was keep him company until ... well, until.

"What's your name?" she asked gently. Not that she knew how to talk to a dying man. His eyes were vacant. "If you don't mind me asking...?" she quickly said, "I'm Clare".

A thin appreciative smile crept to the corners of his bluing lips, "John Wilbur."

Clare smiled back, "What brought you here, Mr. Wilbur?"

"Please, call me John," he said, as he once again tried to sit up. This time Clare helped him, and as he leaned against the cliff; sniffing, he answered, "It was our thirtieth anniversary. Me and my wife, thirty years, we've been together."

Clare's eyebrows lifted in amazement, "That's a long time; you must have loved her a lot"

John nodded. "I remember the first time I met her in high school, boy, was she gorgeous". When he looked up, he saw the boys moving in to hear his story too.

"You'd been together since high school?" Jack asked curiously. A sense of awe in his tone.

"No" John replied, shaking his head "we never even spoke back then". He smiled slightly. "I approached her at the ten year reunion, that was the first time I talked to her...nerve-racking it was". His eyes welled up again, and he quickly looked away, struggling to compose himself. "Did she go quickly?" he asked; the question had been eating away at him for a while.

Brandon cleared his throat. "I think she didn't suffer much" he lied, overwhelmed with sympathy.

John nodded slightly, his gaze averted. "I hope that was so."