CHAPTER FOUR: ELEVEN NAMES
The first child to climb into the van was a boy wearing one shoe.
His other shoe had been lost in the mud beside the bus.
Jake wrapped the boy’s feet in two clean towels and helped him onto a seat.
A girl with braided hair refused to move until her younger brother came with her.
The bus driver, Elena Cruz, counted every child aloud before stepping down herself.
“There should be eleven,” she said.
“There are ten in the van,” Mara replied.
The driver went white.
“Owen was in the back seat.”
Jake climbed into the bus.
The interior smelled of wet upholstery and diesel exhaust.
He checked the seats from front to back.
An empty lunchbox lay beneath the last bench.
A small voice came from the floor behind the emergency exit.
“I’m here.”
Owen had crawled between two seats after his breathing became fast and shallow.
He was not trapped, but he was too frightened to stand.
Jake knelt beside him.
“My name is Jake,” he said.
“I used to hide under my school bus seat when thunderstorms got loud.”
“Did it work?” Owen whispered.
“Not really.”
The boy looked at him.
“Then why did you do it?”
“I thought the storm couldn’t see me.
”
Owen almost smiled.
Jake sat on the floor and waited until the boy’s breathing slowed.
Then he offered his hand.
They climbed down together.
Mara checked the count again.
Eleven children, one driver, and no one left aboard.
The maintenance truck pulled the empty bus onto the concrete apron, where it could remain until morning.
The van carried the children toward the diner because it was the only nearby building with lights and working heat.
Warren stood in the doorway when they arrived.
He watched the children emerge one by one.
“I told you I wasn’t running a shelter,” he said.
Mara stepped between him and the first child.
“They need a warm room until their families can collect them.”
“The fire code won’t allow a crowd in here.”
“Then we’ll count the seats,” Mara said.
Jake looked through the window.
Only four customers remained inside.
There were twenty-six seats in the dining room.
“You can fit eleven kids,” Jake said.
Warren looked at him with open dislike.
“You have no authority here.”
“You’re right,” Jake said.
“You do.”
For a moment, Warren seemed almost pleased.
Then Jake continued.
“You can be the man who tells eleven children to stand in the rain.
”
Warren stepped aside.
The children entered without cheering or thanking him.
They were too tired for either.
