The bus descended into a nice quiet, and it stayed that way until they crossed over a bridge. The river underneath it was wide and deep, curving banks that contained roaring rapids. He knew something was wrong when the bus became silent, not even the general noise of a moving vehicle could be heard. The sudden lack of noise caught his attention immediately. Glancing around, he didn’t notice that anything went afoul. He didn’t notice anything until he locked eyes with the bus driver for what seemed to be the hundredth time.

“Are you Erik Wilmer?” the bus driver rasped.

He refused to answer.

The bus swerved sharply to the right. It went over the guardrail, plummeting into the river. He flew from his seat, slammed to the ground with a resounding thud. His head cracked against the floor, and a wave of nausea swelled. Water started to trickle in as the bus sunk. His fear rose with every inch of water gained.

He heard the hissing of a seatbelt being unbuckled. Everything within him shouted at him to get away, but he was still disoriented from hitting his head against the floor. The bus driver splashed through the thin layer of water that covered the ground, the sound growing louder as the man grew closer. Curling up into a ball, he hid his face from the approaching man. However, it was for naught as the bus driver grabbed him by the leg.

He was flipped onto his back and lifted by the front of his shirt. The bus driver growled, “Are you Erik Wilmer?”

“What does it matter?” The man had already doomed them.

“Are you Erik Wilmer?”

“Is that all you can say?” he shouted.

He tried to struggle out of the bus driver’s grip, but it was too strong. Slumping in defeat, he raised his head to stare at the bus driver. Color drained from his face as he saw the inhuman glow that had overtaken the bus driver’s irises. Solid gold bored into his brown, and he took in a shuddering breath. The water was to their knees. He was going to die, and there was nothing he could do.

The bus driver asked, “Are you Erik Wilmer?”

“Yes, I’m Erik Wilmer,” he replied defeated.

A horrible, wicked smile crawled onto the bus driver’s face. The man’s—monster’s—grip shifted from the front of his shirt to his neck. There was no time for him to prepare before he was submerged beneath the water. In his shock, he inhaled a mouthful of water.

Twisting and squirming, he tried to escape the monster’s grip again, but it was still to no avail. His body rebelled against the water entering his lungs, the water wanting to be expelled. However, the continued inhalation of more and more water prevented that despite how he tried to hold his breath. He could hear the sound of his struggle, his legs and arms slapping against the surface of the water.

His lungs burned from the combination of the lack of oxygen and the surplus of water. The dizziness he felt from hitting his head earlier paled in comparison to how light-headed he was becoming. Holding his eyes open became harder as his body weakened, and spots blackened his vision. Distantly, he heard how his violent writhing grew still.

He was dying.

As he accepted his fate, the burning pain that seared his lungs and deadened his thoughts faded into the background. His consciousness floated gently. There was no noise. There was no fear. The last thing that he could remember thinking was that he wished he could’ve seen everyone one last time. But this was not a time for regrets. His mother cautioned against carrying those into the afterlife. With a single blink, he was dead.

Yet, he opened his eyes not a minute later to a clear sky and a blazing sun. A trembling hand lifted to touch his face, feeling his familiar features. He was alive? He sat up with an arm at his forehead to block the intense sunlight. A shocked gasp left him when he was met with a never-ending plane of sand. Cacti the one thing to break up the sameness of the landscape.

Looking down, he saw that an object laid in his lap. He raised it to his face and saw that it was a compass. Round, silver, and attached to a long chain. However, the odd thing was that the needle didn’t point north. It was pointing east. His fingers also felt the edges of grooves at the back of it. Turning it over, he observed that words were written. Etched into its back was, ‘DESTINATION: CENTER OF THE WORLD.’