Route 30

Morning came with the same blankness. Silent streets of London rested under a veil of mist and dew from a typical rain that showered down on the city in the previous evening. As usual, a B-type bus halted on the damp road outside Richmond Park, which was still covered with dust and debris from German raids only some days ago. The bus creaked as a lady stepped on. Fatigue showed itself through her weary eyes, but she stood with poise—in a navy-blue uniform and a matching hat, which she always kept tidy. On this day, the uniform was accompanied by a white scarf she put on to fight off the increasingly cold wind. Grunting slightly, she fumbled through a plain handbag as she struggled to put a small rectangular box on her slender shoulders. The engines stirred almost instantly, and the floor shook beneath her feet. Regaining her balance, Kate let out a hushed sigh and welcomed another day as the bus conductress of Route 30.

Only several months have passed since Kate applied for the job. Seeing her friends leaving home to serve, she couldn’t help herself. Although the income couldn’t compare to that of men when they did the job, it was still something. Since the attacks, almost nobody went out anymore, which added to Kate’s loneliness. But each and every day, she had no choice but to gather herself together for the scattered loners that still roamed in the ashes of war. Kate had prepared a bit of cold bread to fuel herself that morning, it sat in her pockets untouched.

“Heard that those zeppelins dropped bombs near the river some time ago.” The bus driver’s voice came as he stared blankly at the empty streets. He never talked much, and no one really knew him. All conversations with him are answered with grunts or snorts. All Kate knew was that he was a middle-aged man, and signed onto this job only because he couldn’t be part of the army. Rumor has it that he was ashamed.

“Yes, it was quite shocking,” Kate replied, surprised that he chose to speak to her at all.

The bus drove on before stopping by the river Thames when a woman called to get aboard. Trembling, she stepped on. The woman was holding a bouquet of golden chrysanthemums that appeared even brighter against the black coat she was wearing. After settling her ticket, she sat down without a word. Kate watched her and returned the silence.

Kate paced around the empty bus and glanced out the windows. More sights of life finally came into view. On the street, a group of home front soldiers and police rested against a fallen barricade that stood next to desolate buildings. They were smoking cigarettes and chattering with one another with slight smiles on their faces, though deep inside, there was only dread. 

“Edward was once like that.”
Kate whirled. It was the trembling voice of that woman, who was also peering out the windows, looking at the soldiers.

“I’m sorry?”

“He died at the Somme last week. He was my brother.” The woman continued, turning to face Kate. “I only got the telegram yesterday. Can you imagine? He had died for a whole week before anyone found him…no one will ever know what he died for, how he passed…” She looked at the chrysanthemums in her hand and shook her head, as if to force herself away from such thoughts, and looked away. “I will be getting off shortly at Hyde Park.”

Kate did not know what to say. Two years have passed already since the start of the war—news of deaths wasn’t new to people anymore. Despite that, melancholy always finds itself back in her as if it was the first time she heard about it. After a brief silence, Kate sat down next to the woman.

“That is unfortunate, I am very sorry. I am not qualified to say how much I understand you, but I wish you peace nonetheless.” Kate put her hand on the woman’s shoulder. The woman turned slowly towards Kate, but her voice was interrupted by sudden thuds that sounded on the bus walls.  

“Excuse me,” Kate rushed to the head of the bus and quickly rang a bell to stop the bus as she looked out. She had not noticed the passing of time when conversing with the woman and was now facing the ruins of Kensington Street. Below her, two little boys revealed themselves, holding pebbles—the thuds have been them throwing those pebbles towards the bus. Kate grimaced, the boys wore nothing but thin vests with worn-out jackets that are so large on them that they fell from their shoulders. They said nothing and stared at her with wide eyes, which were the only feature that still shone a faint light on their grey-tinted bodies. Kate couldn’t decide whether it was fright or sorrow in their eyes or nothing at all, but she was certain that they deliberately tried to stop the bus. “Do come in,” Kate stepped aside, making way for the boys. The boys jumped on right away one after the other, but did not sit down. One walked to Kate and touched her handbag, and stepped back immediately, glancing at her once again. 

“Ah, do you want something? Food, perhaps?” suggested Kate. Hearing that, the boys’ nodded at once and fidgeted, trying to keep their heads down and looking down at the floor. Quick to notice their distress, Kate ushered them to sit down and rang the bell to get the bus going.

“It’s quite alright,” said Kate, kneeling to face the boys. She reached inside her pocket and pulled out the bread she had not eaten in the morning, split it in half, and handed it to each of the boys. “I only have this. It’s cold and definitely won’t be very appetizing, but due to current circumstances, it is all I have.” The boys chewed on their bread without hesitation, their teeth chattered between each bite. Kate pulled her white scarf loose, and covered it on the boys. Icy air hit her neck instantly, but she took no notice of it. Kate turned to the woman with the bouquet, who gave her a weak smile, before standing up and returning to her post at the front of the bus.

It was almost midday. Sunlight had started to peer through the ominous clouds, finally casting some light on the beaten streets. Kate closed her eyes against the sunlight, immersing herself in the brief warmth. In the moment with herself, she thought about her encounter with the two passengers and wondered why plain civilians had to pay the price for conflicts they can’t even understand…why the war had to happen at all. The sun was still in the sky bathing lost souls, always displaying the possibilities of peace, yet people always ignored them.

Spotting yellow tulip beds and the arrival of sycamore trees, Kate knew that they were arriving near Hyde Park. It was her favorite place to visit before the war—the lush greens and the aroma of flowers were such a pleasure. Of course, they weren’t as lush anymore, and only the stench of smoke remained in the air. But still, it was more welcoming than the city. On the streets beside Hyde Park, the woman with the bouquet left, holding her chrysanthemums tight in her arms. Kate waved goodbye and watched until she disappeared behind the trees.

There was an old man who boarded the bus at the exact spot week ago, Kate remembered. It was a gloomy day—just like the day before, and the many weeks before that. He was well-dressed, wearing a grey coat and a fedora hat. Despite the inevitable dust all around the city, his whole outfit was spotless. He brought no bag and carried a newspaper by hand. Tortured by boredom and increasing curiosity, Kate asked the elderly man what he might plan to do that day. To her surprise, he smiled and said that he was only on his daily strolls—and looked out the windows as if it was a beautiful day.

Kate snapped back from that memory when she spotted a young man waving to stop the bus. She rang the bell to let him in. Seeing his khaki uniform covered with complex belts and pockets, Kate did not need a second look—it was one of the first soldiers Kate met on the bus. Kate winced when she saw that the soldier was limping a little, and saw tattered bandages covering his right leg. The soldier nodded to Kate, settled his ticket, and sat. Sympathy and curiosity filled her once more, and she spoke.

“Are you doing alright, soldier?” Asked Kate. 

“I am quite well.” His voice was shallow and raspy. He continued, feeling that Kate was not convinced. “I will get off at King’s Cross—the last stop, I believe.”

The mention of the train station concerned Kate. “You’re returning to the front.”

“Yes. I’ve been brought back to the city only to rest at the hospital for a while. I will have to go back eventually.” Said the soldier in an undisturbed voice. He closed his eyes. “I’m well enough to return now.”

“What is it like, the trenches?” Kate said.

The soldier made a light frown, opened his eyes, and looked at her without turning his head.

“It’s cold and muddy, is all.”

Going past Hyde Park, the bus re-entered roads dense with buildings. The sunlight dimmed and shadows returned. A boy stood on a road near small shops with shattered doors and walls. His ginger hair was easy to spot, as he waited patiently at the bus stop. When he came on the bus, he struggled to hold a heavy bag that was filled with canned foods and bottles, and had to drag it on the floor. He seemed like he was only in his pre-teen years, perhaps 11 years old, Kate reckoned. In spite of his young age, maturity found itself creeping into his calm demeanor. The boy paid for his ticket swiftly like he’s done it a thousand times, and sat next to the two little boys, who have finished eating the bread from earlier, and have fallen asleep in each other’s arms. 

The ginger-haired boy told Kate that he was only going to ride the bus for a little while before getting off a few streets away from Regent’s Park, where he will bring the scavenged foods in his bag back to a shelter there. Kate couldn’t help but admire the ginger boy—traveling these streets alone with such a burden. 

The four passengers sat silently for the next minutes. Kate leaned against the bus walls, her legs were sore from standing, and her eyes were drained from watching the streets. As far as she could see, the road ahead was empty. 

Just as Kate was about to close her eyes for a rest, she saw a flash of bright light, and a dark object along with it—hissing and whistling as it glided through the air, coming right towards the bus.

Everything that happened then happened in a blur. Though she has never seen it before, an ill feeling rose within Kate. She knew what it was.

The bomb was about to hit the bus. 

Kate did not have time to think. She rang the bell desperately to alert the bus driver and turned to the passengers, who were not aware of the situation except for the soldier—who sat up, wide-eyed. Kate screamed to the bus driver to turn right whilst still facing the passengers. With a rapid turn, the bus tipped, which alerted the children on board. The two little boys woke with a start, and the ginger-haired boy fell from his seat. Within seconds, screams, curses, and cries filled the air. 

Kate darted towards the children. In the midst of terror, she pushed the ginger-haired boy who was trying to get up down to the floor once again and forced the little boys down as well, shoving them under the seats. She stretched her arms over the boys and leaned on top of them. Her face scraped against the rough floor from the sudden drop, and she let out a small cry. At the front of the bus, the driver gritted his teeth—the slanted bus galloped with only two wheels, almost falling on its side. 

Shielding the boys, Kate made an effort to peer behind her, just in time to see the soldier kneeling and protecting his head with his arms—before she heard it.

The ground trembled as a thundering sound roared, shattering the ground into a thousand pieces. An explosion of light ignited brighter than any star before it was replaced by grey clouds. Without warning, debris and flares flew into the bus, bursting through the windows and crashing everywhere, making the bus the center of the blazing fireworks. Kate gasped and buried her head under her arms, forcing herself to welcome anything that happens after.

Darkness.

All Kate heard at first was the sound of her breathing.

An abyss. A void. A black pit.

The world stirred, followed by muffled crumbing sounds that Kate couldn’t identify.

A tingle.

Slowly feeling her senses once again, something burned on her hands.

Light.

Her eyes fought to open. Gradually greeting the new world. Pulling her loose hair away from her face and finally opening her eyes fully, Kate slowly greeted the new world. She crawled up and looked around, muttering her gratefulness that she still can. The bus has stopped. Kate let out a sigh of relief that it did not collapse and though fractured here and there, was still standing upright. Examining herself, Kate spotted no severe injury aside from some mild burns red on her hand. She was just covered with dust.

Her memories slowly crept back, and Kate felt a jolt of nervousness. Her attention quickly moved from herself to her passengers—it was then when she was finally aware of the desperate cries of the two little boys.

Kate turned to the two little boys in concern and was surprised to find them unhurt as well, except for the tears washing down their mud-stained cheeks. A burning piece of debris that burned Kate’s hand lay only a few centimeters away from them—she has protected them.

Behind the little boys, the boy with ginger hair stirred as well. There were no tears in his eyes, only shock. Trying to catch his breath, the boy frantically searched for his bag, and found it lying on the floor, completely spread out. Everything inside was either gone or blasted into pieces from the explosion. The boy grabbed the bag in despair, realizing that his family and himself are all likely going to starve, and whimpered shaky sobs. 

“You are fortunate to be alive, boy.” Came the raspy voice of the soldier, who sat on the floor as well. He looked at the ginger-haired boy with a benign expression and picked one of the damaged cans. “Don’t settle your thoughts on this, your family will be proud that you tried.” The soldier did not reveal any pain with his face, and Kate hoped that his recovering leg was not harmed.

The driver survived as well. He rubbed his face and groaned with curses, with his back firmly against his seat.

Kate picked herself up and carefully walked towards the windows to get a look outside. As expected, the scene was appalling. Street lamps were snapped in half, their glass bulbs broken on the ground; stone cobbles on the road were knocked up, deforming the road along with rocks and bricks; small fires still burned from the explosion. What was left of the bomb sat only a few meters away from the bus. The others also looked out, each sighed in relief that the bomb did not directly hit the bus.

“Shall we…shall we keep going?” The bus driver called to Kate, still panting himself.

It took a while for Kate to recover from the sight of the roads. “Is the bus in good condition to do so? Is anyone hurt? Does anyone need a break?” Kate asked. She looked around to each passenger—they shook their heads. 

“The bus seems to be able to work, and the road ahead is not as damaged.” Replied the bus driver.

“Well then… let’s continue on this route. Thank you.”

The journey after the bomb was finally peaceful. No more people came aboard, and the streets were mostly smooth, but Kate stood on her post nonetheless.  No one on the bus spoke, each looking down or playing with their hands uncomfortably, stupefied from the incident. 

At Regent’s Park, the ginger-haired boy and the little boys got down. The ginger-haired boy had offered to take the two boys to the shelter he stayed at, in hope that someone might want to take them, or help them find their real homes. He assured Kate that they will be alright, and stepped down the bus stairs hand-in-hand with the little boys tottering behind him. It was now Kate and the soldier alone.

Heading for King’s Cross, the bus reached a part of the city with tall grasses on the sidewalks. Kate looked out the window and saw a few magpies among the grass. Suddenly, one magpie chirped as all the magpies took off and flew into the sky, their wings fluttering against the wind. Engrossed in the beautiful sight, a subtle smile lit up Kate’s overtired face—her first genuine one in days.

It was then when she heard the song—watching the flying magpies, the soldier had started singing.

“The rain has stopped,

The sun climbed east.

The laughter rose,

The firing ceased.

The wind blew soft,

And set our flag flyin'.

It flew for the lost,

The misled, the dead.

On the front fields,

A red poppy grew.

On the dim sky,

A rainbow spread anew.

Out of the ashes,

What did men gain?

Only to throw us

Into it again.”