The bus rumbled along the slick, snow-dusted highway outside Idabel, the tires humming a monotonous tune against the pavement as the winter landscape blurred past the frost-laced windows. It was December 26, 2025, the day after Christmas, and the world outside was a pristine white canvas, fresh snow from the night before clinging to the trees and fields like a fragile promise of peace. Miko sat beside me, her hand warm in mine, her cat tail discreetly tucked under her coat, ears hidden beneath a beanie. We'd boarded early that morning, the Greyhound half-empty with post-holiday travelers— a weary family up front, a lone businessman dozing, the driver humming softly to the radio's crackling carols. The air inside was stuffy, scented with stale coffee and the faint metallic tang of melting snow from boots.
Miko leaned her head on my shoulder, her purring a subtle vibration only I could feel. "This feels right," she whispered, her amber eyes glancing up at me with a mix of excitement and nerves. "Canada, then Europe... a new start." I squeezed her hand, nodding, but my stomach twisted with unspoken fears. The plan was solid—meet Kira in Broken Bow for the forged passport, then push north to the border crossings where rumors whispered of lax guards and hidden boats ferrying hybrids to safer shores. Or south to Mexico if things went awry. America had shown its true colors: protesters shot in the streets, hybrids like Miko hunted like animals. We couldn't stay.
The bus hit a patch of ice, fishtailing slightly, but the driver corrected with a grunt. "Easy there," he called back, chuckling. I relaxed a fraction, but then—impact. A deafening crunch from the side, the world exploding in motion. A dark SUV rammed into us without warning, the force like a giant's fist slamming the bus off course. Screams erupted—Miko's grip tightened, her claws extending instinctively as her eyes widened in terror. "What—?" she started, but the vehicle careened wildly, tires screeching in protest against the frozen road.
Time slowed. The bus tilted precariously, the horizon spinning as it lost balance. Metal groaned in agony, windows shattering in a cascade of glass shards that rained down like deadly confetti. Passengers were thrown— the family up front tumbling in a heap, the businessman slamming against his seat. Miko's scream pierced my ears, high and raw, her tail thrashing free from her coat as she clung to me. I wrapped an arm around her, bracing against the seat, but it was futile. The bus rolled—once, the roof crumpling with a thunderous bang as it hit the ground; twice, the world inverting in a dizzying whirl, my stomach flipping with it. Pain exploded everywhere—my shoulder wrenching against the seatbelt, my head cracking against the window frame with a sickening thud that sent stars bursting across my vision.
The final impact jarred every bone in my body, the bus skidding upside down into a ditch, snow spraying up in a white plume. The smell hit next—burnt rubber, leaking fuel, blood. Groans and cries filled the inverted cabin, the emergency lights flickering on with a weak buzz. Miko hung limp beside me, blood trickling from a gash on her forehead, her beanie torn away to reveal her cat ears. "Miko..." I rasped, reaching for her, but darkness clawed at the edges of my sight, pulling me under like a relentless tide. Consciousness fled, leaving only the echo of chaos.
Flashback
It was Christmas morning, December 25, 2025, the snow from the night before blanketing Idabel in a deceptive peace. Miko and I had woken early in our new apartment, the mattress still our only bed, the TV murmuring holiday specials in the background. She'd purred contentedly as I handed her a small, wrapped box—a necklace to match the ring from Christmas Eve, a simple silver chain with a tiny cat pendant. "For my favorite catgirl," I'd teased, watching her eyes light up. We'd spent the day lazily, sipping hot cocoa, sharing stories of past holidays that weren't tainted by fear. Sylvia and Elena had come over for brunch, bringing cider and laughter, but beneath it all, the news reports loomed like shadows.
That evening, as the snow resumed its gentle fall, I'd sat Miko down on the mattress, my hand in hers. "We need to talk about the future." The shootings of the protesters replayed in my mind—hybrids gunned down for daring to demand equality. America wasn't safe; it never had been, not really. "This country... it's not good for you. For hybrids. They're shooting people like you in the streets. We should leave. Go somewhere safer. Europe—I've heard hybrids are treated more like humans there. Rights, protections. Or even Canada as a stepping stone."
Miko's cat tail had flicked uncertainly, her ears drooping. "Leave? But the hideout, Kira, the fight... and Idabel feels okay right now." She hesitated, her amber eyes searching mine. "It's scary out there, but... here we have a life starting."
I squeezed her hand. "It's an illusion. Trent at work—he's talking about assassinating hybrids. And the protests? It's escalating. We can't wait for it to hit us. Europe has laws—hybrids integrated, no hunters. Or Mexico—closer, rumors of safe passages south. But Canada first; there's talk of boats from the border to Europe, smuggling routes for those like you."
She'd paced the room, her tail lashing, purring faintly in agitation. "Mexico's closer... but Europe sounds better long-term. I... I don't know. Leaving everything?"
"We take what we need. You, me—together. It's not abandoning the fight; it's surviving to fight another day."
After a long silence, she'd nodded, hesitant but resolute. "Okay. For us. But how? I need a passport—hybrids don't get them easily. Borders are tight."
I smiled, relief flooding me. "Kira. She knows people from the hideout. Forged docs, underground networks."
We'd called her that night, the video feed crackling slightly. Kira's face appeared, her expression a mix of surprise and concern. "Leaving the country? Bold move. But yeah, I can get Miko a passport—fake, but solid. Meet me in the next town over, Broken Bow. Safer handoff there. Tomorrow?"
"Deal," I'd said. Miko had leaned in, her cat ears perked. "Thank you, Kira."
We'd packed light that night—essentials, cash from savings, the inheritance untouched for emergencies. The plan: bus to Broken Bow, meet Kira, get the passport, then head north to the Canadian border. Rumors swirled of loosely guarded crossings near the Great Lakes, where boats waited for hybrids seeking Europe—or south to Mexico if plans shifted. Either way, out of America's brewing storm.
The next morning, December 26, we'd said quick goodbyes to Sylvia and Elena over coffee. "Be safe," Elena hugged her. Sylvia winked, her fox tail swishing. "Don't forget us when you're sipping wine in Paris."
We'd boarded the bus outside town, a rickety Greyhound headed north. Miko's beanie hid her ears, scarf her tail, blending her in. We'd settled in the back, hands intertwined, whispering about the future—European cafes, safe streets. The snow had picked up, the roads slick, but the driver assured us it was fine.
Then, outside town, the ram—the car slamming into the bus's side like a battering ram, no warning, just impact.
End Flashback
Pain yanked me back to consciousness, a throbbing ache in my head, my body twisted awkwardly against the inverted seat. The bus was a mangled wreck, upside down in the ditch, emergency lights casting erratic shadows over the chaos. Snow swirled in through shattered windows, mixing with the acrid smell of smoke and spilled fuel. Groans and whimpers filled the air—passengers trapped in their seats, some bleeding, others unnaturally still. The family up front: the mother cradling a crying child, the father slumped motionless. The businessman hung limp, blood dripping from his scalp. The driver stirred weakly at the wheel, muttering incoherently.
Miko... My heart seized. She was a seat away, dangling from her belt, blood matting her furred ears, a deep gash across her forehead. Her tail hung limp, her chest rising in shallow breaths. "Miko," I rasped, my voice hoarse, reaching out despite the fire in my shoulder. She stirred faintly, eyes fluttering open, pain etching her features. "It hurts... what happened?"
Before I could answer, the crunch of boots on snow outside cut through the haze. The emergency exit hatch above—now below—wrenched open with a metallic screech, cold air rushing in. A figure climbed down, boots thudding against the inverted roof. Trent. My coworker, his shaved head gleaming under the flickering lights, eyes scanning the wreckage with cold efficiency. He spotted us immediately, a twisted smile curling his lips. "Well, well," he drawled, stepping closer, shards of glass crunching underfoot. "Knew you were hiding something at work. That cat bitch with you? Jackpot. And heading out of town? Makes this even easier."
Adrenaline surged through the pain, my vision sharpening despite the dizziness. "Trent... you did this? What the hell is wrong with you?" My voice cracked, fury and fear warring inside me. The bus groaned ominously, fuel dripping somewhere nearby, the threat of fire hanging in the air.
He laughed, a hollow sound that echoed in the confined space. "Cleaning house. Town's infested with freaks like her. You? Just in the way." He pulled a gun from his coat pocket, the black barrel glinting menacingly in the emergency glow. Passengers whimpered, one woman sobbing quietly. Trent ignored them, aiming squarely at me. "Collateral."
The shot exploded in the confined space, deafening—pain tore through my chest, hot and searing, blood blooming across my shirt. I slumped against the seat, gasping, the world tilting further as blood loss pulled at me. Barely conscious, spots dancing in my eyes, I saw Miko lunge weakly, her claws extending in a desperate swipe. "No! Leave him alone!" she cried, but Trent swung the gun toward her, firing twice in quick succession—once into her shoulder, spinning her back; the second into her abdomen. She crumpled with a agonized yowl, blood pooling beneath her, her tail twitching sporadically, her purr replaced by ragged, wet breaths.
"Miko..." I whispered, my hand outstretched futilely, the darkness closing in. Trent glanced around—the driver now fully awake, eyes wide in horror, fumbling for his radio; a few passengers stirring, one reaching for a phone. With a final, disdainful look at me—his eyes void of remorse—he raised the gun again. "Can't have witnesses." He shot the driver point-blank, the man's head snapping back in a spray of red, body going limp. Then, methodically, he turned to the others—another shot here, a muffled cry there—silencing the cabin one by one.
Satisfied, Trent climbed back out through the hatch, his footsteps fading into the snow. The distant rev of an engine, tires spinning on ice, and he was gone, leaving only the whisper of falling snow and the fading echoes of pain. Darkness swallowed me whole, Miko's labored breathing the last thread tethering me to the world.