Chapter 004: The First Death
Moments later, another gas lighter was found. Rafandra immediately flicked it on; the dim point of light danced, slicing through the darkness. With that small flame, he began scanning the surroundings of the bus.
The bus was still tilted, but fortunately, the children clung tightly to their seats; their bodies held in place, though their breathing was shallow and their hands trembled.
On the bus floor, the scene illuminated by the flickering lighter made Rafandra's heart nearly choke.
Chaos.
The children's bodies were injured, some piled on top of each other, positions distorted by the impact and the bus's tilt. Several wounds looked serious; blood, bruises, and limbs bent unnaturally forced Rafandra to catch his breath.
"Damn it!" he muttered inwardly, the thought echoing as if piercing the darkness. "This is bad… really bad."
"Bang?" Rezvan called, his voice hesitant, barely audible among the gasps and shadows inside the bus.
"Stay calm!" Rafandra shouted, his steps steady despite the ache in his body.
Rafandra's serious expression immediately triggered alarm in Rezvan; something truly dire was happening.
Gently, Rafandra guided Rezvan toward the lower part of the bus, keeping his movements stable. The lighter's flame in Rafandra's hand flickered across the slanted floor, casting glimpses of the injured bodies below.
The light was faint. Shapes appeared hazy, shadows intimidating; details were nearly impossible to discern.
Rezvan still hadn't fully grasped how bad the situation was.
"Pak, can you move?" Rafandra asked Pak Marta.
Pak Marta still seemed dazed, but he attempted to rise from his driver's seat. Rafandra helped him, ensuring he wouldn't fall on the sharply tilted bus.
"I think I can…" Pak Marta finally said after testing his body.
"Pak, please help…" Rafandra's voice was soft, but carried weight, pressing down on the air around them.
Pak Marta flinched for a moment, then composed himself, trusting Rafandra and following him.
"Keep your steps stable, or you'll slide down and make things worse…" Rafandra commanded, each word firm yet controlled as they cautiously navigated the tilted bus floor.
As they drew closer, the scene struck Rezvan and Pak Marta like a cold blow.
Their muscles tensed, tears streamed involuntarily. Breath caught, cold sweat ran down their temples.
Their bodies shook, holding back the sobs that struggled to escape.
Their eyes flicked over the chaos below—wounds, panic, disorder—a brutal reality that nearly stopped their hearts.
Rafandra looked at Rezvan, frozen, trembling, tears flowing uncontrollably. For a moment, he sensed the depth of fear and tension gripping the young teacher.
Pak Marta appeared steadier—perhaps because Rezvan had a closer emotional connection to the children.
But there was no time to grieve. Rafandra drew a deep breath, bracing against his own pain. He looked at Rezvan with resolve.
"Pak, listen to me… We can handle this," he said, calm yet firm, every word measured and in control.
Rafandra tapped Rezvan's shoulder, anchoring him, reinforcing stability on the slanted floor.
"Don't collapse now, or the survivors will lose hope."
Rafandra's eyes were sharp, piercing the flickering lighter's glow. Amid Rezvan's panic, one awareness slowly surfaced: fear would not help—they needed calculated action to save everyone.
"Watch your step…" Rafandra warned, handing a lighter to Rezvan. The small flame danced, giving them brief glimpses of the injured bodies below.
"Don't assume the worst. We'll check them one by one. There might still be something we can do," Rafandra added, his voice steady, soothing Rezvan while keeping the other children calm in their seats.
"Especially… if someone can still be saved," he continued, softer, attentive.
He knew panic, no matter how small, was contagious.
"Quick but careful. If they're alive and have broken bones, any reckless movement could be dangerous."
Rafandra held his breath, ensuring his steps were steady on the nearly vertical floor, eyes fixed on the darkness below.
Every movement had to be precise—each second counted; the children's lives depended on it.
Rafandra, Rezvan, and Pak Marta began moving slowly across the slanted bus floor. In some places, their hands scraped against bloody, bruised limbs; heavy breaths mingled with trembling. Every step felt like weathering a small internal storm.
On the top of the pile, Pratama and Kemal writhed, faces twisted in pain.
"Tama… Kemal… move slowly… I'll help," Rezvan called gently, his voice almost swallowed by the bus's groaning and shuddering.
With Rafandra and Pak Marta's help, the children were moved carefully, one by one, avoiding stepping on others trapped below.
The bus was still, but metal squeals and grinding echoed sharply—shrill, piercing, each second more harrowing than the last.
"Pak Rezvan… I'll hold the lighter," Damar's voice trembled from a seat near the door. Despite his fear, courage forced him forward.
Rafandra and Rezvan exchanged glances; Pak Marta held his breath.
A brief silence—then Rafandra made a quick decision.
"Hold it," he said, handing the lighter to Damar.
"Stay there. Too many people will just get in the way… just watch our movements, and as best as you can, aim the light where we need it."
"Yes…" Damar replied, still afraid, lips trembling, but he straightened and focused, gripping the lighter, guiding the flame through the darkness.
One by one, the piled children were carefully moved.
Some regained awareness, eyes glossy, some wept softly.
Breaths were heavy, but faint relief appeared on Rafandra, Rezvan, and Pak Marta's faces. The panic that had gripped them moments ago subsided—briefly.
But the relief was fleeting. In a corner of the pile lay two bodies, motionless, their positions horrific.
Pak Marta reacted quickly, shielding Damar's view with his arm, sparing him from seeing the gruesome sight.
Rezvan froze. His body trembled, guilt consuming his thoughts.
Every second felt like a dagger through the heart, while Damar stared in confusion, not understanding, still directing the lighter as Rafandra had instructed.
"Kid! Give me the lighter!" Rafandra's voice cut through the heavy breaths and pounding hearts.
"Ha?! Sorry, but the driver blocked me… I didn't mean to, Pak!"
Damar responded quickly, pale, lips quivering, misunderstanding the adults' actions.
Rafandra glanced at him briefly, breathing hard.
"Your task is done for now. Wait here and hold on…" he said, pulling the lighter from Damar's hands.
Damar nodded slowly, eyes fixed on Rafandra, trying to steady himself.
Pak Marta quickly crawled toward the victims.
They were wedged between the seat frames and shattered windows. Their bodies trapped between seats, heads bent at unnatural angles. Others lay motionless across seatbacks like seesaws.
Pak Marta gently tapped the first student's shoulder.
No response. Chest still.
He checked the pulse, the neck, the arteries.
None.
He moved to the second.
No response. No breath.
Both were still.
Pak Marta looked at Rezvan, shaking his head, expression heavy with sorrow. It was confirmed: both children were dead.
The metallic, iron-like, pungent smell of blood hit their noses—thick, sharp, metallic, biting all the way to the throat.
Rafandra held his breath, while Pak Marta averted his gaze for a moment before bending down again.
They moved slowly, with the little strength left, arranging the two bodies under the flickering lighter's glow.
Without words, Rafandra grabbed a curtain torn from the window—dusty, ripped, yet enough to cover the faces.
He paused, then gently lowered it, as if tucking them to rest one last time.
Pak Marta assisted, hands trembling slightly as he covered the frail body of Adit. No words of mourning—only silent prayers.
The sounds of heavy breaths and faint metallic clinks of the swaying bus continued in the distance.
Bagas and Adit.
Their bodies were not in good condition, but Pak Marta did his best for both.
Rezvan stood frozen, staring at his two students—children who had been joking in the back just that morning. His chest felt crushed, but no tears fell.
"Pak…" Rafandra's voice was hoarse, soft.
He said no more. No words were fitting.
Pak Marta looked at Rezvan, pity in his gaze.
He recognized the vacant stare—the look of someone torn between reality and denial.
Inside the nearly shattered bus, only the sound of held breaths remained. The lighter's glow flickered, dancing across the three faces. Death had come, and for the first time that night, silence felt far more terrifying than the darkness itself.
Rezvan sank to the floor.
Silent.
His hands gripped the cold arm of the child—so cold it seemed all life had been drained from the world.
Blood surged to his head, then dropped sharply. Nausea rose.
Adit and Bagas.
Their clothes were dirty, torn, soaked with blood and shards of glass.
Nearly two years he had guided them. Two years filled with laughter, tests, teenage complaints—now only memories.
His students. His responsibility.
"…I failed."
Barely audible.
"I couldn't protect them…" His gaze was vacant, piercing the void. "…What do I tell their parents?"
A wave of nausea clawed his throat, sharp as thorns. But he endured, fists clenched on the cold metal floor, scraping his own skin.
Rafandra and Pak Marta watched with sympathy, bowing their heads toward the two bodies on the slanted bus floor. Not a word was spoken. Only a heavy silence that made every breath intrusive.
They exchanged a glance—silent reassurance.
"They…" Rezvan's voice broke, barely audible. "My students…"
Rafandra held his gaze.
Pak Marta swallowed, then slowly patted Rezvan's shoulder.
"We understand…" he said softly, voice trembling yet firm.
"Be patient, stay strong. Your other students are still waiting."
"…Don't let the other children see them yet," Rafandra finally said, low, measured.
Rezvan nodded slowly. Jaw tight, eyes red, but no tears fell.
Not because he was strong—his body was busy holding everything in: anger, fear, heartbreak, shock.
Grief was not over. Suddenly, from the back, urgent shouts pierced the air:
"Pak! Danang fainted!"
"Pak, Rama won't wake up!"
"Pak… there's blood on Gilang's leg!"
Rafandra sprang up, turning quickly. The voices stabbed through the tension, forcing him to move without hesitation.
He ran carefully on the slick, tilted floor, blood and glass shards sticking to his hands.
Three students lay unconscious, bodies soaked in blood, breathing heavy—but alive.
Rafandra knelt, checking them quickly, while the other children watched anxiously.
"Danang still has a pulse… Rama too…" he murmured quickly. "Gilang—"
"Pak! Pak!" Kirana screamed, voice cracking. "His leg… Pak! His leg, Gilang!"
Rafandra turned, eyes wide.
Gilang's leg was bent unnaturally, the bone protruding, blood streaming onto the metal floor.
"Hold his leg, don't move it!" he barked. "Find anything to bandage—cloth, belt, anything!"
Some quick-thinking students tore off pieces of jackets, curtains, or cloth. Others were frozen, staring, trembling, mouths open.
"Why are you just standing there?!" Rafandra yelled, voice rising, half panic, half fear of losing control.
The children looked at him, eyes wet.
Some covered their mouths, some trembled, holding back sobs.
They were in shock. Traumatized.
The world they knew had just collapsed, and their bodies hadn't yet adapted to this nightmare.
Adrenaline seized Rafandra. He didn't notice how loud his voice was, only that no time could be wasted.
"Tear your sleeves!" he shouted, piercing the silence. "Quick! Those who are awake help the weak. Don't cry—focus!"
The sound of tearing fabric, ragged breaths, and stifled sobs filled the bloodied, dark space. Rafandra tried to get them moving, even slightly. One pause, and it could all end here.
Meanwhile, Rezvan slowly stood, his back pressed against the cold wall of the bus, trembling slightly each time the metal groaned outside.
He scanned his students—faces that now seemed foreign under the dim flicker of the lighter.
Some had regained consciousness, still in shock.
Some remained sprawled, forcibly asleep among shards of glass and dried blood.
Others sat hugging their knees, staring blankly at the fogged window, now completely dark.
"The children… they're scared…" Rezvan muttered softly, his voice hoarse.
He bent down, picking up the curtain that had been removed from the window, then handed it to Rafandra. "It's… dirty, but better than nothing."
Rafandra accepted it, glancing briefly at Rezvan. His jaw tightened. Inwardly, a creeping sense of regret surfaced—he realized he had been too loud earlier, his emotions pressing too heavily.
No one was prepared for this. Not even him.
Especially not the teenagers who had just lived through the most horrifying tragedy of their lives.
The bus felt increasingly suffocating. A soft white fog began to seep through cracks in the windows, mingling with the air thick with the smell of blood and dust.
Then, from the middle of the crowd, a faint voice broke through—shaky, small, trembling:
"…Where… are we?"
"This… is a dream, right?"
"Why… why weren't we saved?"
"Pak… we can go home, can't we?"
Each question felt like a small knife piercing their chests.
Rafandra inhaled deeply, then looked at Rezvan.
Their gazes met—they both knew there was no answer that could ease this fear.
Only silence.
And behind that silence, the world they knew felt increasingly distant.
Time passed. So far, no disturbances had come from whatever creatures lurked outside.
The silence was tense. Despair crept slowly into their hearts.
Their minds filled with unanswered questions—
Where was help for them?
Time had long passed, yet no sign of assistance appeared.
"We have to get them out… we… can't stay here," Rafandra said to Rezvan, his voice flat but firm.
"Out?!" Damar shrieked, pale, eyes wide. "Pak, out there… there are wild creatures we don't even know!"
"That child is right," Pak Marta replied, still slumped on the front deck.
"It's safer if we stay inside. Help will come soon given this chaos."
Rafandra looked at Pak Marta briefly, then responded, his tone flat but uneasy, tinged with frustration.
"We don't know when help will arrive… but if we keep waiting, we're just trapped with no certainty."
"At least… we can still wait. Inside is safer than outside, facing unknown creatures that have done this to us," Pak Marta added.
Dovi nodded quickly, followed by other children copying the gesture.
Rafandra drew a long breath.
"We don't know what's out there… that's true. We're safe inside, for now maybe… but how long?!" His gaze was sharp, contrasting with the calm tone he had used.
"Ndra, don't scare them like that!" Pak Marta's voice was firm, though tinged with concern.
"We're all afraid. No need to add more…"
"Pak, let's just stay inside, okay…" Nendra pleaded, face pitiful, followed by other children bowing their heads.
"Om, let's be patient… until help arrives," Pratama soothed Nendra gently.
Pak Marta patted Rafandra's shoulder.
"Ndra, hear that. Don't you pity the children? They're scared. Let's stay inside until help comes."
Slowly, the children who had been silent began whispering to one another. Their trembling voices betrayed fear and anxiety, accompanied by groans of pain spreading through their young bodies.
The once silent bus now hummed with soft whispers, fearful breaths, and the tension of lives hanging precariously.
Rezvan assessed carefully, his eyes sweeping every shadowed corner. He was confused; both outside and inside, the situation was unclear—no one had definite answers.
From the beginning, without a word of agreement, he, Pak Marta, and the children had tacitly fallen into place.
Rafandra's dominant aura was so strong that he assumed the leadership role without opposition.
From the very start, he had nearly always been the first to act, leading when everyone else was still trembling.
"Don't you feel it?" Rafandra asked amid murmurs and fearful whispers.
Some students lowered their heads, listening.
Some glanced at the nearest person, seeking guidance.
Others muttered, hoarse whispers responding to Rafandra's question.
"What do you mean, Ndra?" Pak Marta finally asked, tone flat but curious.
"This bus… it's swaying… unstable," Rafandra said evenly, though every word carried a nearly imperceptible tension.
"Then why?" Pak Marta replied, irritation creeping in, frustrated by the uncontrolled situation.
"We're inside the bus… but we don't know where it is," Rafandra said, staring toward the fog outside, even though it was dark.
The statement hit like a stone thrown into a still pond.
Everyone listening began to reconstruct the scene from the beginning—the rumble, impact, tilt of the bus, the pile of children—and tried to map it.
Where were they really?
The silence deepened. Only heavy breaths and small exhalations from children realizing the uncertainty in the air could be heard.
The tilted bus, the fog outside, and the darkness swallowing everything made every second feel heavy, tense, and uncertain.