If she were to give credit where credit was due, Emma figured she'd have to start with the bus driver. At the time, though, she just wanted to get off the bus.
She'd gone to Target that Saturday evening, to buy a warmer coat and some microwavable meals; she was on the cheapest meal plan but her metabolism still stayed higher than the Empire State Building, so she scarfed down snacks between classes whenever she could.
Her shopping done, she'd boarded the bus back to campus and settled into the long ride. It was the last bus of the evening, and sparsely populated.
Around ten PM they rolled into the first stop on campus, and the only other passengers – both students, both freshmen – disembarked. It was just Emma and the driver, and the camera monitoring the bus was broken.
She pulled the cord for her stop but the driver cancelled it. She pulled it again and again he cancelled it. She watched him zoom across campus, past the unlit academic buildings and through the west dormitory hub.
They were at the edge of campus. Emma knew that the bus depot was somewhere to the west of her college campus, but she doubted the driver would go directly there.
For probably the first time in her short life, Emma was glad to be an Amazon.
The driver went up the hill, and turned off the main road and onto a beat-up side street, with warehouses on both sides. He was focused on the road ahead, fortunately: visibility was a bitch thanks to the snow.
Emma put on her new jacket, with the tags still attached, and stuffed the old one into her backpack with the cheap meals. She stepped down to the side doors and, after pausing to make sure the driver hadn't noticed the movement, yanked the doors open and threw herself out.
She landed on asphalt. It was white, she noted, but the snow only formed the lightest layer over the road.
Pain shot up her left arm.
She heard the bus skid on the wet road behind her. She shoved the pain to the back of her mind, used her right arm to stand up, and ran towards the main road. She vaguely recalled crossing the street as to be under the street lights.
She reached the main road and stood for a moment, to take in her surroundings. There were no cars to stop for help – not even a street sign to use when she called 911.
If she called 911.
On the catercorner was a storefront with a small parking lot, and two car lifts off to the side.
Car lifts. It was a mechanic. Dean had taught her a little about cars. "Always double-check their prices," he'd said. "Trust their judgment but don't be afraid to look for a better deal."
Emma looked both ways across the street like Sam had mentioned offhand once, and stumbled across the street. Behind her she heard the squealing of tires on the road.
She entered the mechanic shop at a run; she shoved the door open so hard it almost snapped the door closer clean off the door. She skid to a stop near the counter, gasping for breath and clutching her left arm. The two employees sitting at the counter stared.
"Umm," she said, "Hi."
Before they could respond, she added, "Rough part of town, huh?"
After a moment, one of them said, "The food court's downstairs."
"What?" If Emma tried, she could focus her eyes on the guy that spoke. She barely had the energy to do it.
"They're downstairs. The restaurants. Google Maps says the entrance is up here but it's not. Are you okay?" The guy stood up. No, she thought. Don't.
"What? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. So how do I get down there?"
"Usually we'd say to take the stairs outside," the other employee said, "But they don't de-ice them nearly enough." She and her colleague conferenced for a moment. "We have some back stairs you can take down. You should probably rest first, though."
"Oh." Emma realized how much of a mess she must have looked. "Thank you, but I need to get down there. Now. Where are the stairs?"
Once she saw the stairs she thought about reconsidering their offer of a chair and a glass of water. But she was an Amazon, and Amazons would not be defeated by staircases. Spiral staircases. Steep, narrow spiral staircases made out of metal that she almost slipped on the moment she stepped down.
Boy, she was a having a hell of a night.
She gave an encouraging nod to the mechanics above her. They returned to the shop and closed the back door behind them.
It was just her, the cement walls, a few yellow lights hanging from the ceiling above, badly painted railings and those stupid stairs.
She almost tripped over a dozen times, but she made it down to the bottom at last. It took her longer than she'd have liked to admit.
She took a moment to rest, then opened the door with one hand and stepped out into the store.