Free The Number 8 by Joel Arcanjo Page B

didn’t seem to bother most, but those that had a problem with it hung back and walked slowly, trying to buy themselves an extra few seconds. They stayed at the base of the steps and made a point of talking to the instructors. Dante and Asmir were first to climb the stairs, which they did wearily. The first thing they saw was Ben’s face. He had obviously been told or maybe he had seen the ambulance go past.
    “Are you guys OK?” he asked.
    Silly question on the face of it, but it was meant sincerely so Dante gave him the courtesy of a reply. “Seen better days, mate.”
    Instantly the driver knew what he had asked was idiotic because he closed his eyes tight and grimaced. “Sorry, stupid question,” he acknowledged.
    “Do you know what’s gonna happen next? Are they going to call us back to Auckland?”
    “All I know is that the police are on the way and they want to talk to a few of you. If everything’s OK, then I guess we can carry on with the trip. There’s no sense in canceling it. What would that really achieve except ruining the holiday of nearly thirty people? Oh, and the company would have to issue a lot of refunds, which they hate doing.”
    “What do you mean, if everything is OK?” Dante asked as the other passengers began to squeeze past him to their seats.
    “Well, if it’s an accident like I’ve heard then the police will allow us to carry on. I assume the instructors are going to have a tough time of it now. The death of a kid under their supervision is going to be hard to explain.”
    Dante looked down the stairs and saw the pain etched on the face of the old guy. He knew what was coming. The questions. The accusations. The intense scrutiny that his business would come under in the coming weeks. But, after all, he had spoken this into existence. He had tempted fate by telling the passengers lies about a death occurring here. Now that one had, Dante was pretty sure he wouldn’t be revealing anything to his next customers willingly. But Dante felt sorry him. He was trying to keep his wife’s dream alive while simultaneously teaching his son the ropes. It couldn’t have been easy. When it came down to it they would have to accept the blame, even though what had happened couldn’t be described as anything but a tragic accident. Or so most of them thought.
    Dante turned back to the driver. “Where’s Mel?”
    “Talking to the police, the company and trying to get in touch with the kid’s parents.”
    Then a voice from the back said, “He doesn’t have any parents. He was in foster care all his life, like me. He was all I had.” It was Viktor’s huge friend James. He was sat towards the front by the window. The seat next to his was empty but for a blue hooded sweatshirt which Dante assumed was Viktor’s. His friend wasn’t looking at Dante or the driver at all and was completely avoiding looking at the Viktor’s sweatshirt. He was staring out of the window, unblinking.
    “I’m sorry, man. I know he was your friend. We did all we could, I swear.”
    Viktor’s friend slowly turned his head towards them. “I don’t doubt it, I just wish I had been there. We’ve done everything together since we were ten. He was my brother…” Dante thought he heard the guy choke up a little at the end. Here was this giant of a man who had acted all tough showing genuine emotion. It was a strange thing to witness. Dante didn’t know whether to attempt to comfort him in some way or just leave him alone entirely. He looked at the driver who read his mind and simply shrugged as if to say, “You go do whatever you need to, but I’m not going over there.” Dante heard this loud and clear. He decided to choose the second option and leave him to himself.
    Dante left the driver’s side and joined the line of people that were making their way back to their seats. He was almost the last to sit down. Asmir gave him a look that screamed “What the hell just happened?” But he couldn’t give him an