Hail. Blue. Stop.

Autumn arrived with unpredictable weather, squelchy wet shoes, and the salty sea rain. Skies grew dark early, and the end of the school day gave relief to a coach filled with students.

The cheese and onion scent of body odour was a signature of pubescent teens whose final period was physical education. And like any signature scent, people were used to it.

Best friends, Sarah and Henry were in their final year, but still middle of the pack, and as such, they sat in the centre rows of the bus. They shared music through headphones, in a phase of indie pop-rock, they played Vampire Weekend’s ‘A-Punk’.

“You know when you’re in a dream but you’re like awake,” Sarah started.

In the stillness of traffic, Henry looked out of the window, painting his motion picture coming-of-age to the music.

“Oi,” she pinched his leg.

He flinched, shifting his weight to her. “What?”

“What’s the name of it when you’re awake in your dream?” she asked, scrunching her face at him.

“A lucid dream,” he offered back, squeezing his toes in his wet socks. “Have you had one?”

“Yes,” she sighed, pinching him again. “I was telling you all about it. You weren’t even listening, my god.”

“Oh.”

Huffing, she yanked the earphone from him. “I was saying, you can’t look at your hands or your face in a lucid dream, apparently it makes you go crazy.”

“Figures,” he grumbled back.

“I’m not crazy,” she chuckled, although while not certifiable, she often wondered what a straitjacket felt like.

With a wide grinning face, he pulled the earphone. “You’re just special. I only lucid dream if I have coffee before bed.”

She hummed, clicking her tongue. “I dreamt I was at school—boring.” She tapped through music on her phone until they came across another Vampire Weekend track.

Henry turned his head, staring out at the houses on the road. Most of the houses were decorated with carved pumpkins and stretched cotton balls mimicking cobwebs in their windows.

“We should walk,” Sarah said.

The coach barely moved, and it was growing darker.

Henry broke focus from the houses and the sound of gentle ice rocks tapping the glass. “Uh.” He scrunched his toes harder; they were still wet and cold. “Will he even let us out?” He craned his neck to see over the seats. “We’re almost at the roundabout anyway.”

Sarah grabbed her school bag. “Come on,” she yanked her phone, pulling both earphones with it.

Henry’s head followed like a lost dog in her direction. He followed suit as he swung his bag around a shoulder, shuffling out of the seat.

“Stay seated!” the driver called out.

It sent a quiet across the chattering students as they looked to Sarah and Henry.

“We want to get off,” Sarah called back.

“Sit down!” he shouted.

The coach moved forward, sending Henry into the side of a chair, thudding at his chest. Between gasps, he grumbled out all known swear words.

“Go on,” Sarah sighed. “We tried.”

As Henry moved, a force hit the coach on the side, it threw both of them into the empty seats they’d been in moments earlier.

The mechanical whir and grunt of gears and motors chugged.

A third whack sent Henry’s head into the window. He watched, face pressed to the glass, the ground outside rising. And in a moment of haze, he wondered if he’d always been staring directly at the asphalt.

“Henry,” a faint voice called to the buzzing in his ears, grabbing at him. “Henry, Henry!”

Sirens bleeped and echoed from all directions, casting bright colours across houses and wet reflective roads.

Standing on the pavement behind Sarah, Henry stared at the overturned coach and the three cars piled against it. They’d just reached the roundabout, and in a chain reaction, the coach took a hit at the side, and another, sending it over.

The hail didn’t let up. It continued, harder, threatening to crack windshields as it grew from a small tear-shaped drop to full rocks.

A team of construction workers were at the scene, stationed by police cars, they held ‘stop’ signs. Other emergency service workers operated quickly to get everyone out. They both stood counting. Sarah cried in shock while Henry shivered, taking on more rainwater.

“Are they going to take us all home?” he asked through the snapping chatter in his jaw.

She turned but didn’t answer. The rainwater and tears stuck hair to her forehead and cheeks.

Behind Henry, a house with a candle in the window and a carved pumpkin on the doorstep. “Let’s see if they’ll let us inside,” he said, turning to Sarah. “I’m really cold.” He noticed more of the school students in their blazers being pulled to safety. “Do you think they’ll have blankets?”

She raced off out into the road.

“Where are you—” he chased after her.

Pausing at a police car, an officer grabbed her. “Stay back.”

Dripping wet through, taking on more water by the minute, Henry stood behind. “Come on, Sarah, your school bag can be replaced.”

“Code blue,” a solemn voice called.

In fluorescent green and yellow coats with strips of reflective silver, two paramedics knelt on the ground.

Henry approached, undeterred by the invisible police barrier of officers standing guard. “Who is it?”

Sarah screamed. “No.” She dropped to the ground in agony, with fists at her burning tears, she pressed them in her sockets.

Henry.

He laid on the ground.

The two paramedics had done all they could.

But the hail continued.

The paramedic called code blue.

And everyone stopped to see.

“We should walk,” Sarah said, grabbing at her bag and standing. “We’re at the roundabout, he can drop us off.”

But it always ended the same.

Hail.

Blue.

Stop.