"They've caught up." The

  woman put the satellite phone back into a leather filing cabinet on wheels.  She's shooshed away the real people on the bus saying stuff like, "This is getting really weird.". And she was seemingly talking to herself in the conversation. 

  "Want in?" She asked out loud. 

  Us younger people thought, this is it!  The FBI or something wants us.  One of us sort of instantly glowed at crossing some personal milestone of knew it.  Another checked the swelling legs of the older person we were trying to get to a clinic.  "Hang in there Mabe." Mabe nodded.  "Will do, will do." We felt relief at that.  Then her voice swung low and dired us, "Lord willing, Lord willing." 

  "Do you think there are other Academics at the," the woman looked at the brochure, "Cultural Center?" The fake people didn't answer.  "Not in what script?" The woman asked herself. 

  There was a building further on up the smashed white gravel driveway.  We could see the roof. 

  That's it, the woman compared a photograph to the building when we got close enough to just get out.  The woman asked why the bus bosses took our little cameras.  Someone bit the inside of a lip. 

  Approaching the building we noticed cultural center signs had been put over the lettering that had previously been describing the building's use.  Some Asian people were indicating where a man with a slouchy briefcase should get on another bus.  They'd say Stormin' Norman and smack him on the back making ooooos and ahs.  One took a picture of two posing with the guy.  "Turn, turn," the one with the camera said.  The guy with the briefcase turned around bodily.  With the camera went round to face him, almost smiling, and held the camera out to him.  The person pointed at the three of them.  "Oh, oh," he guffawed. 

  "Where are you going?" One of us asked the woman who'd come to the entrance with us.  "For my luggage!  I'll go on that bus with him."