"You'll all get a chance to get something to eat and, maybe, take a stroll around the old town to get some circulation back into those legs. We shouldn't be long -- probably only a leaking oil fitting, but we sure don't want to break down out in the boonies. Do we?"

His question caused many anxious glances out through the tinted glass. There inquiring looks were rewarded with an uninterrupted view of miles of hot, rocky desert. The air shimmering with rising heat waves gave an appearance of hostile unreality.

There were sixteen passengers on the bus. They were the only ones taking the southern loop through Tucson. Bud, the driver, was anticipating getting more passengers in Tucson then continuing East to El Paso. He had been making the run for more years than he liked to think about. He always bragged, he could drive it in his sleep.

As the bus left the black-top and slowly rolled down the washboard road, he squinted at the small sign which read: "LAST CHANCE 2 miles."

He looked into his rear view mirror and saw a huge cloud of alkali dust marking their passage. He shook his head and wiped his tired eyes with the back of his hand. "Them folks in Last Chance will know we're coming, long before we get there. I wonder if they give tickets for dust pollution, like they do in Pheonix."

He pulled into a parking area in front of a sign that advertised truck repair. He parked the bus so that the passengers could exit on the shady side of the bus. Picking up the microphone, he announced,

"Folks, I'm going to be sorta busy getting this rig repaired, so you're on your own. You can stay in the bus and sleep, but I want to warn you --there'll be no air- conditioner, so it'll probably get over a hundred inside the bus. You'll be better off finding a restuarant that has a swamp-cooler. Get something to eat and wait for me to come and get you. Okay?" He opened the door, left the bus, and headed for the truck repair shop.

He found the shop to be deserted, but not like it was closed or abandoned. There was a Ford pickup truck being worked on. The hood was up, there were tools scattered around -- some on the fender and some on the top of the block, so he knew there had to be someone around.

He went into the office area. He spotted a telephone and thinking to maybe get in a free phone call back to his dispatcher; he was just about to start dialing when someone spoke,

"Are you, Bud Davis, the driver of that rig outside?"

Bud almost dropped the phone, he was so startled,

"Yeah, I couldn't find anyone around, so I thought I'd call in and report my breakdown. I was gonna pay for the call when I found the owner of this joint."

"Don't worry about that, Mister Davis. I'm Mort. I guess, you could call me the local peace officer. 'Cause we don't have anything but peace around here.

"Hiram sent me to bring you over to the church. All the others are over there, waiting. Hiram's our local mayor, judge, and he's the minister, too."

Bud scratched his head and looked down at Mort. Mort wasn't very intimadating -- standing only about five foot four and the combination of age and the dry desert had reduced his weight to close to a hundred pounds. He asked Mort,

"I hate to sound stupid, but why in Hell did you take all of my passengers to the church, and why does Hiram need me over there? I've got to get this damn bus back on the road. Don't have time to go to church."

Mort looked puzzled at his attitude. He replied, "Why shucks, the church is the only cool place in town. All the other air conditioners and swamp coolers wore out years ago. Nobody does anything in the heat of the day, but go to church and get their lessons from Hiram. Now let's get going before I keel over and you have to carry me."

Bud followed Mort out of the office and up the street to a large old adobe building. Mort told him that the building was an old Spanish mission built over three hundred years ago. The only modification appeared to be the double doors installed to block out the heat. It must have been over a hundred degrees, but when they entered the old building, Bud felt a slight chill. The temperature was at least thirty degrees cooler.

They entered a large hall with an altar at the far end. When Bud's eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he could see about thirty townspeople sitting in the back rows and his passengers were sitting in the two front rows. From the noise, Bud guessed that there were about forty separate conversations going on simultaniously. Mort lead him to a seat in the second row, then turned and joined the folks in the rear.

When the rear of the room went suddenly quiet, Bud looked up. Standing on the alter was a very tall man. His height was accented because of the tall pointed dunce cap he wore. The combined effect made him about eight feet tall, his cap and robe were scarlet, and his beard was shiny, black, and pointed. He was quite an impressive sight, and when he looked directly at Bud, Bud couldn't help the tiny shiver that ran down his spine.

"Ah, Mister Davis, I see that you've finally decided to join us. My name is Hiram and I'm here to help you."

When he spoke, his deep voice reminded Bud of an actor he had once heard in a Shakespearean drama. Bud wondered what kind of scam Hiram had going, here in this little town?

"No, Bud, acting isn't my forte. Actually, I'm a retired, professional, basketball player, and if you folks will just lean back and relax; I'll tell you why I'm here to help you, and why you're here listening to me.

"Let's start off by saying that almost everyone has heard about someone having an OUT-OF-BODY experience. Sometimes it happens when a person temporarily dies on the operating table, or at the scene of an accident. Well, it happened to me....

"During a game, I fell on the back of my head and broke my neck. Several vertebra were crushed. I couldn't breathe without mechanical aid, and I was totally paralyzed. They had to operate or keep me on life support forever. It was during the operation that I died."

"I was met by an escort and taken to a place where I was questioned about my life. Did I have any regrets? Any unfinished business? Were there things I should have done that I never got around to doing? If given a second chance, what would I change, so that I could leave at any time with out all these regrets?

"I asked my escort how much time I had to think out my answers, and he told me that I had no time left. I must answer now."

"This struck me as being so unfair that I got angry and told him that one thing I'd do would be to set up some sort of halfway house, where folks could take their time and make some carefully considered, wise decisions about what they'd do with their last chance.

"I had no sooner got the words out of my mouth than shazaam! here I am. I'm obviously not dead, but I'm not really alive either because I can't leave this place. God knows, I've tried. What am I doing here? I'm your escort, but don't get excited. I'll explain."

Bud, because he was responsible for the group, and also, because he was getting angry, stood up and raised his hand,

"Now wait just one damn minute, Hiram. Don't be scaring these folks with your ghost stories. You mighta had some problems, but we ain't had no accident, we ain't hurt or dead, and the only help we need, out of you people, is for someone to fix my oil leak."

He started walking to the door and as he did, his parting shot was,

"You may think you can't leave, but if some one doesn't fix my bus, I'll just phone for a tow-truck and get towed into Gila Bend." Hiram said nothing. He just stood quietly watching as Bud opened the doors and went outside. Almost instantly, he was back.

His eyes were wide and staring, and he held onto the backs of the chairs as he came down the aisle. He opened his mouth to speak a couple of times, but nothing came out; finally,

"The town's gone -- the whole damn town has disappeared," he croaked and collapsed into his seat.

Hiram smiled at Bud's obvious distress and spoke,

"I hope you noticed that the bus wasn't parked outside. As I said before, I've tried to leave this place, but I can't; however, you can and will. Although, it will only be at the time of your choosing. Let me explain:

"Your driver, Bud Davis, has often bragged that he could drive this route in his sleep; unfortunately, he couldn't. This afternoon he fell asleep, the bus left the road, and here you are at Last Chance house.

"Each of you, I'm sure, has some deep, hidden regrets. Something in your past that you wish you could atone for, make restitution to, or just something you have always wanted to do, but put it off because you were too busy or didn't have the time."

"Now, you get that last chance to do that thing. When you firmly make up your mind and come to me with your last request, you will be allowed to leave to complete that mission. However, I would suggest great care in making your selection. If you remember, I made my selection on impulse, based on emotion and ended up spending eternity at Last Chance, Arizona. I'll leave you now to discuss your options, or perhaps quiet meditation is in order. If anyone makes a final decision, I'll be in my chambers." He turned and disappeared through the drapes behind the altar.

Bud sat quietly in his seat. He was stunned -- his mind racing through its full gamet of emotions: first there was anger, anger at Hiram for making him feel so helpless, and anger at himself for bringing his passengers into this situation. For himself, he didn't mind too much. He was a little sad that it was over, but it had been almost over anyway. He had always feared a painful death -- dreaded it, but if this was death, he was almost glad it had been so easy.

It was the others that Bud minded -- he hated to be the one responsible for cutting their lives off short. Ending the lives and plans and dreams of all those people who trusted him and put their lives and safety in his hands. And he, he had responded to that trust by falling asleep and killing them all.

He leaned forward, put his head in his hands, and started sobbing uncontrollably. His shoulders were jerking from the strength of his sobs, and the sound was getting louder, when little Mort came up, threw his arm around Bud's shoulder and whispered,

"C'mon Bud, let's you'n me take a little walk outside." He lead the unresisting Bud out through the doors into the grey mist of the outside. He spoke,

"It's not so crowded out here and, if you don't try to leave the porch, you can sit here in the fog and get a lot of clear thinkin done."

"I'll leave you to get things straight in yer mind, but if you need me just yell 'cause I'll be close. Okay?" Bud could only nod his head. He didn't trust his voice.

In that grey, impenetratable fog, Bud sat cross legged on the porch looking inward rather than outward. He wasn't aware of time, hunger, or thirst during the time that he reconstructed his life out of bits, pieces, and scraps of memory. The more pieces he fit together, the clearer the picture grew until, at last, he came face to face with himself. He found that he wasn't all that displeased with the image, and along the way came the answer to many whys, whys he hadn't always wanted answered. With answers came calm. With calm came peace, peace of mind he hadn't known for years. Into the stillness, he whispered, "Mort."

Mort appeared out of the mist,

"You get it all straightened out?"

"Yup"

"Yer sure, now?"

"Sure as I'll ever be, Mort. Let's get it over with."

Mort just nodded and lead him back into the large hall, down the isle and through the drapes behind the alter. Hiram was seated at a large, oak desk reading. He looked up from his book and smiled,

"Come in, Bud, and take a seat." he gestured toward an overstuffed chair across from him, "I thought that you might be the first to choose. Sit down and tell me what you need to do and why."

"Well Hiram, Bud replied, as he sat down and leaned back into the comfortable cushions, "to tell you the honest truth, I really don't have any serious regrets. The only one I have, is falling asleep and killing these folks, but I know I can't undo that.

"I've never had children because of the damage caused by a claymore landmine in Viet Nam. I've never seriously regreted that because in twenty years of driving a bus, I've seen few truely happy families.

"By not having a wife, I've been able to do just about anything I wanted. I've never been a thrill seeker and still ain't. I wouldn't try sky diving even knowing I was already dead. I'm that chicken."

"Driving a bus is my whole life. Anything and everything that could happen to folks has happened on my bus. I've played mid-wife, marriege counsulor, and fight referee. I get to see folks at their best and their worst, and I love it. I've got my own private soap-opera going with a never ending cast of new characters. Who could ask for more?

"Hiram, next month they were going to take my bus away from me and make me retire. I've driven from Los Angeles to Tucson and back for over twenty years."

"Now, they want me to stop. That's not right or fair! I'm not old -- anyway, that's what I want to talk to you about. Okay?"

Hiram nodded and with a gentle understanding smile he answered,

"I was wondering when you were going to get around to your real regret. Everyone has at least one, so tell me, what is it that you really want to do?"

"Well, when I was just a kid, I read about these ancient Greeks who believed that Hades and the land of the living was separated by this river. It was called the river Styx, and this guy CHARON was the boatman who ferried the dead across the river to Hades. I felt sorry for the folks who were headed the other way 'cause they musta had to walk.

"I read up on some religions and learned that Catholics believed that there was a lotta folks wandering around in this foggy maze called Limbo."

"They really were in Purgatory -- halfway between Heaven and Hell waiting to be judged. Sorta like this place you dreamt up, Hiram. If I'm really dead, then what I'd like to do forever and ever is help those poor lost and confused folks who are wandering around out there in that fog. They don't know what's happened, where they're going, or which way to head out. I'm sure they'ed be tickled pink to see a bright pair of headlights coming out of the fog, and for me to pull up, open my doors, and give them a ride home.

"That's what I'd like to do, Hiram. That's what I want. Somewhere close to here, there must be a boatdock where CHARON picks up folks headed for Hades. Why can't I be sitting there with my lights on, my motor running, and folks getting on the HEAVEN bus? I ain't never run late in over twenty years. What do you say, Hiram, do I get my last request?"

-------------------

Charlie Adams pulled his bus to a stop and rudely crowded his way off the bus before his passengers recovered from the sudden stop. He almost ran into his dispatcher's office and collapses into a chair.

"Murphy," he croaked, "put me on medical leave as of right now. You'll have to get someone else to finish the run into Pheonix. I've had it." Murphy, the dispatcher was used to Charlie's tantrums, so he tried the calming approach,

"There, there, Charlie calm down and tell me what's eatin you. I'm sure we can get it all straightened out. Tell me, what's the problem?"

Charlie took a deep breath and lit a cigarette -- his hands were shaking,

"Murphy, 'member bout a month ago, when old Bud Davis fell asleep, rolled his bus, and killed all those people?"

"Yeah, terrible thing, and Bud being just a month from retiring. Really felt bad -- ya never know."

"Murphy, you ain't going to believe this, but just a few miles back, I hit a patch a tule fog -- 'bout five miles outa Gila Bend. Well I slowed way down 'cause I could only see 'bout forty feet.

"All of a sudden, from outa the fog comes this bus headin right at me. Its got all of its lights lit. I'm lookin up at the destination sign, when the driver honks at me and waves. I wave back, and then it sinks in -- Murphy, the driver was old Bud. I don't just think it was, I know it was. We've passed and waved for years, and I saw him just as close as I'm looking at you.

"And Murph," Charlie started to cry, "I swear to God, that destination sign on Bud's bus -- it said, "HEAVEN."