Chapter 001: The White Mist
Inside the Tour Bus
That day, a group of 320 eleventh-grade students from SMKN Teknik in Tangerang City was traveling to Indonesia's new capital (IKN) after landing at Sultan Aji Muhammad Sulaiman Sepinggan International Airport in Balikpapan.
Ten tour buses drove in a convoy along the highway, each carrying one class and their supervising teacher.
At first, everything felt perfectly ordinary.
The bus engine hummed steadily.
The students chatted among themselves, their laughter blending with music playing from their phones, which was gradually fading as the signal weakened little by little.
Then everything changed.
Without warning, the bus engine suddenly died.
A thick white mist burst in from every direction—not like ordinary fog rolling in slowly, but like a silent explosion engulfing every vehicle at once.
In a single second, the highway disappeared.
HURK!!!
Darkness swallowed them so abruptly that it felt as though the entire bus had been consumed by a space without light.
Everyone's body suddenly felt heavy.
Their chests tightened as though the air around them had suddenly thinned.
Every breath became difficult to draw while an invisible pressure squeezed them from every direction.
Several students instinctively grabbed onto their seats. Others clutched their chests, trying to breathe more deeply.
Their instincts told them something was wrong.
It wasn't just the darkness.
It wasn't just the dead engine.
There was an unfamiliar sensation that made the hairs on the back of their necks stand on end for no clear reason.
Pale faces gradually emerged in the darkness. Cold sweat dampened their foreheads, while some tried to hide their fear with nervous jokes or irritated complaints.
CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!
The repeated pressing of the control panel buttons shattered the silence.
Pak Marta, the bus driver, was visibly panicked. His hands moved frantically as he tried to restart the engine that had suddenly gone completely dead.
"What the heck is this?!"
"Where are we?!"
"Pak Driver, where did you take us?!"
Complaints began pouring from the students. Their fear slowly turned into anger—the easiest reaction when people cannot understand the situation they are facing.
"I-I'm... s-sorry... I-I don't know why this happened either..."
The driver answered with a trembling voice, clearly bewildered. He himself was beginning to feel irritated at becoming the target of everyone's anger over something he didn't even understand.
"Seriously... do they think I want to be stuck here too?" he grumbled inwardly.
"Come on, Pak! How can you still use a bus that's broken?!"
"I know, right? We paid so much, and now we're stuck in the dark..."
"Pak, turn on the lights! It's pitch black!"
"Yeah! Hurry up!"
The students' voices grew louder, and the bus quickly descended into chaos.
"Everyone, calm down!"
A firm voice cut through the uproar.
Rezvan.
The Indonesian language teacher, who also taught Civics. He was the supervising teacher responsible for the thirty-six students aboard this bus.
"You've all been taught how to behave with respect. Pak Driver is older than all of you. Mind your manners. Complaining and getting angry won't solve anything."
The bus immediately fell quiet.
Several students lowered their heads in embarrassment. Others pretended to busy themselves so they wouldn't have to look at their teacher.
"Thank you, Pak Guru..."
Pak Marta smiled as he said it. In a situation like this, even that small gesture of support meant a great deal to him.
"It's alright, Pak. Please keep trying to get the engine running again," Rezvan replied, trying to calm everyone down.
Pak Marta nodded and returned to the dashboard.
"Pak Guru... is your phone dead too?"
The bus attendant, a tall, broad-shouldered man, asked the question. His voice sounded unusual. Not panicked—almost too calm.
"Hm?"
Rezvan looked puzzled before quickly pulling his phone from his pocket.
"...It is..." he muttered in surprise. "Why is my phone dead...?"
"Pak Marta's phone... is dead too?"
The attendant asked again.
"Y-Yeah... you know something, Ndra?!" Pak Marta asked quickly.
"If your phone were still working, I don't think you'd be using a cigarette lighter to check the dashboard," the attendant replied flatly.
"R-Right..."
Only then did Pak Marta realize that he had been using the tiny flame of a lighter to illuminate the control panel.
The little flame danced in the breeze drifting through the slightly opened window, casting a reddish glow across the buttons that had become nothing more than lifeless pieces of plastic.
"This is strange..." Rezvan frowned. "How did all our phones die at the same time?"
RUSTLE...
SCRATCH...
CRINKLE...
The air inside the bus felt even more suffocating.
In the darkness came the sounds of zippers being yanked open, bags being rummaged through, hands patting pockets, and small objects clattering together as the students hurriedly checked their belongings.
"My phone's dead..."
"Mine too..."
"What do we do?! Mine's dead too..."
Panic spread from seat to seat like an invisible contagious disease.
Rezvan slowly tilted his head.
"If it was just the signal, I could understand that. But... completely dead... every single one... how?"
"The bus is completely dead... the phones are completely dead... and everything else..." the attendant said in his deep voice. "This isn't normal."
"Please be careful with your words, Bang. You'll only make the children more anxious," Rezvan said firmly. "And that won't help."
The attendant fell silent for a moment before giving a small nod, understanding what Rezvan meant.
Yet behind his calm expression, something had been turning over in his mind ever since this began.
Something he seemed to be becoming increasingly certain about.
"Is anyone wearing a wristwatch?" the attendant asked as he raised the lighter higher.
Its small orange flame instantly became the bus's only source of light, illuminating the tense, bewildered faces around him.
One by one, the students shook their heads.
"I am," Rezvan answered as he rolled up his sleeve. "But why, Bang?"
The attendant stepped closer.
He held the lighter beneath Rezvan's wrist and stared at the watch face for several seconds longer than necessary.
"So I was right..." he murmured quietly.
"What is it, Bang?" Rezvan asked.
"Your watch has stopped, Pak Guru."
Rezvan's eyes widened instantly.
He quickly brought his wrist closer to the light, almost following the flickering flame just to get a clearer look at the watch hands.
"I'm sure it was working earlier," Rezvan said. "Why did my watch stop too?!"
Slowly, he turned toward the attendant.
For some reason, his instincts told him there was something unusual about the man standing before him.
He was too calm.
Too quick to accept the situation.
And most unsettling of all...
He looked like he knew something no one else on this bus did.
"Pak Marta, stop trying," the attendant said to the driver without taking his eyes off the darkness ahead. "This bus isn't going to start again. It's dead."
"What do you mean, Ndra?!" Pak Marta replied, sounding slightly offended. His hands stopped above the dashboard he had been desperately tinkering with. "Why?"
"Most likely... it's an EMP," the attendant answered, briefly glancing at Rezvan.
"EMP?!"
Rezvan and Pak Marta repeated the word at the same time.
"EMP... Pak Guru doesn't know what that is?" the attendant asked evenly.
"I do," Rezvan replied at once. "I teach at a technical vocational school."
"Of course."
The attendant's answer was as flat as before, as though he had never doubted it.
"I don't know," Pak Marta interrupted, turning toward them in confusion. "What's an EMP, Ndra?"
"Think of it as a bomb for electronics. It doesn't destroy buildings—it shuts down anything that uses electronic circuits."
"But what causes it?" Rezvan asked. "Is it natural, or..."
He stopped himself halfway through the sentence.
He realized the rest of the question might trigger far greater panic among the students who had been listening silently the entire time.
The attendant noticed his hesitation.
"I don't know yet," he answered carefully. "Whether there's a natural cause... or something else..."
Whispers began spreading through the bus.
"Pak Guru, what's happening?"
"Why is it dark? Isn't it still daytime?"
"Did we enter a tunnel?"
"Why did we stop here?"
"Why does this feel so wrong?"
Unease spread like a virus.
"Everyone, stay calm!" Rezvan called out once again.
Translator's Note
This novel retains many Indonesian forms of address such as Pak, Bu, Mas, and Mbak. These terms reflect social relationships and levels of respect that have no exact equivalents in English. They are preserved to maintain the cultural identity of the original work.
Example:
Pak/Bapak — A respectful form of address for an adult man, similar to "Mr." or "Sir," but also used to show social respect.
Bu/Ibu — A respectful form of address for an adult woman, comparable to "Mrs.," "Ms.," or "Ma'am."Mas — Actually A regional term (common in Java especially center Java and east Java). Literally "older brother," commonly used to address a slightly older male or a young adult man politely.Mbak — Actually A regional term (common in Java especially center Java and east Java). Literally "older sister," commonly used to address a slightly older female or a young adult woman politely.Kak/Kakak — A gender-neutral term meaning "older sibling," often used respectfully for someone slightly older.Bang/Abang — A regional term (common in JABODETABEK, Banten, West Java and Sumatra) for an older brother or an adult man.