The Girl on the Bus

by N. M. Brown

  The cable around her neck tightened for a second, then grew loose. Vicki pulled it from her grazed throat and gasped for air, as she ripped the mask off. Glancing to the aisle, she saw the large man on the floor was holding his bleeding stomach with one hand, while struggling to open a butterfly knife with the other. Beyond him, the elderly man was trembling, as he fiddled with a rubber mouthpiece and large metal gas bottle.

  Turning desperately around, she saw two dead men in the seat directly behind her. One had taken a shot to the face and a smear of blood, brain, and bone rose up on his headrest, like a grotesque thought bubble; the other had fallen to the side, and was now blocking the aisle. Beyond him were several grunting passengers, clambering over the corpse in a desperate attempt to reach her.

  Vicki knew she had seven bullets left in the clip – not enough for all the attackers. Time seemed to slow to the syrupy pace of nightmares. For a moment, she considered turning the weapon on herself, but then she remembered what Leighton had told her: they will stop, if they are caught, if they burn themselves out, or if they are killed. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard her friend Laurie Taylor’s laughter, rich and sweet. These inhuman creatures could not be allowed to continue, or disappear back into the concealing folds of society.

  From somewhere out in the real world, she heard the distant swelling wail of a police siren.

  ‘Fucking kill her!’ the large man screamed again in rage and pain. In the moment it had taken Vicki to consider her limited options, he had opened the knife and thrown it at her. It flew through the air and the blade sunk deep into Vicki’s right bicep. A bright flash of pain tore through her entire arm and she almost dropped the gun. Instead, with the knife still fixed in her flesh, she used her trembling left hand to cup the weapon, and took careful aim at him.

  ‘This is for my friend, Laurie!’ she said solemnly, and fired the weapon at the centre of the large man’s chest.

  This time, the gunshot silenced him. Vicki stood up and turned, not to the rear of the bus, but to the front. Knowing she only one chance she held her arms steady and fired. Both shots hit the driver in the back. As he slumped over the steering wheel, the bus skidded and lurched sideways. The momentum of the fully loaded vehicle hitting the curb at the strange angle sent it rolling sideways, five of the passengers were almost instantly thrown out of the smashed windows, two were crushed by over three-thousand pounds of the metal death-trap they had created; the bus continued to roll before it stopped, nose down in a dried out creek, the only sound coming from the one wheel which was still spinning.

  41

  Leighton had raced back along Route 10, praying his intuition had been right, and the bus hadn’t left the road yet. He had checked the cop’s revolver to discover it only contained two rounds. His radio was crackling with intermittent bursts of activity, most of concerned with apprehending him. Leaning forward, he picked up the radio handset, and took a deep breath before he spoke.

  ‘Control, this is Leighton Jones - former detective with Oceanside. I have commandeered this vehicle in the pursuit of a major group of felons.’

  For a moment, there was radio silence, then an angry crackle. A nervous voice spoke to him.

  ‘Mr. Jones, you are not in a position to commandeer anything. Please pull the vehicle over immediately.’

  ‘I am travelling along Route 10 in an Eastward direction in pursuit of a silver bus, licence plate number TB14EDG.’

  ‘Mr. Jones, we need to speak to you regarding a serious assault on two police officers. Please pull the vehicle over, and await the arrival of the police.’

  Leighton’s eyes remained fixed on the road ahead. ‘I cannot do that. Please send assistance.’ He returned the radio to the dashboard, and dragged a hand over his face.

  When he reached the Desert Centre junction, Leighton found the traffic was much denser. Up ahead spotted the dull metal of the bus. In panicky response to this, he switched on the sirens, and began to weave through the staggered vehicles. All around him, horns blasted and lights flashed, but Leighton Jones was oblivious. His mind remained locked on the fact he seemed to be destined to fail to protect everyone he cared about.

  He caught up with the bus, just as it left the highway, and took a steep exit ramp for the Corn Springs Road. This was a road which Leighton knew from his many Sunday drives - nothing more than a deserted dusty track running deep into the mountains, ending in Corn Springs Farm.

  As the cruiser left the highway, Leighton could see the bus only a few hundred yards ahead. His frantic hand reached out and grasped the radio again.

  ‘Control, this is, Jones. I’ve left Route 10, and am now heading due south on Corn Springs Road. I have a visual on the vehicle.’

  Leighton pressed his foot down, and the car lurched towards the swerving bus, which sent up a cloud of dust in its wake, as it roared ahead of the police car.

  Leighton’s eyes widened in horror, as the bus suddenly lurched across the road, and shuddered on the stony verge, before swerving back across the road. It seemed to hover for a moment on the edge, before slipping off the road entirely, and vanishing.

  The cruiser skidded to a stop at the point where the bus had left the road. Leighton left the engine running, and the lights on.

  He stumbled out of the car and made his way to the roadside, where he saw the bus lying sideways a few hundred yards down the creek. Without hesitation, he scrambled down the steep slope towards the upturned vehicle. He was more than halfway there when he realised the gun was still in the car, but it was too late to go back.

  Struggling to stay on his feet, Leighton made his way down though the rough, dusty terrain. He stumbled and slipped. The bus had left a giant scar on the landscape as it slid nose-first into the valley, and Leighton used this channel as a path. The route was strewn with debris and several bodies. As he approached, he saw the doors of the luggage compartment had been ripped off in the crash, leaving a long rectangular cavity in the belly of the vehicle. Further corpses wrapped in plastic sheeting and duct tape had gathered at one end of the cavity.

  It was then the acrid smell of burning rubber and diesel found Leighton like an insistent ghost, dragging him back to his past. He stood hypnotised by the smoking vehicle, as if it were some modern wicker-man. He wanted to rush to the nearest door and clamber inside, but history seemed to have doubled back on itself again. Once more he found himself faced with a burning vehicle, and the agony of losing someone else he loved. His feet might as well have been nailed to the ground.

  42

  It was the strong chemical smell which drew Vicki out of the fog of unconsciousness. She opened her eyes to find she was pinned beneath the hulking dead body of the large man she had shot minutes earlier. The bus was lying partially on its side with Vicki pressed against the window beneath her. Her lower body was crushed beneath the weight of the body, which was leaking blood and fluids on to her jeans.

  Twisting her head to one side, she felt a searing pain rip down the left side of her upper body. She tried to shift the man away from her, but was unable to move her right arm.

  A glance to the side revealed the steel-handled blade was still embedded in her arm only deeper than before. Using her left arm she tried gripping the headrest to pull her lower body free. It was useless; his weight too much for her one limb to carry. She sobbed in pain and rage, then gripped the seat and tried again. Her legs shifted a little, and Vicki whimpered.

  That was when she realised that someone was staring at her. The elderly man who had been sitting in the opposite seat was now standing over her. There was a strange expression on his face - a mixture of fascination and contempt.

  ‘Please … I can’t move,’ she said.

  ‘I doubt your struggle will do much good. You hideous little cunt!’ He then spat on her. ‘I’d cut your throat right now, like I’ve done to silence my injured colleagues, but not you - I’d much prefer you suffered and screamed. It’s such a beautiful and pure sound. Language is a mongrel tong
ue, corrupted by every civilisation, but our screams remain pure and honest.’

  As he spoke, the elderly man began to pour fluid from a brown medicine bottle all over the surrounding seats. Vicki closed her eyes, and heard the scratch of a wooden match as the scent of sulphur filled the air. She opened her stinging eyes to see the nearby seats covered in bright, dancing flames.

  As the man struggled down through the mangled bus, he laughed, and called back to her. ‘When the fat man lying across your legs begins to burn, his body will melt into yours and you’ll be fused with him forever. I think Wendell would have liked that idea. They say burning is the worst way to die you know,’ he said gleefully. ‘I’d love to stay and watch, but I have dark business to do, and promises to keep.’

  Vicki closed her eyes, and let the steady crackling sounds of the fire taking hold fill her head. A hot drip of molten plastic hissed angrily by her ear, close enough to scorch her shoulder. Without opening her eyes, she silently brushed the melted disc off her blistered skin.

  A strange veil descended over her mind as she accepted her fate. She had embarked on the mission for Laurie, to find her killer, and punish them. In that respect, her work was done. It was okay the journey was now over.

  As she slipped further out of consciousness, and into some black void, Vicki hoped to encounter Laurie. More than that, she hoped to reach out in the gloom, and possibly find her father. In her mind, the sound of the flames taking hold became the comforting sound of the ocean; her surroundings blurred into the scorching sand, in which Vicki felt herself buried in the hot sand … sinking deeper and deeper.

  Somewhere in the confines of the bus, she sensed a presence.

  ‘Vicki, I’m here for you. It’s okay,’ the voice said softly.

  I know, Vicki thought, you’re in the darkness here with me.

  ‘You need to help me,’ the distant voice said, ‘I need you to open your eyes.’

  Vicki wanted to stay in the warm, safe abyss, but her eyes opened to find Leighton looking at her, his face soot covered, skin bleeding, and eyes concerned. She realised he had somehow, extinguished the fire and dragged the heavy man off her legs.

  ‘Hey there,’ he patiently urged. ‘I need you to reach up to me. Can you do that?’

  ‘We were right,’ she said softly.

  ‘I know.’ Leighton nodded. ‘But, you need help Vicki, so you must reach for me, okay? Do you think you can do that?’

  Vicki slowly raised her left arm towards the retired detective, who gripped her wrist, and drew her safely towards him.

  Once she was out of the confinement of the seat, Vicki could see for herself the carnage surrounding her. More than a dozen bodies were as she had been – crushed or pinned against the windows on the driver’s side. A couple of them who had been wearing seatbelts remained strapped into their seats. Almost all of them had their throats cut.

  ‘Come on,’ Leighton said, as he slipped a supportive arm around her waist. ‘This way.’

  He guided her towards the burst skylight on the ceiling he had stepped through, but struck by a sudden thought, Vicki reached back to where the large man lay, and yanked the cluster of collected rings off his neck.

  By the time Leighton had half-dragged and half-carried Vicki back up to the dusty road, she was struggling to remain conscious. Her shirt was nothing more than a slick vertical puddle, which seemed to be wicking away her blood. Leighton had hoped to drive Vicki directly to the nearest hospital then hand himself in, but when they reached the road, they discovered the police car was gone.

  ‘Shit!’ Leighton kicked at the ground.

  ‘The last one escaped,’ Vicki slurred, without fully opening her eyes. ‘He started the fire on the bus.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Leighton said. ‘The road is a dead end, and the police will be here soon.’

  Wincing against his own pain, Leighton helped Vicki to sit on the dusty roadside. He then sat beside her, with one supportive arm around her shoulder. Vicki tapped weakly at his leg, and he looked at her. She still had her eyes closed, but she began to speak.

  ‘You came through, Leighton - you saved me.’

  ‘No, miss,’ he said softly. ‘I think it’s the other way around. But, just you rest.’

  It was at that moment the orange jeep swerved towards them. It screeched to stop, and a wild haired man stumbled out of it.

  ‘Are you, Jones?’ he called across to Leighton, who nodded cautiously.

  ‘Where’s the bus?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They took my wife! Where’s the damned bus? I’ve been scanning the police channels. You said it was here!’

  ‘The bus is down there.’ Leighton nodded to the ravine. ‘But, there’s no woman on it.’

  Mike Bernal grasped his skull, pacing backwards and forwards in desperation.

  ‘Listen,’ Leighton said calmly. ‘Somebody from the bus got away. They took the car I was using. Maybe they took her.’

  ‘Fuck!’ Mike kicked at the dusty jeep.

  ‘This road doesn’t go anywhere, other than to a couple of farm buildings. They can only be a few minutes ahead of us.’

  ‘Okay.’ Mike nodde with renewed hope, and started back towards the jeep.

  ‘She’ll have a better chance of surviving, if we come with you,’ Leighton said, as he helped Vicki to her feet. ‘I think I can help.’

  43

  Janey had only just started on her journey along the dusty track, when she saw the approaching police car, and felt the sudden deluge of hot tears drench her face. She turned around and ran back towards the house, waving wildly with one arm while covering her breasts with the other. The car pulled up in front of the farmhouse and screeched to a stop.

  As the dust settled around the hot vehicle, a small, elderly looking detective got out of the car and glanced all around, before walking sternly towards the woman. The strange expression on his face, suggested he was both surprised and bemused by Janey’s appearance.

  ‘Thank god you’re here,’ she blurted, tears of relief already washing over her grazed face, ‘My name is Janey Burnal, and I was abducted. There was this bus, like a Greyhound, I was drugged and taken here, and-’

  ‘Did you call the cops?’ he asked flatly.

  ‘No, there was no phone. I was in there just-’

  ‘Is there anyone else here?’ he interrupted.

  ‘No, just me, but I think that others were killed here because-’

  The small man held up a hand to silence her. ‘I have one question for you, ma’am?’

  ‘What?’ Janey frowned.

  ‘What the fuck did you do to Mr Dyer?’

  Janey took a moment to realise the man standing before her was one of the men from the bus. She felt her bladder weaken. The man’s eyes were locked on her, cold and still, as he pulled the long knife from the waistband of his trousers.

  ‘You should accept you will die here today - it is your destiny. But, first, you will serve as a crude bargaining chip.’

  44

  As Leighton drove cautiously into the yard at the front of a farmhouse, he saw the police car abandoned to one side of the building. Despite his expectations, he found that Mike Bernal’s wife was alive and standing on the porch of the house. Behind her, however, was an elderly man holding what looked like a blade against the shining skin of her neck.

  Leighton, his face ashen, stopped the car, and stepped carefully out of the jeep. Vicki remained slumped, semi-conscious, in the passenger seat.

  ‘Well, it looks like the nasty little cunt got herself a sugar daddy,’ the elderly man called.

  ‘What do you want?’ Leighton asked, his voice strained and weary. ‘Whatever it is, we can deal, and you can let the woman go.’

  ‘Oh, you poor fool.’ The man laughed. ‘I’ll leave here, with both women and that jeep.’

  ‘There’s a perfectly good police car right there.’ Leighton nodded to the cruiser. ‘It’d be faster.’

  ‘And easily tracked from the
air, too. No, an inconspicuous old jeep will suffice. Now, open the driver door, then step back in front of the vehicle!’

  Leighton, without any other options, did as he was told, returning to stand dead centre in front of the car.

  ‘Now, place your hands on your head and kneel down. If I see you move, I will give this bitch a cheap fucking nose job.’

  Locking his fingers on his head, Leighton knelt in the dust.

  The elderly man pushed Janey out in front of him, and they moved around Leighton and towards the jeep. As Janey neared the vehicle, Leighton mouthed a silent prayer she wouldn’t recognise it. If she did, no vestige of it showed in her face. He knew he had to keep the attention on himself.

  ‘They’ll find you,’ Leighton called. ‘Then, it all be over. We know how the bus operated.’

  ‘You deluded imbecile.’ The man smiled, and turned from the car to Leighton. ‘You think this was just about some fucking bus?’ He then looked wistfully to the distance and grinned. ‘Social networks are a marvellous technological development, don’t you think? They allow all sorts of markets to flourish … and grow. Our ten-thousand subscribers aren’t limited to a fucking bus.’

  Keeping the blade held before him, the man climbed into the jeep beside Janey and Vicki. Turning the key, he started the engine, rolled down the window and leaned out of it.

  ‘Now, before I go,’ he called to Leighton, ‘I want you to see something very special. You ever see one bullet pass through two skulls?’

  ‘Please …’ Leighton began, but he didn’t need to complete the sentence, because he saw Mike Bernal rise up from the back of the truck and fire his pistol through the rear windshield into the back of the man’s head. A red spider web appeared in the windscreen, and Janey let out a long scream.