lights of the police car follow the bus onto the shoulder. She hoped the cops in the car knew what they were wading into.
The thought of that waiting pickup truck wouldn’t leave her alone. A chill slid down her spine. Glancing at the teens, Charlie felt real desperation start to set in.
Once they get us inside that barn, it’s over. There are eight of them, they have guns, they can do whatever they want to us. Waiting for rescue isn’t going to do it. Even if rescue comes, these guys will kill every one of us before they let us go. We’ve got to escape from the bus. With a big enough distraction—maybe these cops will create enough of a distraction—maybe we can get the front door open and run. Some of the kids might be able to make it out the windows. A few. The fast ones. The skinny ones. The skinny, fast ones.
As plans went, that was about as sucky as everything else she’d come up with so far. It had almost no chance of success—certainly no chance of everyone making it out alive—but unless something else occurred, it was going to have to do.
I have to let the kids know.
She looked around at them.
“When I tell you, lift the handle and push out,” Abell ordered, loudly enough that Charlie could hear. He was talking to Ware, and something about his tone commanded her full attention. Focusing on what was happening at the rear now, she gripped the metal bar at the top of her seat back as the bus shuddered to a halt. The siren grew louder as the police car pulled up behind it. Blue flashing lights pulsed through the interior of the bus like barber pole stripes.
“Now,” Abell ordered.
The emergency exit door flew open. Even as the tinny alarm attached to the door sounded, Charlie caught the merest glimpse of the police car parked a few yards away. The passenger door was open. A uniformed police officer strode toward the bus, mist swirling around his feet. Local, not state police, was all she had time to register before the staccato sound of gunfire ripped through the wailing sirens.
Pulse leaping, Charlie stayed frozen in place for long enough to watch the cop’s chest explode into a pulpy mess as he got mowed down, to catch his partner emerging from the driver’s side of the police car with a shout and a pointed gun, to see that same cop duck behind the open door of his cruiser as a fusillade of bullets slammed into the car. Abell, Torres, Fleenor, and Ware were all firing out the emergency door. She heard answering gunfire from the cop.
Should I try to…?
Something whizzed past Charlie’s head to smack into the wall behind her, then ricocheted off with a whine.
That snapped her out of it. Forget trying to go out the doors or windows. Right now the name of the game was
Don’t get shot.
“Get down!” Charlie cried to the kids as bullets slammed into metal with a series of sharp slaps and
ping
s and the interior of the bus erupted into an explosion of gasps, screams, shouts, and curses. The clearly terrified teens obeyed instantly, throwing themselves to the floor between the seats. Charlie threw herself to the floor as well, huddling so low in the narrow space in front of her seat that she was practically kissing the dirty metal.
“Stop them! Don’t let them get away!” Abell screamed. Through the resulting burst of shooting, Charlie heard what she thought was the squeal of tires on pavement, and could only hope that both officers were back in the car—after all, Abell had said “them”—and were peeling out.
Go,
she urged them silently as the gunfire from the bus intensified until it sounded like a whole Fourth of July’s worth of firecrackers being detonated at once.
Torres’s triumphant yell of “Yes!” was followed almost immediately by a series of metallic-sounding screeches that Charlie, horrified, had to assume was the patrol car hurtling through some kind of barrier—like, say, trees. Then the wailing siren seemed to drop away—
“He’s done! He’s over the side!”
The thought of that waiting pickup truck wouldn’t leave her alone. A chill slid down her spine. Glancing at the teens, Charlie felt real desperation start to set in.
Once they get us inside that barn, it’s over. There are eight of them, they have guns, they can do whatever they want to us. Waiting for rescue isn’t going to do it. Even if rescue comes, these guys will kill every one of us before they let us go. We’ve got to escape from the bus. With a big enough distraction—maybe these cops will create enough of a distraction—maybe we can get the front door open and run. Some of the kids might be able to make it out the windows. A few. The fast ones. The skinny ones. The skinny, fast ones.
As plans went, that was about as sucky as everything else she’d come up with so far. It had almost no chance of success—certainly no chance of everyone making it out alive—but unless something else occurred, it was going to have to do.
I have to let the kids know.
She looked around at them.
“When I tell you, lift the handle and push out,” Abell ordered, loudly enough that Charlie could hear. He was talking to Ware, and something about his tone commanded her full attention. Focusing on what was happening at the rear now, she gripped the metal bar at the top of her seat back as the bus shuddered to a halt. The siren grew louder as the police car pulled up behind it. Blue flashing lights pulsed through the interior of the bus like barber pole stripes.
“Now,” Abell ordered.
The emergency exit door flew open. Even as the tinny alarm attached to the door sounded, Charlie caught the merest glimpse of the police car parked a few yards away. The passenger door was open. A uniformed police officer strode toward the bus, mist swirling around his feet. Local, not state police, was all she had time to register before the staccato sound of gunfire ripped through the wailing sirens.
Pulse leaping, Charlie stayed frozen in place for long enough to watch the cop’s chest explode into a pulpy mess as he got mowed down, to catch his partner emerging from the driver’s side of the police car with a shout and a pointed gun, to see that same cop duck behind the open door of his cruiser as a fusillade of bullets slammed into the car. Abell, Torres, Fleenor, and Ware were all firing out the emergency door. She heard answering gunfire from the cop.
Should I try to…?
Something whizzed past Charlie’s head to smack into the wall behind her, then ricocheted off with a whine.
That snapped her out of it. Forget trying to go out the doors or windows. Right now the name of the game was
Don’t get shot.
“Get down!” Charlie cried to the kids as bullets slammed into metal with a series of sharp slaps and
ping
s and the interior of the bus erupted into an explosion of gasps, screams, shouts, and curses. The clearly terrified teens obeyed instantly, throwing themselves to the floor between the seats. Charlie threw herself to the floor as well, huddling so low in the narrow space in front of her seat that she was practically kissing the dirty metal.
“Stop them! Don’t let them get away!” Abell screamed. Through the resulting burst of shooting, Charlie heard what she thought was the squeal of tires on pavement, and could only hope that both officers were back in the car—after all, Abell had said “them”—and were peeling out.
Go,
she urged them silently as the gunfire from the bus intensified until it sounded like a whole Fourth of July’s worth of firecrackers being detonated at once.
Torres’s triumphant yell of “Yes!” was followed almost immediately by a series of metallic-sounding screeches that Charlie, horrified, had to assume was the patrol car hurtling through some kind of barrier—like, say, trees. Then the wailing siren seemed to drop away—
“He’s done! He’s over the side!”
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