The man’s body hit the floor with a sickening thud as blood streamed down the windows and onto the seats. The passengers seemed to notice all at once and screaming erupted throughout the bus. People tried to exit the still moving bus or threw themselves violently on the floor. Michael wiped the blood off of his face with his handkerchief and reached for his own weapon. Thinking twice, he holstered the mean looking pistol and crawled into the center of the aisle. Pushing past frantic passengers, he made his way towards the center of the bus where it was marginally less crowded. The bus driver suddenly slammed on the brakes and people were thrown violently about the bus. Chaos ensued as people pushed their way towards the bus’ two doors.

                As he crawled, Michael’s mind raced as to why this had happened and who was behind it. As if in answer to his question, the throaty whine of a sport bike again filled the air. Michael peered over the bus seats but the grimy window was too filled with graffiti and dirt to get any view of the bike. Crouching in between two seats so as not to get trampled, Michael craned his neck higher to get a view of the bike. Bullets stitched a line of holes across the window inches from his head and he quickly dropped out of site. A couple of stragglers at the front of the bus screamed in terror and dropped to the ground again. As the sport bike made another pass, Michael looked around for what his next move would be.

                Whoever was shooting was clearly after him. In this crowded street, it would be impossible to escape by car but if he fled on foot the bike was nimble enough to chase him. They had shot into a crowded bus with no clear target discrimination so they also clearly wouldn’t mind civilian casualties. Hiding in a crowd was therefor out of the question as well. Michael’s mind raced as more shots pinged through the bus around him. Glancing around quickly, he noticed the pull cord that is used to signal stops dangling inches above his head. A plan began to form in Michael’s mind.

                Making sure to keep clear of the pockmarked windows, Michael timed himself by the sound of the bike that was still circling the abandoned bus. He pulled out his knife and quickly cut down lengths of the pull cord and wound them around his wrist. Crawling towards the back door, Michael quickly located an outlet box used to check the bus’ electrical system and opened it with his knife. He took one end of the pull cord and cut off the plastic coating exposing the metal inside. Michael then wrapped this end around the newly exposed bus cords linking them. He heard the motorcycle coming around again and readied himself; he would have only one shot at this.

                As the bike with his attackers raced around between the bus and the parked cars on the curb, Michael timed his throw and hit the bike cleanly with the other end of the cord. The exposed end of the cord made contact with the metal components and being connected to the bus’ battery, delivered a potent electrical shock to the bike’s electrical system. The battery was quickly fried and the motorcycle promptly lost power and coasted to a stop. Michael leaped out of the open bus door and jumped on the now helpless riders. The rear rider turned and tried to fire her pistol but Michael was to close. He deftly grabbed her wrist and twisted it, causing her to gasp in pain and drop the weapon. As her driver turned to defend himself, he threw a sloppy punch Michael’s direction.

                Michael blocked the blow with the riders forearm and drove the would be assassins closer together, limiting their mobility. Releasing the girl’s wrist, he grabbed both their helmeted heads and drove them together. Michael was rewarded with a satisfying collision and both riders went limp. Michael lowered them and their now useless motorcycle to the pavement and then disarmed them both of their guns. He quickly patted each down and removed their wallets and cellphones. As he turned to leave, Michael had second thoughts. He bent back down towards the unconscious assassins and flipped up their visors. Seeing no one he knew, Michael flipped the visors down and took pictures of the VIN number on the motorcycle and put both pistols in his belt. He turned his attention back to the bike and cut both of the rubber hand guards off of the handlebars and delicately rolled them in a nearby discarded newspaper. Hearing sirens in the distance, Michael quickly vanished into the crowds quickly accumulating near the scene of the shooting.

The End

6 comments about this story Feed