Author notes: Many, many, thanks to Tanaqui for relentless cheerleading and handholding, when I thought the story sucked and should be scrapped entirely. And of course for stellar beta and editing work. Without her, this story would've been so much worse...
Though some of the places mentioned in this story really exist, I've taken geographical liberties with the layout and appearance of those places, and the states they exist in. And while I don't think it's strictly necessary, it may help to read my story Triage first.
Summary: What if-AU. When Freddy lay dying in his arms, Jake swore he'd get Anna—and Freddy's unborn baby—safely away from San Diego. Suspecting Ravenwood is still on their trail, even after they make it out of the city, Jake decides to accompany Anna until he can leave her with her parents in Houston. His own plans for going to Jericho and talking to his father about his grandfather's inheritance can wait a few days longer. Little does Jake know those few days will turn into months...
o0o
Chapter 1
"Come with me." Anna clutched her purse more tightly under her arm, the envelope of cash Jake had pressed on her already hidden deep at the bottom. "You can start over, too." She peered up at him, a mixture of misery and hope on her face.
A mechanical voice over the Albuquerque bus station's PA system gave the call for her bus: "Platform six for Houston." Despite the early hour, the morning sun was already warm, and its glare reflected off of the white buses around them. Jake had to squint to meet Anna's gaze.
He shook his head. "No, I can't." Much as he wanted to simply get on another bus with her and disappear, it wasn't possible. He had something else to take care of first. "Not yet."
He'd spent the bus ride here, from San Diego to Albuquerque, going over his options, trying to figure out what to do. He had no real choice: he was flat out of money and, in their haste to get away, had brought nothing with him except the clothes on his back and the spare jeans and shirt in his duffel. Although it was the last thing he wanted, he had to return to Jericho. If he could get Dad to release the money Grandpa had left him, he could―he suppressed a wry huff: if he could get Dad to release the money. He wasn't holding out much hope he'd convince his father he'd changed―not with Freddy's blood still staining the creases of his palms―but five years was a long time, and perhaps his father's outlook would be different.
In any case, it was past time he said his farewells to his grandfather. If nothing else came of it, he'd have peace of mind, at least.
He was about to give Anna a light nudge in the direction of her platform, confirming she should go alone, when he caught sight of a black SUV rolling slowly by the bus station from the corner of his eye. He froze with his hand half-raised, not hearing Anna's answer as he tracked the car. It probably meant nothing: black SUVs were a dime a dozen, and sometimes a car was just a car. But―.
Freddy's warning echoed in his mind: They're gonna come after you.
"All passengers for Houston. Platform six." For a second time, the warning rang out, in the dull, toneless voice of an announcer who'd uttered the same words countless times.
The SUV turned the corner and disappeared from view without slowing. Jake hesitated, doubting his choice again. Maybe he should see Anna safe all the way to her parents' house. Jericho would wait; it had been five years and if it took him a few extra days to get there, it'd make no difference. But was that the right decision? As he'd assured Anna, Ravenwood likely wouldn't be interested in her any longer once she'd parted ways with Jake; they were far likelier to chase him than her, and if he went in another direction, he'd lure them away from her. On the other hand, she wasn't home yet, and if he let her go on alone and something happened to her or the baby...
All I care about is Anna and my kid. The words Freddy had gasped with his dying breath echoed in Jake's brain. He took Anna's elbow.
"Let's go."
"Jake? What―?" His sudden urgency startled her, and she shook him off.
He didn't want to explain, didn't want to distress her without a reason. After all, his fear that the SUV was government issue―or Ravenwood issue―didn't necessarily make it true. "I've changed my mind, I'm coming with you."
Her face lit up with relief. "Then hurry!"
She followed on Jake's heels as they wound around empty buses and a few cars dropping people off, until they located platform six. Passengers were already boarding the coach, its engine running and rumbling deeply so the entire bus vibrated visibly.
"Go ahead. I'll be right there." Giving Anna a last, gentle push toward the bus, Jake jogged over to the ticket office and joined the short line of people wanting to buy tickets. As he reached the front of the line and gave his destination to the tired-looking woman behind the counter, the disembodied voice announced overhead, "Last call for Houston. Platform six."
Jake hopped impatiently on the balls of his feet, glaring at the ticket-seller to hurry up. It'd just be his luck if he missed the bus at the last second. It seemed to take forever, but she finally slid his ticket across. She never even looked at him.
Snatching up the ticket, Jake sprinted to the platform, his duffel bouncing against his back. The bus driver blinked ruefully at him as he squeezed through doors that were already hissing shut, but he didn't say a word.
Anna was sitting in the same place as they had on the bus out of San Diego: partway along the aisle, occupying a window seat. She'd put her purse on the seat beside her.
"That was close." She gave him a tired smile and moved her purse so he could sit down.
Shoving their bags into the overhead bin, he slipped in beside her. He nodded absently, peering out of the window in search of the SUV while trying not to be obvious about it.
He didn't see the SUV, not then or at any point along the route to I-40. As the bus gathered speed, settling in for the long haul, he blew out a relieved breath. Perhaps it had been a false alarm after all. Resting his head against the seat, he allowed himself to relax.
o0o
Dusk saw Jake and Anna a dozen miles south of Vernon, Texas. The hills of New Mexico had given way to the farm fields of the Texas panhandle hours ago. As the bus went on rambling through the landscape, Jake wriggled in his seat, trying to make himself more comfortable. "Sorry," he muttered when he stabbed Anna with an elbow.
"'s Okay." She offered him a wan smile in return.
She looks tired. Her eyes were dull with fatigue and grief. Jake was very aware in that moment that he wasn't supposed to be the one sitting next to her, and he suspected Anna was as well.
At least they'd apparently shaken off their tail―if there ever had been one. They'd eaten an early lunch at a roadside restaurant in Amarillo, during a layover waiting for their connecting bus that lasted several hours. While Anna picked at a burger and fries, Jake had scanned every passing car, paying extra attention to any vehicle turning into the parking lot. Nobody had seemed unduly interested in either Anna or himself, and he'd seen nothing to further raise his suspicions they were being followed.
He shifted again, still trying to alleviate the numbness in his butt, and wistfully pictured his old, speedy Roadrunner, gathering dust under a tarp in a Denver garage. It had been a long night, and an even longer day, and they weren't halfway to Houston yet.
"Why don't you take a seat opposite?" Anna suggested when Jake repositioned himself a third time. He blinked at her, puzzled. "It's not like there's no room."
She had a point there: the bus was less than half full and there were plenty of empty seats. He regarded her more carefully, searching for a hidden meaning behind her suggestion. Was she regretting she'd asked him to come with her?
"I didn't―." Faint color rose in her cheeks, as if she knew what he was thinking. "I mean, you'd have more space there." She grinned shyly. "And what could possibly happen to me?"
"You're right. Sorry." The seats were narrow. He offered her a lopsided grin to concede the point. "I'll be―." He waved vaguely and got to his feet. Anna immediately took advantage of the space he'd created, drawing up one leg and curling her foot under her as Jake plopped down on the other side of the aisle. With two seats to himself, he no longer needed to be mindful about accidentally bumping into her every time he moved and, as he quickly discovered, he could relax more easily. He shot her another grin, a grateful one this time, and she smiled back as he made himself comfortable.
Outside, endless wheat and corn fields were gliding by, their crops tainted red with the light of the sun sinking toward the western horizon. Jake squinted into its hot glow for a while, before letting his eyes drift shut. Sprawled over the two seats, he settled in for a cat nap. What else was there to do while the bus chugged along?
Without warning, the driver slammed the brakes, hard. People shouted in surprise and the sudden jolt propelled Jake off his seat as the bus screeched to a halt. He barely had time to brace himself against the back of the seat in front of him to avoid slamming into it face first. His eyes flew open. What the...?
"Oh my God..." Anna's breath hitched as she whispered the words.
Jake swung toward her, concerned. "Are you hurt?"
She wasn't looking at him. "Jake, look..."
He didn't need to ask what she was talking about. The bus was angled on the road, having skidded sideways during its emergency stop. The window on Anna's side was facing directly southeast, giving him an unhindered view of the strip of asphalt running off toward the horizon. And on the horizon—.
Jake's jaw dropped and he had a strong urge to scrub at his eyes, thinking what he was seeing wasn't real. He recognized the imagery, of course; had seen it in history books and old photographs, and CGI'ed into a dozen apocalyptic science fiction movies. Never in his worst nightmares, not even during those deadly days in Iraq, where every trip down Route Irish meant running a gauntlet of snipers and IEDs, had he ever dreamed he'd see it for real: the mushroom cloud of what could only be a nuclear explosion.
In a way, it was beautiful. The mushroom rose hundreds, no, thousands of feet into the air, slowly billowing higher and higher, the setting sun painting the cloud in bright pink and deep purple and warm orange, the colors starkly offset against the darkening sky to the east.
After a few moments—or maybe it was minutes, Jake wasn't sure—he became aware of the heavy, dazed silence around him. He must've moved across the aisle, finding himself half-standing behind Anna, leaning forward over her, his hands curled around the tops of the seats in front and behind her.
A girl several rows to the front whimpered, the sound loud in the stunned quiet of the bus. Tearing his eyes away from the horrific column of smoke, Jake glanced in her direction. He'd seen her board in Abilene, surprised she was traveling on her own when she looked only twelve or thirteen. He hadn't known the bus company allowed unaccompanied young teens.
"Is... Is that... Dallas?" If not for the silence that reigned in the bus, the softly stammered question would never have reached Jake's ears. Swiveling his head toward the speaker, Jake saw an elderly woman sitting a few rows further back beside an equally elderly man―her husband, he guessed. Her lined face was pale beneath a cap of gray curls, and the blusher she'd painted on her cheeks stood out sharply. Her eyes were round, glued to the scene in the distance.
"I don't know," her husband whispered back, his voice low and as heavy with shock as hers.
"Jake?" Anna gripped Jake's arm, her fingers digging into his flesh, asking him the same question. He shook his head: he had as little idea as the old man what was happening. The angle of view, the direction, both were exactly right for Dallas, and it was certainly far enough away, even though they could see the cloud clearly. Jake simply couldn't picture any other objective that would've been targeted for such an explosion.
Maybe it was an accident, he cautioned mentally, stopping his imagination from running wild. Even in Iraq, dumb luck and accidents had happened. And an accident would be preferable over the alternative...
"What do we do now?" The questioner was a blonde woman in her forties, who'd sequestered herself with a paperback book in the back of the bus. She was still holding the book, her finger curled to mark the page she'd stopped reading at. Jake didn't think she was aware of it.
Nobody answered. Far to the southeast, the smoke was slowly dissipating, the colors dulling as the sun sank beneath the horizon in the west.
"We're going back." The driver's voice rang loud in the silence. He restarted the engine and shifted the bus into gear. "Back to Vernon, to the depot. Sorry, folks."
Slowly, the bus inched backwards as the driver tried to regain his grip on the asphalt.
"What? No... no, you can't!" Two rows ahead of Jake and Anna, a man in a crumpled suit jumped from his seat. He stumbled to the front of the bus, awkwardly holding onto the seat backs as he navigated along the aisle and past the teenaged girl. "I have to get to Dallas tonight!"
The driver paused in his attempts to get the bus moving. He shot the passenger an irritated glare, before concentrating on his steering wheel again. "Did you see that cloud?" He was carefully maneuvering the bus backward and forward, trying to turn it on the narrow road without putting a wheel in a ditch. "No way in hell I'm drivin' toward that."
"No, no, no," the passenger muttered. He shoved his glasses up his nose with the back of his hand, breathing hard, on the brink of hyperventilating.
The driver put on the brake and swiveled around fully in his seat, addressing the upset passenger. "Sir, to be honest, I don't think there's a Dallas left to go to. If we return to Vernon, we can―."
He broke off abruptly. The passenger was leaning forward, gesturing at the driver with something in his hand. Jake saw the driver's eyes widen and his own stomach lurched as he got a good look. The driver had switched on the interior lights against the growing darkness outside a few minutes earlier, and the yellow glow glinted off of the black metallic object the passenger held.
A gun! Jake clenched his jaw in irritation; dammit, as if the situation wasn't already bad enough, this guy had to make it worse.
Not everyone had the same angle of view of the driver as Jake did, and he reckoned none of the other passengers could see the weapon. Just as well. Coming on the heels of the mushroom cloud, the sight of a gun certainly would've set off a panic. Jake tried to decide whether and how to intervene before the situation got out of hand completely.
"Hang on, dude, let's—." A jeans-clad guy with long, graying hair laboriously dragged himself to his feet from three rows behind the driver and across the aisle.
The gunman whipped around at the sound of his voice, and the rest of what the man in jeans had been planning to say died on his lips. "Whoa...!" He spread his hands and sat back down slowly. Twin sharp intakes of breath told Jake the older couple behind them had also spotted the weapon now. The girl, fortunately, wasn't aware of what was going on. Jake suspected she was crying, from the faint sniffling noises she was making. He briefly wondered if she was in shock or in pain, before the man with the gun spoke again.
"We. Are. Going. To. Dallas!" Turning back to the driver, the passenger jabbed him with the weapon with every word. The gun shook in his grip and he looked at least as frightened as his victim.
Someone needed to take action, and do it fast. Though the bus was largely empty, if this idiot lost control and started shooting in the narrow space, someone was bound to get hit.
Jake dipped his head toward Anna, pitching his voice low. "Stay down." The whites of her eyes showing, she slid down as far as she could, leaving only the top of her head visible over the seats. Jake didn't know what kind of protection a bus seat would provide against bullets; it'd certainly be better than none.
Jake risked a glance behind. Everyone else sat frozen in their seats, but he met the elderly gentleman's gaze. Understanding bloomed between them. The man leaned over to whisper to his wife. Thinking he'd done all he could to make certain the other passengers were as safe as could be, Jake mentally braced himself and slowly straightened.
"Sir?"
As soon as Jake spoke, the armed man spun in his direction, training the gun on him. The trembling had gotten worse and the muzzle wavered uncertainly. Jake forced himself to keep moving forward slowly, trying to remain outwardly calm, while his insides twisted with fear. The guy's hand was shaking so badly that he risked the weapon going off by accident. And Jake would be right in the line of fire...
Dragging his eyes from the gun, he lifted his head to meet the passenger's gaze. Two or three paces away, he stopped moving. The gunman was in his forties, his suit was creased, and strands of thin hair had been combed across to try, unsuccessfully, to hide a balding pate. He far more resembled a door-to-door salesman than the type of person who'd hold a bus driver at gun point.
"Please, sir, put the gun down." Jake kept his voice deliberately low, as if speaking to a skittish horse. "We can figure this out if you put the gun down." He held the man's gaze, seeing the fear and panic in his eyes. "Please."
The man's breathing eased a little and the muzzle of the gun started dipping. Jake reached out with one hand, careful to make no sudden moves, intent on taking the gun from him.
The bus driver lacked Jake's patience: Jake was aware of him inching up behind the gunman. He tried to warn the driver off without alerting the passenger, but the driver was too focused on the gun.
"Don't...!" Jake cried out the warning, but too late. The driver jumped forward, making a grab for the gunman. The two of them wrestled together, fighting for possession of the gun, their struggle clumsy in the narrow space between the rows of seats.
With a loud bang, the gun went off. The noise shook the bus and left Jake's ears ringing. Somewhere behind Jake, a woman screamed, but he paid her no mind, his attention fixed on the two men in front of him.
For a heartbeat or two, everything congealed in time. Then, as the noise of the shot faded, the bus driver slowly slid from the gunman's embrace, landing gracelessly onto his back on the floor. Red bloomed on his chest, staining his blue uniform shirt an inch underneath his name tag..
"Oh...! No, nooo...!" the gunman moaned, goggling in horror at the man lying at his feet. No longer trying to be careful, Jake dashed forward and wrested the gun from the gunman's limp hands before he could recollect his wits and threaten anyone else. Quickly unloading it, Jake stuffed the weapon in his belt at his back and the clip in his pocket.
The passenger turned tear-filled eyes on him. "I... I d―didn't mean...," he stammered, pleading for Jake to understand.
Jake waved him aside impatiently, blindly shoving him between a pair of seats to give him room to kneel and check on the driver. Placing his fingertips against the man's throat, Jake closed his eyes, praying he'd feel a pulse.
He found none.
"He's dead." Jake opened his eyes and hauled himself to his feet.
"Dammit." The man in the denim jacket stood up again, peering down curiously at the driver's body. An inch-wide button on his denim lapel proclaimed him a Beatles fan. Below the button was a peace sign. "So, what next?" He gestured in the direction of the disarmed passenger, who was still slumped on the seat Jake had pushed him on to. "And what do we do with him?"
Jake shrugged. How the hell was he supposed to know? All the fight had gone out of the man: his eyes stared unseeingly into the distance and his lips moving silently. Still, best not take any chances. "Tie him up, I guess," he suggested. "Take him to Vernon and get the sheriff." What else could they do?
"But... but what about Dallas?" the old lady asked. "Maybe he was right, maybe we should go on?"
"Did you see that damned cloud?" Beatles Fan demanded. He'd taken off his belt and was wrapping it around the gunman's unresisting wrists. "No damned way am I gonna stay on this bus if it goes to Dallas."
"Doesn't matter where we want to go." It was the booklady, though she'd put her book away. "We no longer have a driver." She deliberately avoided looking at the driver's crumpled body.
The double shock of seeing the mushroom cloud and a man getting killed in front of them was starting to wear off. Someone else protested he hadn't paid for a bus ticket so that he had to walk. Another reported to nobody in particular that her cell phone wasn't working and that she couldn't get through to the emergency services. Jake tuned out their clamor. He'd turned to check Anna was okay—she gave him a reassuring nod as she peered cautiously over the edge of the seat in front of her—but his attention had been caught by the teenage girl sitting several rows in front.
The girl was holding a palm to her forehead, and there were streaks of blood on her face, while her skin was almost white beneath the red. She must've slammed into the seat before her when the bus screeched to a halt and it had been pain and not fear that had her whimpering.
"Hey. You okay?" He knelt in the aisle beside her seat.
Shifting eyes that were too large for her face to look at him, her focus fuzzy with shock, she pulled free the earphones she was still wearing. His original estimate of her age had been a little off: up close, she looked more like fourteen or fifteen. She gave him a tremulous nod. "I hit my head."
"Can I see?"
A second hesitant nod. When she took her hand away, Jake gently brushed free the strands of hair that were stuck in the drying blood. The cut wasn't deep, but it was still oozing. Head wounds could be nasty like that.
He turned, searching for Anna. "Can you see if you can clean her up?"
"Sure." Anna got up, coming forward to join the girl.
Pushing to his feet and jerking his head toward the front of the bus, Jake added, "There should be a first aid kit, I'll get it for you."
He found the kit under the driver's seat and passed it to Anna. Further down the aisle, the rest of the bus passengers were persisting in a heated debate about what they should do. Thankfully, someone–Jake assumed the guy with the Beatles button–had moved the driver's body, drawing it into the gap between two rows of unoccupied seats. The puddle of blood remained in the middle of the aisle, already clotting dark and thick.
He surveyed the gaggle crowding near the back. "Folks, listen up." Nobody paid him the slightest attention. Jake frowned. Dad always made it seem so simple. He cleared his throat, and called out a second time, repeating himself until everyone was listening. "Okay. First, we need to figure out what to do. It's obvious a terrible thing has happened in Dallas or Fort Worth." Several people darted glances toward the horizon, now hidden by full darkness. With the light on inside, all that was visible was the reflection of their own frightened faces. Jake continued, "We have a dead bus driver, and people injured. I think we've gone ten or fifteen miles since Vernon." He paused. "I say we go back there. Find out what's happened, and get help."
Silence hung heavily in the bus. Several passengers exchanged looks with each other, as if waiting to see who'd be their spokesperson. The elderly gentleman took on the responsibility. "I agree, it's the best option." His wife knitted her brows sadly and he shrugged apologetically at her. "But who can drive the bus?"
"I can," Jake assured him. "I used to drive a truck."
Not wanting to give any of the passengers the chance to come up with further objections, he headed back to the front of the bus, casting a glance at Anna as he passed her by. She was gently cleaning the blood off the girl's face with a bottle of water and a tissue.
Jake hoisted himself into the driver's seat, forcing himself not to think of the man it had belonged to. The engine was still running, rumbling softly, and he put the bus into gear. Maneuvering carefully, he finished turning the bus on the highway and started back in the direction of Vernon. The touch of the big wheel underneath his hands was strangely familiar, although the bus handled more delicately than the heavy trucks he'd been running for Jennings & Rall.
Two or three miles later, someone slipped into the seat behind him. Not wanting to look away from the road for too long, he risked a quick peek across his shoulder. Anna was leaning forward, resting her elbows on her knees, as she kept her voice low. "The cut isn't too bad, but she's gonna need stitches, I think."
Her words had Jake confused, until he remembered she'd been taking care of the injured girl. "Okay, thanks."
Anna was quiet for half a mile. "Jake...?" She drew in a shuddering breath. "What're we gonna do?"
He gave her another brief glance, catching the uncertainty in her expression. "I don't know yet. We'll figure it out, okay?"
She bit her lip, but nodded, and Jake switched his attention back to driving.
He honestly had no idea what they should do. Despite Freddy's murder in San Diego, or the risk he and Anna would be running by talking to the authorities so soon after, his best bet was to make straight for the sheriff's office: let local law enforcement deal with the dead driver and the gunman and the busload of frightened passengers. Truth be told, he hadn't given much thought to anything beyond getting to Vernon. It all depended on what had caused that plume of smoke they'd seen: was it an accident? Or something else? And if it wasn't an accident, what did it mean? He hoped they'd find answers in town. Then they could decide what to do next.
To Jake's relief, the welcoming lights of the small town soon beckoned in the distance. Directing his focus to Anna sitting behind him, he asked, "Can you see if anyone can tell me where the sheriff's station is?"
She gave his shoulder a light squeeze and got up to move down the aisle. She came back as they were passing the Welcome to Vernon sign. "Sorry, no. Nobody's from here."
Jake grimaced wryly. Figured. The Main Street exit came up and he hit the blinker; the sheriff's office was bound to be in the middle of town. Sure enough, there was a sign at the bottom of the ramp pointing him to various public buildings. The sheriff's office was half a mile away.
It took nearly as long to travel those last seven blocks of Main Street as the dozen or so miles to reach the town limit. On the highway, traffic had been light, allowing Jake to maneuver the bus without hindering anyone. Main Street was crammed with cars―rusted farm pickups and mud-splattered SUVs―inching forward, bumper to bumper.
Jake pulled up along the sidewalk in front of the brick building that housed the sheriff's office. Cars honked at him angrily but he ignored them. Putting the bus in neutral and cutting off the engine, he let out a sigh of relief.
Before he could get up from his seat, a deputy jogged over from the building. He pounded on the door and hollered, "Hey! You can't park―."
Studying the console, Jake located the button that opened the doors. Squeezing through the gap as soon as he could, the deputy finished in a lower volume, "―here. You―." He broke off as he caught sight of the dark stain on the floor where the driver had died. He inhaled sharply, taking in a whiff of air that, Jake knew, would be thick with the cloying scent of blood, even if he couldn't smell it himself any longer. The deputy clearly had the experience to recognize the smell at once, and he visibly tensed up. "What the...?"
His hand went to his gun on instinct, his focus switching from the drying puddle of blood to Jake, eyes narrowed. Jake sighed inwardly. Sure, blame him. Then again, he admitted silently, he was in the driver's seat... He slowly raised his hands, palms out, to show the deputy he wasn't armed―the confiscated gun pressing uneasily against his back―and that he meant no harm.
"Better get the sheriff," he told the deputy. "He―," Jake jerked with his head in the direction of the former gunman, still stashed in a seat with his wrists bound together, "―shot the driver." On reflection, Jake didn't think the man would've caused them any further trouble; all the fight had gone out of him with the bus driver's death.
The deputy swiveled his head and regarded the bound passenger doubtfully. He kept fingering the butt of his gun, his suspicion not lessening any.
"It's true," Anna said from the seat behind Jake.
"We all saw it," the old man near the back added.
The next instant, pandemonium broke out, as if the old man's words had been a signal. Everyone was talking at once, each trying to convince the deputy that Jake was speaking the truth, offering to tell him what they'd seen and asking if he knew what had happened in Dallas.
The deputy blinked at them, but his shoulders relaxed and he eased his hand off the butt of his gun. Jake released the breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding. The deputy grabbed his radio and toggled it. "Sheriff, you best get down here. Greyhound bus, outside the station."
Before the sheriff had a chance to respond, the street lights illuminating Main Street flickered—and then went out entirely. The lamp light spilling out from nearby shop windows and from neon signs on store fronts winked out too, as did the glow in the windows of City Hall, across from the bus and the sheriff's office. All that was left as the streets were plunged in sudden darkness were the headlamps of the cars outside and the low reading lights inside the bus.
A collective gasp went through the cabin, the cackle of voices abruptly falling silent. Jake risked a peek at Anna, praying the blackout wouldn't cause anyone else to freak out.
The deputy must've thought the same thing. He held up a hand. "Everybody, please, stay calm," he urged. "Just the power going out. We'll have you sorted in a bit."
Jake couldn't tell if the passengers were simply too numbed from all they'd seen already, or if the deputy's calming words had made a difference. Either way, to his relief, everyone stayed in their seats. Ten seconds later, the lights came back on in the sheriff's station and in City Hall. The street lamps and store lights remained dark.
"Emergency generators," the deputy explained, without being asked. A half minute went by while they waited in silence until a portly man wearing a sheriff's uniform, his star of office pinned to his chest, came hurrying down the steps from City Hall, and crossed the street, winding a path through traffic until he reached the bus. A couple of deputies followed in his wake.
"Porter?" The sheriff climbed the steps into the bus. His name tag pronounced him to be Sheriff Kobler, and he looked harried and stressed. "What the heck's so urgent? Don't you understand I've got other—." The complaint died on the sheriff's lips as he, too, saw the blood. Glancing around, his jaw set into a hard line as he spotted the bound passenger and the slumped body of the driver. "What happened?"
For the second time, Jake explained the sequence of events, everyone else in the bus once more backing up his story. As he talked, cars kept rumbling by outside, headlights sweeping over the bus constantly, making shadows dance. "Also, there's a girl who needs medical attention." He pointed her out to Kobler. Anna had done a good job cleaning the worst of the blood off her face and covering the cut with a band-aid, but even in the gloom of the overhead lights, Jake could see the dressing was stained with freshly seeping blood.
In the street, shrill voices started yelling. Jake ducked his head so he could see out of the front window. A crowd had formed in front of a nearby store, a cluster of bodies swaying back and forth.
"We'll have someone look at the girl." Kobler heaved a sigh. He came across as both annoyed and weary as he also regarded the small crowd. "We'll also be wanting everyone's―."
His radio crackled to life, interrupting what he'd been about going to say. A voice sharp with suppressed panic rang over the airwaves. "Sheriff? Sheriff, are you there?"
Kobler closed his eyes briefly, a man barely holding on to his temper, and keyed his radio. "Yes, Dinovo, I'm here. Calm down, son."
Glass jingled as it broke, and several dark shapes darted out from inside the store carrying boxes. Jake only caught a glimpse before whoever they were disappeared into the dark night. Kobler cursed under his breath and addressed one of his deputies who'd boarded the bus behind him. "See to that, please." The deputy fired off a half-salute and left, while Kobler talked into his radio. "Dinovo, what is it?"
"Sheriff, you best come over to Mitchell's gas station. We got big trouble." Screaming and the sound of more glass breaking came over the radio, until the call abruptly cut off. The sudden silence was chilling. Kobler muttered a fresh expletive as he frowned at his radio. He raised his head and addressed the bus: "Folks, listen up. As you can tell, it's pretty hectic right now. But there's no reason to panic; I'm sure it'll all be cleared up soon. So, this is what we're gonna do: I'll have one of my deputies take down your names and home addresses. And in the morning―."
"Where are we gonna stay?" someone asked.
"And what about Dallas?" someone else's voice piped up.
Kobler shot Jake a despairing look. Jake rolled his shoulders in sympathy. Kobler's brows drew together in a new frown, before he raised both hands, palms out, the gesture designed to beg for silence. "Once we've gotten your information, we'll have you taken over to the Holiday Inn on Hillcrest. You can spend the night there." The guy dressed in denim opened his mouth but one look from Kobler and he snapped it shut without speaking. Kobler gave a curt nod, almost to himself. "In the morning, I'd like to take your statements about what happened on this bus. Hopefully, we'll also have a clearer picture of–." He hesitated briefly before he went on, "of the other events that happened tonight. And then we'll see what we can do about gettin' y'all home. Alright?" He let his gaze wander over the passengers, until one by one they acquiesced.
"Very well." Kobler waved at Porter, the deputy who had first stepped on to the bus. "Get Jim Davids. Have him take these folks to the hotel. And I want this bus impounded for evidence." He sucked in his cheeks. "And someone take this fool," Kobler pointed to the gunman with a jerk of his head, "to the county jail."
"Sure thing, Sheriff." Porter yanked the gunman to his feet, and half dragged, half carried him from the bus. Kobler followed.
"Um, Sheriff...?"
Kobler twisted around on the top step and peered up at Jake. "Ah yes, the girl. The hospital's on the way to the Holiday Inn. Jim'll have to stop there anyway to have the body removed to the morgue. Ask him to drop you off, too, get her seen by a doctor." He gave an apologetic shrug and a vague wave to the chaos outside. The deputy's presence had dispersed the looters but the street remained crowded. "Normally, I'd call for an ambulance, but..."
"I understand." Jake did understand, but he had a nasty suspicion the sheriff had just pawned off responsibility for a girl whose name he didn't even know onto Jake. "You'll also be wanting this." Jake pulled the gun out from the back of his jeans, holding the weapon gingerly between thumb and forefinger to make certain nobody would consider the gesture a threat, and offered it to the sheriff. "It's the, um, murder weapon." Kobler gave him a sharp look, before offering his thanks with a nod. Behind him, the remaining deputy produced a plastic bag. As Jake dropped the gun and ammo clip that he'd stashed in a pocket into it, the sheriff left the bus, already calling new orders into his radio.
o0o