Wayne Manor:
"…carrying the thirteen members of the team and their coaches."
Bruce walked into the living room just in time to hear the end of the sentence. The first thing he saw was Aunt Harriet, standing by the television, one hand over her heart and the other fluttering nervously by her mouth.
"Aunt…"
"Mercy alive!" the old woman exclaimed as she glanced back, startled by the millionaire's unexpected arrival.
"I'm sor…"
"Bruce, the bus…Dick…"
The poor woman was so flustered that she couldn't get out a complete sentence.
"So far there have been no casualties reported, but four student-athletes are still missing."
When Bruce heard that, Aunt Harriet's rambling and the newscaster's statements suddenly made sense. Dick was on the basketball team, and they had been going to a tournament by bus. He strode quickly around the woman and turned up the volume.
"The following picture may not be suitable for younger viewers," the news anchor warned.
Bruce stared at the image that appeared on the screen, an overhead shot from a hovering helicopter. The bus was on its side, the front end emitting thick black smoke from a recently extinguished fire and the back end completely gone. There was a small crowd of people, some standing and others sitting on the ground. A fire truck and two ambulances were parked about fifteen yards away from the bus.
Leaning closer, the millionaire scanned the small picture and began counting. Nine standing up – six of whom were obviously emergency personnel – and eleven on the ground. There were thirteen kids on Dick's team and four coaches, plus one bus driver. Twenty people in the picture, and fourteen of them had been on the bus. Four missing – all students.
"Dick," Bruce breathed, so quietly that Aunt Harriet didn't hear.
He tried to objectively study the image, but it was impossible. Every head of dark hair could be Dick, every lean, lanky body could be Dick, maybe he was in the ambulance, was there anybody in the ambulance?
The newscaster interrupted the millionaire's inner ramblings.
"Emergency crews have identified everyone, and it has been determined that the four missing students are Peter Johnson, Michael Skylan, Joshua Alecks, and Richard Grayson."
"Mercy alive!"
Bruce turned around just in time to catch Aunt Harriet as she fainted. He maneuvered her body to the couch and gently laid her down.
"Good heavens!" Alfred exclaimed quietly as he entered the room, pausing momentarily then rushing to the couch.
Standing up, Bruce returned to the television and began studying the scene again. The bus was on a lonely stretch of highway that ran through the mountains to the north of Gotham City. There was a thick forest on both sides of the road. Bruce leaned forward slightly and squinted; no other cars were visible, so he assumed hit and run. But it would have to be a pretty big vehicle to completely sever the back end of the bus.
"…is taking responsibility, even though he is currently in the State Pen."
Bruce had missed something, but Alfred had not.
"The Joker, Master Bruce?"
"Impossible," Bruce stated, standing up and folding his arms across his chest. "I put him in the pen two months ago."
The picture suddenly changed to an image of Joker in his cell. A reporter was standing on the other side of the bars, pushing his microphone against the metal.
"I did it!" Joker shouted, cackling maniacally. "It was me, me, me, and me!"
"But you're in here," the reporter countered logically.
"That doesn't mean I don't have friends!" the villain sang, the fluctuating notes ending in another shrieking cackle. "Friends on the outside that even Batman can't find!"
"How did you do it?" the reporter asked.
"Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo, that's the question of the day, isn't it? I bet it's one Batman is trying to answer right now, wherever he is. How many died?" Joker asked with an evil grin.
The picture shifted back to the newscaster. Apparently, that was the end of that story for the moment, because the man continued on with other news.
"Sir," Alfred began.
"Take care of Aunt Harriet," Bruce growled. "I'm going to the scene of the accident."
"Of course, Master Bruce."
Two hours earlier - a lonely stretch of highway north of Gotham City:
Sixteen-year-old Dick Grayson was sitting in the last row of the bus. He had his headphones on, tuning out the world while envisioning his team winning the tournament. Pete Johnson interrupted him by pulling one of the earpieces away from Dick's head as he sat down beside him.
"How many times are you going to assist me tomorrow?" Pete asked with a grin.
"Depends on how many points you want to get," Dick retorted with a matching grin.
The banter continued, as it was amongst all the players, and the bus was loud. One of the coaches stood up and tried to say something inspiring, but the teenagers ignored him. They were too excited to listen to a boring speech. It was their first travel tournament, and they were determined to bring home the trophy.
Nobody saw the small device in the center of the lane, not even the driver. It was as black as the asphalt, and it would leave no evidence. When the front right wheel rolled over the middle of it, the device exploded. The front of the bus jammed itself into the ground, causing the back end to fly up.
The bus flipped over itself, and when the back end slammed onto the ground, the impact tore it clean off the vehicle. Dick, Pete, and two other boys were thrown sideways as it spun toward the forest. There was a small drop off on that side, and the bus tossed the boys out into the thick trees when it hit the edge. Dick's head crashed into a tree, and the world tilted sideways before going dark.
Present time:
The firefighters had combed through the forest on both sides of the road. They had found the back end of the bus, but there was nobody in it and no evidence of anyone in the nearby area. One of them walked another fifteen yards into the trees, just in case.
"I found them!" he suddenly shouted.
The other two fought their way through the heavy brush and stopped short when they saw the grisly scene. There were three boys, battered and bloody and probably dead. They moved closer, and each man placed two fingers on a different boy's neck.
"Mine is alive, barely," the shortest man stated.
"So is mine," a second guy grunted.
"This one isn't going to make it much longer," the third firefighter murmured. "We need a stretcher."
The man who had found them was already racing away in search of the paramedics. It took him five long minutes to find them and another ten to lead them back to where the three boys were lying.
"Geez, how did this happen?" one of the medics asked.
"I think the back end of the bus might have hit a boulder and hurled them out," one of the firefighters replied. "I don't know how they were thrown this far in, though. They're a good, what, twenty yards away?"
"Big boulder," a second medic commented.
Fifteen minutes later, the six medical personnel emerged from the forest with two boys on stretchers and the third over the biggest man's shoulder. A third ambulance had arrived, so all three teenagers had an immediate ride to the hospital. Before they left, however, the head coach stopped by each vehicle to identify them. Four of his kids had been missing, and only three of them had been found. The coach needed to know which parent he would have to call with the bad news that their child was still missing.
"Dick Grayson," Marshall said quietly as he watched the three ambulances fade into the distance.
"Bruce Wayne," one of the assistant coaches, Jack, responded as he came up beside the man. "You should let the police take care of it."
"No, he needs to hear it from Dick's coach. I was responsible for his safety."
"There was no way you could have known…"
"That doesn't matter," Marshall snapped. "These kids are under my care while we're on the road, and I failed Bruce Wayne. I lost his ward!"
"You didn't lose him," Jack replied. "This was not your fault."
"I know it wasn't," Marshall said with a sigh. "But I'll never forgive myself if any of those boys die."
"Coach, another bus is on its way."
A police car had arrived, and the lead officer was walking over to where the other two men were standing.
"It looks like most of the kids just have some cuts and bruises," the younger officer observed. "The other four…"
"Three," the head coach interrupted.
"I thought there were four missing?"
"Three have been found and are on their way to the hospital," Jack supplied when Marshall didn't respond. "They're in pretty bad shape. Dick Grayson is still missing."
"Why, exactly, aren't we looking for him?" the lead officer snapped.
"It's awfully dark in there," one of the firefighters answered. "We searched until the last ray of the sun disappeared, but our flashlights don't give us enough light to search without one of us getting hurt in the process."
"At least it's not cold," the younger officer stated. "Maybe he's just waiting out the night."
"Or bleeding out, or being eaten by a wild animal, or…"
"Stop it, Marshall," Jack commanded. "We have to hope for the best."
The head coach mumbled something, then walked away to check on the other members of his team.