‘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 tongue, 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.