“Catch up to her bus!” I scream over the roaring of the engine.
He floors it, and we close the gap. We’re maybe 30 yards away now, and I’m trying to formulate a plan. As we’re closing in, suddenly, a crazy rises from a manhole, raises an RPG to his shoulder, and fires.
The missile races across the air and hits one of the buses-the black one. It is a direct hit. The bus explodes right in front of us, bursting into flames, forcing us to swerve at the last second.
The bus skids and lands on its side, then bursts into a huge ball of flames. I think of all the girls I saw board it, and my heart sinks at the sight. Now there are only two buses left. I thank God Bree was on one of the yellow ones. Now time is even more of the essence.
“HURRY!” I yell. “DRIVE UP TO HER BUS!”
We are heading right for the Flatiron building. Fifth Avenue forks, and one of the yellow buses bears left, heading down Broadway, while the other bears right, staying on Fifth. I have no idea which one carries Bree. My heart pounds with anxiety. I have to choose.
“Which bus?” Logan screams, frantic.
I hesitate.
“WHICH BUS?” he screams again.
We are coming up on the intersection and I have to choose. I think hard, desperately trying to remember which one she boarded. But it is no use. My mind is a blur, and the two buses look identical to me. I just have to guess.
“Go right!” I scream.
As the last second, he swerves right. He guns it after one of the buses. I pray I have chosen the right one.
Logan floors it, and manages to speed up to the bus. We are now just yards behind it, sucking in its exhaust. The back windows are grimy and I can’t really make out the faces inside, but I do see shapes, the bodies of all those young, chained girls. I pray that one of them is Bree.
“Now what?” Logan screams.
I am wondering the exact same thing.
“I can’t run them off the road!” Logan adds. “I might kill her!”
I think fast, trying to formulate a plan.
“Get closer,” I say. “Pull up beside it!”
He pulls up to the back, our bumpers nearly touching, and as he does, I lift myself out of the seat and begin to crawl out the open window, sitting on the ledge of the door. The wind is so strong, it nearly knocks me off.
“What are you doing!?” Logan screams, and I can hear his concern. But I ignore it. There’s no time for second-guessing now.
Snow and wind whip my face as Logan pulls up right beside the bus. I steady myself, waiting for the perfect moment. The back of the bus is now only a foot away, and there is a wide, flat ledge by its bumper. I brace myself, my heart pounding.
And then I leap.
My shoulder slams into the side of the bus as I land on the ledge. I reach out and grab the thick, metal bars, and I make it. The metal is freezing on my bare hands, but I hold on tight. The ground flies by beneath me in a blur. I can barely believe it. I made it.
The bus must be doing 80 in the snow, and it swerves erratically. I wrap one arm thoroughly around the bar, hugging it with all that I have, and just barely manage to hang on.
We hit a pothole and I slip, nearly losing my grip. One of my feet dips down and drags on the snow-it is my wounded leg, and I scream out in pain as it bumps along the ground. With a supreme effort, I slowly pull myself back up.
I try to open the back door, but my heart drops to discover that it is locked, with a padlock and chain. My hand shaking, I manage to remove my gun from my belt. I lean back and brace myself, and fire.
Sparks fly. The padlock breaks, and the chain clatters and falls to the ground.
I open one of the doors, and it pops open with tremendous force, flying against the wind, and nearly knocking me off. I pull myself through the open door and into the back of the bus.
I now stand inside, in the aisle of the school bus. I quickly hurry down it, looking back and forth frantically as I go. There are dozens of young girls in here, chained to each other, and chained to their seats. As I go, they all look up at me, terrified. I scan each row quickly, from left to right, looking for any sign of my sister.
“BREE!” I yell out, desperate.
As the girls catch on to my presence and realize I might be a key to their salvation, they start crying, hysterical.
“HELP ME!” one of them screams.
“PLEASE, GET ME OUT OF HERE!” another screams.
The driver catches on to my presence; I look up and catch him starting at me in the rearview. He suddenly swerves the bus hard. As he does, I go flying across the aisle and bang my head on the metal casing of the ceiling.
I regain my balance, but then he swerves in the other direction, and I go flying across the other side of the bus.
My head is pounding, but I steady myself, this time clutching the seats as I pull myself carefully forward, going row to row. I look each way for Bree, and there are only a few rows left.
“BREE!” I scream out, wondering why she’s not raising her head.
I check the next two rows, then the next two, then the next two…. Finally, I reach the last row, and my heart drops.
There’s no sign of her.
The realization hits me like a hammer: I chose the wrong bus.
Suddenly, I glimpse motion out the window and hear an explosion. I turn to see our Humvee, Logan inside, go flying up in the air as it hits a land mine. It lands on its side, skidding through the snow. Then it stops.
My heart drops. Logan must be dead.
TWENTY-FIVE
I take my eyes off the driver for too long, and it is a stupid mistake.
He pulls out a handgun, and now aims it right at me. He smiles a cruel smile. He has me.
He cocks back the trigger and is about to fire. I brace myself. There is nowhere to go, and I realize I’m dead.
Suddenly, over the driver’s shoulder, I see a crazy jump out of a manhole, aim his RPG right at us, and fire. I watch as the missile sails through the air, coming right for us.
A tremendous explosion rocks our world. The noise is deafening, and I am thrown up into the air, smashing my head, as I feel the tremendous impact of the heat. Then my world turns sideways, as the bus smashes onto its side, skidding.
Because I’m the only one standing, the only one not buckled or chained down, I’m the only one who goes flying across the bus. I go flying through an open window, propelled out of the bus, and as I do, the bus explodes- and the shockwave sends me flying even further. I continue flying through the air and land twenty yards away, face-first in a mound of snow.
Flames rip through the air, just searing my back, and I roll in the snow and luckily put them out. I feel the tremendous heat of the waves of fire behind me.
I turn to see the entire bus is up in flames, on its side, in the snow. The flames must rise twenty feet high. It is an inferno. My heart drops as I realize that no one could possibly survive that. I think of all those innocent little girls, and I feel sick.
I lay there in the snow bank, trying to catch my breath from the smoke. My head spins, and I hurt more than
