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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Contest Entry · #2198607
Bus driver revenge.
We are in the Glacier National Park and heading for home with an expected ETA of three and a half hours. That estimate doesn't include pee breaks, and with this many kids climbing aboard drinking down their large Slurpies from this 7-11 store we stopped at, I know there'll be at least five of those. I count them off as they enter the bus and ensure I've got all 22 of the noisy pre-teens aboard. I yell for them to settle into their seats as we're about to depart. I start the engine and pull away from the parking spot to head for the on-ramp of the interstate. The bus is one of those old style school vehicles that looks like a long orange cigar and it doesn't ride so much as lumber along noisily. It has seen better days and should be replaced but there's just no money in the budget for a new one. Once merged onto the freeway I stick to the middle lane so the roadsters out there can pass by easily and hopefully not be giving me the finger for slowing them down. I hate it when they do that. That's why I did the unsanctioned modification under the hood that only me and the kids know about. I got some skills when it comes to mechanics from my dad but mostly I learned a lot about weaponry installation, function, and maintenance as a Weapons Tech when I served in the military. Enough of that I got to focus on the road and get these children back safely to their families.
Two hours later we are on a steep hill which makes the bus slow to a crawl like it always does, when a 1967 Shelby Cobra in candy apple red comes flying up behind. I saw the flash of crimson in my rearview and was hoping to get a good look at the beauty as she passed me by. I could see the dark haired male driver in stylish sunglasses hitting the horn and slipping to the driver's side occasionally to peek at what the oncoming traffic was like. I guess he didn't really know how to drive that speedster very well because as far as I could tell, he had multiple chances of passing without any danger but he was being overly cautious. Then, it happened. Suddenly he saw a big enough pause in the oncoming lane and zoomed out and around me to pass on my left side, but as he came alongside my window he threw up his right hand and flipped me the bird! Off he went with a smirk on his fat ugly face that spoke volumes about what he thought of me and my mode of transportation. I called back to the kids, "Y'all see what he did?" and the whole group shouts back "Yes sir, he gave you the finger." "Do we take that shit?" I cry. "Hell no!" they reply at the top of their lungs.
I push the red button hidden just beneath the steering wheel and a panel in the hood slides out of the way to allow a .50 cal machine gun to rise up on a mounting I'd put it on. The bus screams to a halt and I get the Cobra in my crosshairs quickly. I see the driver up ahead looking at his own rear-view mirror several times, back and forth, with unbelieving eyes. Then I open fire and he cuts sharp right after the bullets rip up through the back seat and into him before passing through the engine.
The Shelby spins a few times and then flips over the shoulder of the road and down into the treeline, landing on its roof. I press the red button a second time and the .50 cal vanishes back into it's hidey-hole. The kids all let out a whoop and congratulate me on my good shooting.
The alarm clock rings loudly and I stir from my pleasant dream. I look at the time and realize I've got 30 minutes to get showered and prepare for the three and a half hour drive back to the city from Glacier National Park with a busload of kids.
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