Chapter 8 of the Jack Moore Chronicles The man
in the hoodie slowly approached the bus. His
arm remained erect as he walked, an orange glow
radiated from his hand. increasing as he drew
closer. I did what any sane person would do in
this situation. I froze. My shoes felt glued
to the bus. After this moment of cowardliness,
I remembered my testicles and ran to the back
of the bus, trying to gain some distance between
myself and the hooded man. As I reached the back,
I could hear the door at the front fly off its
hinges. I looked at the emergency exit and thought
about running away. But what good would that
do? This asshole already did something to the
driver, and I had a feeling he was connected
to Steven's death. I took cover behind a row
of seats near the emergency exit. Slow footsteps
approached. A whistle echoed through the bus.
It was as if this was just another day for the
man. I know you're here, Jack. I know you've
been snooping around. This confirmed my theory
he was involved. I got up from hiding and pointed
the gun. The man was past the driver, but still
a distance from me. My hand shook as I gripped
the gun. I pulled the trigger. The bullet struck
his shoulder. Despite the shot, he kept walking
down the aisle, his hand pulsating bright. He
whispered something under his breath, and then...
It happened. Fire came soaring at me, red and
angry. The heat caused instant sweat. I dove
into the nearby row of seats. The emergency exit
now had a hole burned through it. I am royally
fucked, I thought. Death was knocking at my door,
laughing at the stupidity. There was no escape.
Another round of fire was on its way. The man's
hand pulsated. It was as if he had to build up
the energy. This gave me enough time to put my
hands up, my eyes closed, accepting my fate.
I always thought the Grim Reaper would come through
the bottleneck of a liquor bottle. I didn't expect
it to come from a hobo with flaming hands. As
that thought faded, the pain on my forehead increased
tenfold. My vision began to blur. Like the static
of an old TV, the antenna's signal weak. I could
see the blurry outline of the hooded man now
before me. What the hell is that? The man said
as he looked at me crunched behind the seat.
In that moment, I think we both felt fear. I
blacked out and woke up to find the hooded man
on the floor of the aisle. My forehead pulsated.
I was hovering over him. He had blood gushing
from his face, turning his unkept beard red.
His face was busted up. My fists were bloody.
My knuckles ached. I can't tell you how I kicked
this guy's ass, but I sure in hell did. Was it
the Viridian Golding spoke of? The questions
had to wait. The man who lay beaten in the aisle
was older. It was hard to tell his exact age,
considering the recent pounding. He looked like
Gandalf the hobo. His gray hoodie was stained
and worn from years of use. Could this be the
guy that killed Steven? My anger was starting
to cloud my judgment. I couldn't just assume,
though. Despite the obvious evidence, I took
my graphic tee and wrapped it around the wound
on his shoulder, helping this piece of shit.
Made me sick. It was either that or the body
odor and liquor dripping from his pores. His
pockets were empty. No cash. No phone. Nothing.
The only thing I found was on the palm of his
hand. The same one that, just minutes earlier,
had called for my death. Within the age -spotted,
wrinkled skin was a branded symbol. The same
one found at the crime scenes. I wish that was
the strangest thing to happen. I then heard a
loud crack. I looked up front to see the driver.
His head was turning slowly on a swivel. The
crack of his neck grew louder as it rotated.
His head finally settled. The brim of his hat
now faced his back. His eyes were soulless. He
was beyond dead. His mouth slowly opened, as
if being possessed by a demon. The soft voice
of a woman exited the man. Well, this is an interesting
turn of events. I assumed you to just be a nuisance,
a pest infesting her with your ignorance. You
should stay out of this. We are doing it for
her. She will be displeased with you. What is
this? The woman's voice laughed. A simple spell,
don't you know? Or are you just a newborn? Still
sucking at Mother's teat. We will cleanse her
of every virus that threatens her. Including
you. The driver's body fell limp. My body dropped
into the nearest seat. I sat in the middle of
the bus. I looked down at my hands to see the
blood. I didn't have long to think. I could hear
honking behind the bus. There was a car behind
me. I couldn't call the cops. They were already
suspicious of me. I had to get moving. Walking
to the front, I grabbed the dead driver's hat.
Stepping over his body, I walked off the bus,
the door no longer on its frame. My bloody fists
were hidden in my pockets. An old bug sat honking.
I forced a smile and moved to the driver's side
of the vehicle. Hey, sorry about this. Looks
like this old piece of shit just stalled. I almost
got it going again, though, so just give me a
few and I'll be out of your hair, okay? That
looks a little worse than that. She pointed to
the hole scorched in the back of the bus. Oh,
yeah, that. Just some kid playing with fireworks.
You know how it goes. I shrugged my shoulders,
trying to sell the lie. The young girl behind
the wheel rolled her eyes. I ran back onto the
bus, passing the driver, and then... I sought.
The bearded man was gone. The gunshot wound's
blood trail marked his escape path. I ran back
out the bus to see if I could find him. A small
trail of blood soaked in the snow. It stopped
only a few feet from the bus. The best lead I
had was now gone. Fuck. I screamed, my breath
visible in the cold air. Unforgiving weather.
I could have maybe gotten some answers. The only
hope I had was gone. He fucking vanished like
Houdini. The only path I had was forward. My
dad's place was a few hours away. The engine
rattled and the smell of burning oil overwhelmed
the remaining scent of blood and death as I drove
off into the night. Hey you. Yeah you. Thanks
for listening to this episode of the Jack Moore
Chronicles. Curious to see how the story unfolds?
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