Darren Johnson's Best Short Stories of 2019: Darren Johnson's Best Short Stories, #2

By Darren Johnson

Flying monuments. Quantum, time-traveling historians. Controllable back hair. Unidentified bussing objects. 14 separate tales plus one immense crossover bringing them together because why not:
SPEEDING STEALTH BUS: Its attacks on pedestrians both terrorized and crippled the nation. Now it's back and just as stealthy — and violent — as ever.
THE GREATEST LOVE STORY THAT ALMOST WAS: They had the perfect relationship until fate stepped in. You won't see *this* sappy story around the holidays.
SINGLE ELIMINATION EARTH: Eight billion competitors forced to fight to the death against their will. One winner.
THE LAST CHANCE: He's been unsuccessful for ages. It consumes his every thought. And now, as the last human on Earth, he has one more chance.
SITUATIONAL: Even though their lives are the same, they don't feel quite right. Something is either wrong with them — or everyone else.
A QUICK, NEIGHBORLY PROBLEM: The ride's over and your language skills suck. Let the insults fly!
5 YEARS THE VILLAIN: Kidnapped by aliens, he's been given five years to help humanity clean up their act. The catch? He's marooned in an alien spacecraft stuck in orbit. One can't save the human race without pissing a few billion of them off.
THE LESSON: If you don't brainwash your kids, who will? Oh, Father O'Malley! Yay!
THE UNWONTED 5: Five strangers with "useless" powers come together to form something more. Sorry, bad guys.
THE REARRIVALS: The old gods are back and tearing things up, baby! You know, maybe someone *should* question them.
INTERVIEW WITH A CANDIDATE: A HORROR STORY: Even the devil would be disgusted by this guy. Do they not care in Alabama, or what?
STUR TRONK: Captain Alex Q.T. Pecks has been charged with maintaining the peace. I give it a week.
LIMO RIDER: He's used to riding in limos. However, he's also used to being let out.
TIME TRAVEL ROMANCE: As Written by a 12-year-old Purely for the Money: subtitle says it all.
THE GREATEST CROSSOVER OF ALL TIME 2: All the bad guys from the stories above are teaming up to take over the world(s) and then some. All the good guys are trying to stop them. Note: knowledge of the first (2018's) Greatest Crossover is NOT required. Heck, it's not even recommended. You like crossovers? Well, this is crossover-er than any of them!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Darren Johnson
• Release date: Nov 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393227908

Book preview

Darren Johnson’s Best Short Stories of 2019

Other than A Quick, Neighborly Problem, these are works of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Copyright © by Darren Johnson, 2019

All stories and artwork copyright © by Darren Johnson, 2019

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please refer all pertinent questions to the publisher.

Contents

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Dedication

Speeding Stealth Bus

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Epilogue

An Important Safety Announcement

The Greatest Love Story that Almost Was

Single Elimination Earth

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

The Last Chance

Situational

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Epilogue

A Quick, Neighborly Problem

5 Years the Villain

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

The Lesson

The Unwonted 5

Origin Stories

Ten Years Later

The Team

The Mission

The Result

The Rearrivals

Interview with a Candidate: A Horror Story

Stur Tronk

Intro

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Epilogue

Limo Rider

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Time Travel Romance: As Written by a 12-Year-Old Purely for the Money

Chapter the Oneth

Chapter the Twoeth

Chapter the Threeeth

Chapter the Fourtheth

Chapter the Fiveth

Chapter the Sixtheth

Chapter the Seventhetheth

Chapter the Conclusioneth

The Greatest Crossover of All Time 2

Special Introduction by Alastair

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Author’s Note

Barely Related Epilogue/Preview

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Dedication

Dedicated to everyone and everything that ever lived or will live, past, present, and future, in this timeline or any alternating timelines, in this universe or any other universe in the metaverse, possibly making this the most all-encompassing dedication of all time, which is a really weird thing to be competitive about, but I’m bad at sports, except for axe-throwing that one time, and only with that medium-weight axe, but that may have been a fluke, though I’m not going back to find out, both because my self-esteem couldn’t handle it if was just a fluke, and also because it was a good fifty minutes away with no traffic.

Speeding Stealth Bus

Chapter 1

D o you have to pee ? Tom asked. He looked at his nine-year-old son in the passenger seat.

No, Cassidy said, not even looking up from the Minecraft videos he was watching on his tablet.

Are you sure you don’t have to pee?

No, Dad.

No, you don’t have to pee, or no, you’re not sure?

Cassidy thought about it for a second. I’m sure I don’t have to pee.

Okay. Tom looked out at the interstate ahead, but there wasn’t much to see. He took another swig of his soda, then realized that may not have been wise, given his current urges. He found a nice spot to pull over, then put on his turn signal and slowed down.

Cassidy finally looked up from his tablet. What are you doing? he asked.

I really think you need to pee, Tom said. Cassidy rolled his eyes and turned off his tablet.

Tom pulled the car gently off the road onto the shoulder, then into the dirt so that the car was a few feet away from the shoulder. They both reached for their respective door handles.

No, Dad. Get out my side. Cassidy got out, leaving the passenger side door open for his father. He leaned against the side of the car while Tom clambered over the center and then exited.

As long as you have to go, I might as well go, too, Tom said, hustling up the slight slope to a bush where he relieved himself. Cassidy rolled his eyes again.

Hey, Cass, get the gloves, Tom said as he sauntered back toward the car. Let’s get some exercise while we’re out here.

Cass smiled and grabbed the baseball gloves and a ball from the backseat. He loved playing catch with his dad. He tossed a glove to his father then ran up the slope to the left while Tom went up and right. They tossed the ball back and forth a bunch while talking about their favorite players.

Alright, warmup’s over. Want to show me what you’ve got? Tom asked, tossing the ball back. Cassidy replaced his smile with a more serious expression and nodded.

He drilled a pitch straight into his father’s glove.

Good aim! But you could add a little more power.

The next pitch was stronger but went off to the side.

Ball one! Good power, though, Cass. This went on for a while. Tom was careful to mix positive reinforcement with constructive criticism. He gave good advice, too, partly from what he remembered from playing in high school and partly from the internet.

Cassidy shook out his pitching arm. Tom knew this meant his son was getting tired, though he knew Cassidy would never admit it. It had been a good break, but they needed to get back on the road anyway.

Alright, Cass, let’s finish with a couple of knuckleballs. Throw it just like I taught you. Remember?

Yeah. Cassidy adjusted his grip on the ball and focused. He wound up and pitched, but released late. The ball glanced off a rock a few feet in front of Tom, causing it to bounce down toward the road. Sorry, Dad!

That’s alright, I got it. The ball finally stopped a couple of feet onto the shoulder ten feet behind the car.

Dad, wait. Please, just leave it. It’s not safe.

It’s alright, Cass, it’s just on the shoulder, not on the road. I’ll stay on the dirt. He walked up to the edge of the shoulder and stopped. He looked both ways a couple of times, but could see no traffic for miles in either direction. It had been six months since the last incident, but the public was still understandably skittish about driving. It wasn’t the driving itself they feared so much as getting out and being around other vehicles.

Tom didn’t have much of a choice. He finally found a job — three states away — but they wouldn’t pay moving expenses, and he barely had enough money for gas. He would drive them out himself, then save up and move the rest of their stuff as soon as he was able.

But first, his son was going to throw a proper knuckleball.

Standing on one foot on the edge of the shoulder, he tried reaching for the ball with his other leg, but couldn’t quite get there.

He got down on his knees and reached out for the ball with his right hand. He lost his balance, catching himself by putting his left hand down on the shoulder, but quickly righted himself.

Dad, forget it! We can back the car up and grab it from there. Or buy a new baseball. Please?

Just give me two seconds, I almost had it! He looked both ways again, knowing it was a pointless exercise. Visually clearing the road meant nothing. Still, he detected no traffic, whether on the road, the shoulder, or elsewhere.

In one fluid motion, he took a deep breath, reached forward, placed his left hand firmly on the shoulder, then grabbed the ball with his right hand.

I got—

The bus slammed into him from the left at sixty miles per hour then as always, promptly and silently disappeared.

Cassidy screamed, tears flowing down his cheeks. He stood there on the slope, unable to move, unable to think, almost unable to breathe. He gasped for air and continued bawling. His pain wouldn’t last long, however.

The speeding bus slammed into Cassidy before it disappeared again.

Chapter 2

T hey’re back, so we’re back, eh, boss? Agent Wahid asked.

Special Agent Garcia ignored him as she stormed by. The others were catching up with each other but went silent as soon as they saw her. She stood outside her office and looked them over.

Welcome back to the Department of Unidentified Bussing Objects.

Yeah! Agent Stokes said, clapping her hands a couple of times. The others turned and stared. "Oh, hey, I’m not happy people are dying, but we knew there was a good chance these things were still out there, right? Now’s our chance to get these guys. She’d said get" through clenched teeth.

Nice save, Wahid said.

These things, Garcia said, "came into our lives. They kill seemingly at random, then they disappear. Ghosts. They hit again and again and with impunity. While they terrorize us at will, we come up empty-handed. We ramp up our investigation, spending millions of taxpayer dollars, and for nothing. They disappear, we look like idiots and get shut down. Now they’re back, leaving the road, and slaughter a man and his son? She looked at each of them. As always and now more than ever, I want answers and I want them yesterday. Legal, what’s the word?"

Senate is pushing through the Mandatory Dashcam Law right now.

Thanks, Chan. Relations?

"No connection yet, Wahid said. I have a few new algorithms to try and, of course, every new incident is new data."

Carson, Munitions?

We’ve got caltrops, spike traps, lasers, the works, we just don’t know where to deploy them.

"We will. Let’s be aggressive on this. Someone’s being shy, you press ‘em. Someone can’t remember something, find what they do remember, every sight, sound, touch, smell, taste, and temperature of the room they were in. Someone’s withholding, you bribe ‘em, torture ‘em, sleep with ‘em, whatever it takes. You have too much to do, recruit from another department to help you. The others smiled at this. You have too little to do, go through your work again forwards and backwards. You have every iota of your work memorized, look out a goddamn window at the street and watch for the invisible. Any questions?"

Wahid raised his hand.

Wahid, I don’t have time for your theory right now, Garcia sighed. Wahid wore a fake smile and looked down. It’s what he expected. "But, you grow a second brain and a third hand for typing, you get yourself a separate computer and look into it."

Yes, ma’am.

Stokes, suit up, we’re going to the site to see what those other idiots are missing.

WE’RE GOING TO DROP in on the back of that trailer and catch a ride, Garcia yelled over the noise of the helicopter’s rotor.

So we don’t risk disturbing the site with our downwash?

Garcia nodded.

Copy that.

They lowered themselves down the rope and settled on the trailer. After their ride flew off, they started moving, arriving just a short way down the road. They climbed over the wagon circle, police cruisers and more big rigs encompassing the site and stepped inside.

Garcia? Agent Holmes. I was told to expect you, Holmes said, extending his hand.

Garcia shook it. Where is it?

The imprint? We’re lucky to have one for once. Right over here. He led them to it. It wasn’t big, but it was there. An obvious track in some dirt that was a little damper than anywhere else as a result of being in just the right spot to catch some shade from the densest part of a bush.

Holmes looked at his notepad. We went ahead and analyzed it for you. MN 390 series, thirteen-inch width, forty-two-inch diameter, tread’s less than a quarter gone. Dirt marks suggest a light load, if any.

I’m sorry, Holmes, but did Stokes analyze it?

Holmes did a double-take. No, it was... He looked behind him.

Let’s just double-check. Stokes?

Stokes got down and took some pics and examined them. I’d need to go back to the lab to be a hundred percent, but my findings concur with Holmes’s.

Holmes did his best not to look smug. It’s a bus tire. The kind used by buses all over the country. As feared and expected.

Garcia nodded. I didn’t mean...

I know. I would’ve done the same thing in your shoes. C’mon, let me show you the exact path we think it took.

He gave her the brief tour, answering her questions along the way. At first, she said all the stuff he expected her to, but then she said something new.

I need two volunteers to stand where the vics were. She didn’t wait for a reply and headed toward the road.

Okay. Holmes looked around. Mazzo! Stand by the kid’s point of impact. Don’t contaminate it. He himself ran to catch up to Garcia and stood a foot up the road from where the dad was killed.

Garcia looked around the inside of the perimeter. There were a bunch of civilians leaning against the vehicles, watching. The truck behind her was only fifteen feet away. Nice blockade, Holmes.

Thanks. Found a small town twenty minutes away, recruited as many as I could to help. You want me to assume the position?

Please.

Holmes got down on all fours. We know he was down like this. We think he was reaching for the ball they were playing with.

Good. Now let’s see.

She backed up almost to the truck then starting jogging straight at Holmes. Bam, she said, jogging past.

She thinks she’s a bus, a woman civilian chuckled to her husband.

Garcia jogged up the hill in a wide arc. How am I looking, Stokes? she yelled. Stokes responded with a thumbs-up. Garcia continued toward Mazzo, but stopped short.

Your dad just got murdered, where’re you looking? she asked.

Mazzo quickly raised and lowered his eyebrows in disbelief as he turned to face the road.

Thank you, Garcia said. Bam, she said as she passed by Mazzo. She jogged several feet past. By now, everyone had stopped what they were doing and watched. One more time.

She returned to the start and retraced her steps. By the time she passed Mazzo again, she was sweating.

One more time. A few people groaned. She jogged the course again. There was no fourth time. Thank you!

Holmes came up to her. Get anything?

What was it doing here and where did it go? Her voice was faint. Holmes didn’t speak as he had no answers and was pretty sure she was only talking to herself besides.

She continued the likely trajectory of the bus after the second hit. A trailer lay where it would go, so she walked past the car parked behind it to where she could see. She slowly scanned the hillside where she thought the bus would’ve gone.

Some dust coming off the ground fifty yards out caught her eye. She stiffened and held her breath without meaning to.

See something, ma’am? the civilian driver in the car asked.

May I climb on your vehicle, thanks, she blurted out as she climbed on the hood and then stood on the top.

Hey, what’re you doing?!

With a better view, she relaxed. From its movement, it was just a tiny dust devil. No, too small to even call it that. She sighed and stepped back on the hood, smiling. Of course it would be long gone by now. She took one last look and her smile vanished.

Farther away, she saw two tiny whirlwinds, about ten feet apart.

Slightly more than the width of a bus.

It’s here! she screamed, jumping off the car and running toward the dust.

Chapter 3

Garcia sprinted away from the safety of the barricade, focused on the ground. She withdrew her sidearm with her right hand while holding her left out in front of her.

Stokes scrambled to the top of the highest, tallest vehicle. Holmes! Get everyone in position, and anyone with a gun should aim it near Garcia! The crowd ran and took up places along the inner right side of the encampment.

Garcia threw her jacket on the ground where she had seen the first spray of dust and continued to the next two. She went thirty feet past, knelt down, and put her ear to the ground. Nothing.

She got up and looked all around for the slightest movement, but came up short.

She cupped her pistol in her hands and fired from left to right then got on her radio. Stokes, anything?

Negative.

On my mark, tell them to extrapolate from my jacket past my position and unload. She ran back to the second sighting. Ready?

Yeah, but you might want to duck down there, boss. I’m not sure they all know what ‘extrapolate’ means.

Garcia knelt down. Fire.

The bullets whizzed by all around her, sending little tufts of dirt into the air.

Higher! she yelled. Aim past me! Like a brief summer storm, the wave of projectiles cascaded across the hillside.

Cease fire! Garcia said. After several seconds, the shooting stopped. She saw no evidence the bus was still out there. Damn it, she said to herself. Stokes, tell me you saw something.

Sorry, boss.

East Checkpoint, report.

Quiet as a sleeping kitten out here, the agent in the driver’s seat said.

Hold on, wait! his partner said. He leaned out the window and looked all around. You know that sound a tire makes when it pulls onto a gravel road? I could swear I heard that just as you started talking, but if I did, it’s gone now.

Garcia sighed. Thanks, everyone. You can go, we’re done here. She slunk back, snatching her jacket along the way, and ignored all the people staring at her.

Everybody else returned to their vehicles and disbanded. Garcia and Stokes caught a ride to town where their chopper was waiting for them.

The agents’ van at East Checkpoint pulled out onto the main road and joined the caravan heading back to town.

A minute later, the invisible bus that had parked behind them pulled out, too.

HOW DID IT— CARSON started to ask.

As Stokes walked in, she bared her teeth and made a horizontal chopping motion with her hand aimed at her neck, the sign for don’t ask.

Garcia walked in behind her, tapping furiously on her phone.

Uh, chief? Wahid asked.

Unless you have something I can use, I don’t want to hear it, Garcia said, still walking and not looking up.

Actually, it’s about my theory.

Garcia grunted. "Then I definitely don’t want to hear it." She stepped into her office and grabbed the door, but before she could slam it shut, Wahid spoke again.

But I might have something.

Garcia stood there motionless.

Chief?

I’m thinking, Wahid.

Wahid looked around at the others. Should he ask? About?

What I’m going to do to you if you waste my time. She walked over and sat down next to him. Go.

He played a supercut of various movies: Mean Girls, Final Destination, Ghost Town, and more.

Yes, yes, Wahid, the trope idea, get on with it.

Right. These are just a few of countless movies where somebody steps into the street and is instantly hit by a bus that is going way too fast. They don’t see it with their peripheral vision and don’t hear it because it makes no sound until it’s in frame. A very popular trope usually used as a jump scare but if you think about it, it makes no sense.

More sense than your theory.

Boom! Nice one, boss, Carson called out from a few desks over. Garcia cracked the tiniest smile.

"Anyway, I couldn’t find a connection between movies using that trope and our bus attacks, but then I thought, what if it’s connected to somebody who's seen these scenes? So, I cross-referenced IP addresses of views preceding the attacks, expanded the search to include any and all busses, and narrowed it to mass pulldowns, i.e., somebody who downloaded them one after the other, without any pauses."

Like a program would.

Exactly. A program written by one Harrison Edgewise, I’m guessing, since the IP was traced to the coordinates where he’s under house arrest and banned from using a computer for his shady dealings with foreign governments.

Location? Garcia said, standing up.

A farm in Oklahoma, already sending you the address.

Stokes, Carson, with me, Garcia said, storming out.

Wahid waited until they were gone before turning to Chan. Call of Duty?

Okay, but don’t tell Stokes we played without her.

Agreed.

Chapter 4

H arrison Edgewise? Garcia spoke into the speaker at the solid, metal gate. We just want to talk. We have a warrant, but we’d rather do this the easy way.

No response. Garcia pulled alongside the fence and gave Carson a nod. He jumped out, climbed over, and then hotwired the automatic gate to open.

Just partway, Garcia said, getting out. Just enough to let us in. Then shut it behind us and do a perimeter sweep. You’re sure his property is closed off?

Yeah, according to the specs. I’ll verify when I’m making my rounds.

Good. I don’t want any surprises. Garcia and Stokes approached the house as Carson shut the gate then investigated the lot.

They saw the main house at the center toward the back. A barn was off to the right side while a large garden lay against the entire left wall. It looked like it hadn’t been used for a while as only grass was growing in it.

Garcia knocked on the front door. Again, there was no answer. The knob turned in her hand.

Unlocked? Stokes asked.

Why not? It’s a pretty secure place. She pushed the door in. What’s the profile on this guy?

MIT wiz. Made it big creating a few software companies that he then sold to Microsoft or Google.

So, not likely to booby-trap his place or come at us with an axe.

Probably not, boss. Parole officer said he never missed or failed a check-in.

Harrison! Silence. He’s failing one now. She motioned Stokes to take the upstairs while she cleared the ground floor. They regrouped in the kitchen by the door leading to the basement.

Garcia pulled out her gun. I’m liking this less by the second.

Stokes nodded and withdrew her own gun. They opened the door and went downstairs. There was nothing but a pool table and a tiny side area for the water heater.

Stokes wiped away a cobweb covering one of the side pockets. Ugh, rich people. He could at least cover the thing if he’s not going to use it.

Or replace the cheap wood paneling. I lived in a house like this once, but then, we weren’t millionaires. She tapped on it, making a sound much higher in pitch than if she had tapped actual wood. I wonder... She walked along the wall, tapping all the way.

One section sounded deeper. She and Stokes exchanged glances. She knocked on it hard then did the same to the next section. There was no mistaking the echo this time. She put her fingers into the groove and tried to slide the section, but there was nowhere for it to go. She took a step back and kicked it.

The whole panel fell forward in one piece.

She caught it then moved it off to one side, revealing the passageway into a tiny hidden office. Inside was a card table with a whole desktop setup, including a network cable leading to a router that had cable running into it from a hole in the wall.

Stokes?

On it. Stokes booted up the machine. Windows XP, pretty out-of-date, especially for this guy. There are a few freebie games on it, some old docs, not much else. I can’t get a connection to the internet, hold on. She unplugged and restarted the router and restarted the computer. Still can’t.

Garcia shined her light where the cable went. She pulled on the cable. It offered no resistance. Stokes.

Stokes looked up and saw Garcia holding the end of the cable. It wasn’t plugged in?

There’s nowhere to plug it in. This whole room’s a decoy.

Why?!

"In case they suspected him. He could show them this room, then just as the case against him is proceeding, his lawyers could show he wasn’t actually using it. Or maybe he was and this was a way of prolonging his case to give him more time to acquire a stealth bus and escape the country. Who knows. What we do know is that there’s a real computer setup somewhere. Let’s find it."

But where...?

The barn! they said in unison.

Carson reached the edge of the garden and waded in slowly for fear of stepping on something gross. The grass wasn’t everywhere, but thick enough to make him uneasy.

The women entered the barn and didn’t see anything incriminating on the bottom, so they climbed the ladder just inside.

Nothing but a hay bale, Stokes said.

Garcia tossed her flashlight into it. Instead of landing on the pile, it touched the hay and slid down a little. The hay rippled.

She walked up to it and grabbed some hay at the top and yanked, pulling a hay-covered blanket off a clothesline, hiding a much nicer setup than the one in the basement.

Damn, I’m on it, Stokes said, running over.

Carson stepped into a gap in the grass. A gap, he noted, that looked like a rut leading to the inside edge. Oh no. He followed it to the edge, walked alongside, and saw a second rut nine feet away. He ran back in and became overwhelmed by the smell of death. He covered his nose and continued until he saw Harrison’s body lying across the first rut. He was flattened across the waist.

He took several strides upwind and got on his radio. Guys? I found him. He’s dead.

Don’t touch him! Stokes said, typing away. I’ll be over in a minute.

No problem, Carson said, relieved. His eyes relaxed as he looked around from his position. He could just see part of the rear bumper of their vehicle. He frantically got on the radio again. Guys! Did one of you open the gate?!

Chapter 5

Garcia and Stokes looked at each other, their eyes wide.

Carson, take cover! Garcia yelled. I’m coming out. She moved toward the ladder but then froze. They heard an engine start up.

Where is it?! Stokes asked.

Garcia listened. It’s right underneath us.

Just then, the bus accelerated, slamming into the ladder on its way out of the barn. In so doing, it knocked out the main support for the top floor, which fell a couple feet and landed on and scraped the roof of the bus. Stokes fell into the computer setup, knocking it over, while Garcia fell down the slope, catching the one piece of the ladder that remained at the top.

Hang on, we’re about to fall hard! Garcia yelled.

The end of the bus slipped underneath, leaving nothing supporting the upper structure. The floor swung down, sending Garcia tumbling into the dirt, while Stokes and the computer fell mostly into some hay.

Garcia scrambled to her feet. She’d banged her knee but was otherwise unhurt. "Carson, it’s coming to you. Do not let that thing out, understand?"

Roger.

Garcia started out the barn door but stopped. Stokes?

Stokes groaned. I’m okay. Hurt my wrist pretty bad. Go, I’ll clean up here and wait for medical.

Garcia ran out, joining Carson in establishing a crossfire. He was along the wall still in the grass, inching toward the gate.

Where the hell is it, chief? he asked.

I’m going to go for the gate mechanism. She turned to Carson. Carson, freeze! She had just seen a wide swath of grass nearly flatten at the far side of the garden from Carson. He turned just enough to see what she was looking at and then gave her a tiny nod.

Out of the side of his eye, he saw the newly forming grooves in the grass turn in a wide arc straight for him as Garcia dashed for the gate controls.

The bus turned within feet of him, then suddenly turned even harder and accelerated.

It’s coming at you, Garcia!

Resume firing!

He’d only fired a couple of shots when the bus cleared the garden. Garcia, it’s going to be on top of you any second!

She stopped as fast as she could, just a few feet from the controls. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to brace for getting hit, but it didn’t happen. Instead, she smelled something bad.

She was overcome with a memory. In it, she and Luther, a guy she once dated, were walking his dog in the evening around his apartment complex. Every time they rounded the last corner to go back to his place seemed to be just after some other tenant had parked his enormous pickup truck in that spot. She always forgot about it until it was too late and wound up inhaling some of that hot, awful engine air that lingered. She vowed that one day she would remember, but Luther got a job offer and moved away before she had the chance.

She coughed, trying to minimize her movement. She slowly raised her right arm up, her hand feeling the air coming out of what had to be the front grill. If she was fast enough, she could run, preferably toward the wall where it wouldn’t chance a big collision like that, but she wasn’t ready to bet her life on it. She could also try falling to the ground and hope it drove safely over her, but that seemed like an even worse option.

Hey, buswipe, over here! Carson ran toward the house, waving his arms over his head.

To her great relief and surprise, the bus made its backing-up beeping noise. The air around her cleared just as she was starting to feel woozy. When the beeping stopped and she heard the tires drive past, she ran to the controls and set the gate to close. She easily ran through before it shut.

Carson stopped just outside the front door. What the...?! He saw a piece of hay that had gotten caught by the roof camera floating in the air as the bus drove at him. He took aim and fired several shots, hitting the camera, before jumping inside the house and running toward the back.

Garcia got a spike strip from the trunk of their vehicle and laid in front of the gate and then went back for more. Carson, you got a twenty on the bus? The gate went flying outward as the bus came barreling through. Never mind! She heard several of the tires pop as they hit the spike strip.

She jumped in their van and drove inside the gate, slamming on the brakes as Carson ran up to meet her.

Camera, he said as he jumped in the passenger seat, tossing the broken camera into the back. When did you realize it was an autonomous vehicle?

When you froze in place and didn’t die.

She slammed the van into reverse and backed them out of the estate. Left or right?

Probably left. That way leads to town. He got on the radio as Garcia gunned it forward. Wahid, we need thermal eyes in the sky ASAP. We’ve got a runner or whatever.

"Roger. Aerial five-oh is five minutes out. Also, I don’t know how much this matters, but