“Please, leave me alone.”
“Just making conversation,” Trent smiled, a predatory gleam in his eyes. He stood up, towering over her, and placed one hand on the back of her seat and the other on the seat in front of her, effectively trapping her in a cage of his own arms. “You work up at the lodge? I bet you’re used to serving guys. I’m telling you to serve me some attention.”
Greg and Cody chuckled, feeding off the intimidation. The rest of the passengers were frozen, held hostage by the threat of explosive violence. No one wanted to intervene and become the target of four trained fighters.
Up at the front of the bus, Arthur’s eyes flicked to the massive rectangular rearview mirror. He saw the girl’s terrified face. He saw Trent’s aggressive posture. Arthur didn’t sigh. He didn’t show anger. He simply flipped a switch on the dashboard. The hydraulic brakes engaged with a massive shuddering hiss. The bus decelerated rapidly but smoothly, pulling over onto a narrow, snow-covered turnout on the edge of the canyon. The vehicle came to a complete halt, the engine idling with a deep rumble. Arthur engaged the parking brake.
“Hey, why’d we stop?” Cody yelled from the back.
Arthur unbuckled his seatbelt. He picked up the PA microphone.
“I need the gentleman in the black sweatshirt to step away from the young lady and take his seat.”
Arthur’s voice echoed through the bus speakers. It was utterly devoid of emotion. It sounded like an automated warning system right before a detonation.
—
**Chapter 2: 2.5 Seconds**
Trent turned his head, staring down the long illuminated aisle of the bus at the back of the driver’s head. He let go of the girl’s seat and stepped fully into the center aisle. He cracked his knuckles, a broad menacing smile spreading across his face. This was exactly what he wanted—an audience, a confrontation, a chance to impose his will.
“Are you talking to me, driver?” Trent shouted, his voice echoing in the enclosed space. “Because it sounds like you’re giving me an order. And I don’t take orders from guys who drive a bus for a living.”
Trent began to walk down the aisle. He moved with the practiced balanced steps of a martial artist closing the distance in the cage. He was visualizing the assault: a quick step in, a collar tie, maybe a heavy knee to the sternum to wind the old man, followed by a hip toss to the floor. He’d humiliate him, leave him bruised, and walk off the bus a local legend.
“Trent, leave it, man. Let’s just get home,” Liam muttered from the back, suddenly feeling a strange shift in the atmosphere.
