Whoever took the wheel managed to bring the bus to a shaky halt, and I heard frantic footsteps racing to the exit. I followed suit, making my way through the aisle as best I could. Every other seat that my hands touched was covered in the same sticky fluid that I could feel running down my neck, and I kept tripping over some lumpy obstructions that were splayed across the aisle. Even though I had no other explanation for it, I kept telling myself that I wasn’t touching blood, and that I wasn’t tripping over corpses.
Eventually, I called out for help and someone grabbed my shoulder crying “Move! I gotcha, just move!” as he led me outside.
“What…what’s going on?” I panted as our feet hit the hard interstate asphalt.
“The driver,” he spoke in a baritone that was shaking to keep control of itself, “his head…it just splattered all over the windshield. Then…other passengers…their heads just…burst like water balloons. Don’t know why…” The remaining passengers rallied around us, frantically panting while shouting out unanswerable questions.
During this roadside pandemonium, something started to take shape in the area behind my impotent eyeballs. My blindness has been with me since birth, so I don’t even know how to describe it, but three separate forms started to insert themselves into the familiar blankness that usually covers my eyes. The forms looked the way that a blazing campfire feels when it’s too close to your skin. They started to gain intensity until they began to take on the shapes of people, as I understood them. Two arms, two legs, one head…but there was something slightly not human about these fiery shapes that were materializing before me. Where their eyes should be, there were two painful looking slits; thin and sharp like razorblades. Strands hung from their arms, legs, and shoulders and as they drew closer, I could see that they were chains. Whatever the hell happened on the bus was just the beginning.
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