The bus driver unloaded the last passengers at the last stop. He checked to make sure no one was in the back. Nope, no one. Thank goodness, my day’s over, he thought. He drove on , heading towards Detroit. He wasn’t too far away from the bus depot, where he can park the bus and go home. He could see the Detroit Metro Airport lights in the distance. He came upon a blockade on the highway. Police sirens blinded him. On the side of him, he noticed an 18-wheeler tipped over with an armored truck with a strange symbol resting on its side. Men in containment suits were walking beside his bus. A police officer came upon the side of the truck.
“Sir, I need to see your drivers license and identification. An accident has happened here,” the officer sternly declared.
Damn pigs, he thought, I didn’t do nuttin. He took out his wallet and handed him both his bus driver’s and regular license.
As he handed him the licenses, the police officer noticed his tattoo on his hand. “You’re keeping your nose clean, Zed…Blazkowicz?” the officer asked. “You don’t have any other people back there?” The officer quickly flashed his flashlight into the back of the bus.
“Yes, officer,” Zed rolled his eyes. “No, siree, I don’t have nobody back there.”
“Good, see that path of flares to your right. Follow it.”
He began turning his bus to the right. He heard that cough again in the back.He stopped the bus. As he turned around, he noticed a slovenly figure approach him, drooling, with scars and boils. “What the–?” The figure, the monster, tore at him in an instant, leaving his carcass on the wheel. Instantly, it broke through the bus doors, and began a rampage, a disastrous rampage, tearing through the officers and the men in containment suits. All there was to be heard were screams. And then silence.
(To be continued…)