I lifted the microphone from its cradle. Julian remained curled on the floor of row one, his small shoulders pressed tight against the partition wall. Further back, Maya sat rigid in seat fourteen, her mittens pressed against her ears as the other children murmured in confusion.
"Supervisor Miller, acknowledge what I am saying," I spoke into the mic, keeping my cadence even. "I am in physical possession of an emergency protective order issued at eleven-eighteen this morning by District Judge Douglas Bennett. Marcus Cole’s custodial authority was stripped after documented findings of severe physical endangerment. Handing this child over is a class-four felony. I will not stop on an open shoulder."
"Your job description is transportation, not judicial enforcement, Vance!" Miller barked back. "The database on my desk is the only operating authority recognized by the school board, and Marcus Cole is the legal contact of record! Pull over now, or your commercial license is permanently revoked!"
"Then revoke it," I said, and snapped the radio selector switch down, cutting the district feed.
Through the rearview mirror, the Dodge Ram surged closer, its chrome grille filling the rectangular glass of the emergency door. Marcus flashed his high beams in violent pulses, riding less than four feet from my rear bumper. The narrow pavement wound through the frosted pines of Pine Creek Hollow, where the road banked between sheer limestone outcroppings and a four-foot drop into the ditch. If I braked suddenly, seventy-five hundred pounds of pickup truck would crush the rear door into the back rows.
"Everyone slide down between the seats," I commanded over the internal intercom. "Backs against the wall, heads below the window trim. Stay on the floor."
The scrape of winter boots rippled down the center aisle as twenty children dropped into the gaps between the green vinyl benches. Julian reached out with one trembling hand and gripped the cuff of my heavy canvas jacket.
"He's going to hit us, Mr. Vance," the boy whispered, the words shaking against the engine's drone. "He said if anyone tried to separate us, he’d wreck whatever car they put me in."
"He isn't hitting anything, Julian," I said, keeping my eyes locked on the twisting road ahead. "Keep your head down."
Beside the steering column sat the red plastic shroud covering the transit emergency override. Flipping it would patch the bus’s radio directly into the county emergency band, a measure that carried an automatic review before the state licensing board if done without dispatch authorization. I snapped the shroud up and clicked the heavy toggle down.
A piercing warble tone sounded, followed by the crisp voice of the county central dispatcher.
"County Emergency Services, receiving transit priority from school bus twenty-seven at mile-marker eleven on Route Nine. Report your emergency."
"This is driver Vance on Bus Twenty-Seven," I answered, fighting the pull of the wheel as the vehicle rounded the curve at Devil's Elbow. "I have twenty students on board. I am being pursued and aggressively tailgated by Marcus Cole in a gray Dodge Ram, license plate Delta-Six-Seven-Three. Marcus Cole is evading service on Judge Bennett's emergency removal order, docket number seven-seven-four-two. He is attempting to force this vehicle off the road."
A brief pause was followed by the sharp click of an open patch. "Bus Twenty-Seven, hold your line. Deputy Owens is stationed at the Route Four crossroads weigh station with two patrol units. They are establishing an intercept. Do not pull onto the shoulder. Maintain speed until you reach the lighted apron."
Through the driver's side mirror, I saw the Ram swing into the oncoming lane. Marcus floored his accelerator, pulling alongside my driver's window. Through his glass, his face was red with rage, veins bulging along his jaw as he waved a heavy iron lug wrench in his left hand, shouting curses against the roar of the exhausts. He angled his steel bumper inward, aiming directly for the steering axle of my bus to force us into the limestone ditch.
I did not swerve. If I jerked the wheel, thirty-eight feet of top-heavy metal would roll into the culvert. I held the centerline and leaned on the air horn. The twin horns on the roof bellowed across the valley, a deafening blast that reverberated off the frozen rock face. Marcus jerked his steering wheel back just as the trees parted, revealing the wide four-lane expanse of the Route Four junction two hundred yards ahead.