Fifty-Eight

FIFTY-EIGHT

“Help me! Get over here now!” Jack screamed to the others.

Michael couldn’t move. It was as though all the weight he had lost had been piled back on his bones and it was pinning him to the floor. He couldn’t even muster words. All of it, gone.

Jack had a hold on the door. The accordion opened inwards and he propped his knee against the vertical hinge. Every muscle in his body rioted against him—as did the young man on the other side of the glass. Jack held firm; he had to. Their lives depended on it, on his strength, on muscles he’d worked hard to sculpt. Pride would keep them safe. Sure, there was a significant part of him that was afraid of the madman getting into the bus, but his adrenalin numbed that emotion’s jagged edge. Jack’s real fire was for the kid on his side of the door. Despite all the chaos and confusion, there was something about that dark haired, pale skinned fella that bristled his nerves. The air of pussy on him—and not the good kind of pussy, mind you