It's A Bird! It's A Plane!

by Steve Beaulieu

  Pain shot through Harold’s arm as the partition pinned him against the door.

  Four: Then

  Screaming brought the boy back to consciousness. He opened his eyes, his vision blurred, head throbbing. He was laying on his chest, his entire body hurt. Something warm was running down his face, he touched it and brought away bloody fingers. He tried to move and lightning—pain like he’d never felt before—shot up his leg.

  He cried out, looking back and seeing his leg was twisted badly between one of the seat-legs and the wall of the bus. His jeans were twisted around his leg so tight, the fabric pinched his skin. Every time he moved, another wave of agony pulsed through him.

  Tears mixed with the blood trickled down his face, dripping on the window he lay on. Instead of blue sky, trees and the city, the boy only saw dark grey concrete, two solid yellow lines painted across it.

  The street?

  The bus was on its side. Over the top of the seat, he saw several other kids crawling on the side, which was now the floor, of the bus. Some pulled themselves up to stand between the seats, others just sat and cried. Several didn’t move at all. At the far end of the bus, the bus driver was slumped over in his seat, held up only by his seatbelt. His arms dangled limply in the air.

  Terrified cries and wailing filled the air around him. The boy gritted his teeth against his pain, making every effort to lay perfectly still so he wouldn’t aggravate his injury.

  Smoke seeped inside through the shattered windshield, curling along the top, the now-side, of the bus. Something was on fire.

  “Becky!” the boy called out, his voice broken and hoarse. He swallowed, trying to work up more saliva. “Becky, where are you?”

  He adjusted his position to get a better look, but stopped short as another burst of white-hot pain shot through his leg. He gritted his teeth against the pain, blinking away tears.

  “Help!” he called, twisting his body, trying to see more of the bus. “Becky, are you okay?”

  “Becky!”

  A face appeared from behind the seat in front of him. Long, brown hair hung in a tangled mess over a face smeared with dirt, grime, and tears. Her confused, terrified expression turned to relief at the sight of her brother, then she burst out into sobs.

  “I didn’t mean to throw that spit wad at Steve,” his sister said, sobbing, her entire body shaking.

  “Becky,” the boy said, reaching for her. “Becky, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

  She moved around the seat separating them, and wrapped her arms around him. He groaned, his face twisting in pain as she squeezed. She realized that he was in pain and quickly let go, scooting back.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she cried. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Are you okay?”

  The boy swallowed hard, trying not to vomit. “It’s my leg, I think it’s broken.”

  She craned her head to look as his injury and grimaced.

  “It’s okay,” the boy reassured her. “Someone is going to come for us.”

  Despite the chaos around her, Becky’s face lit up. “You mean a hero is coming?”

  Through his pain, the boy smiled back at his sister, knowing that she would believe anything he said. “Yeah, sis, a hero will save us.”

  Five: Now

  Harold’s world came back into focus to the sound of honking horns and panicked shouts. His head throbbed, his vision still slightly blurry. He tried to sit up and a pain pulsed in his arm.

  He cried out, trying to pry at the partition with his free hand. He tried to jam his fingers around its metal frame, but it wouldn’t budge. Everytime he moved, the electric-like pain coursed through the length of his pinned arm.

  He looked forward. The driver was slumped over the small computer mounted to the center console. Blood streamed out of a deep cut on his head.

  “Hey,” Harold pounded on the partition just behind the driver. “Hey, man, wake up!”

  The driver didn’t move.

  “Help!” he yelled, looking around. He could see several vehicles stopped in the street. People appeared around the cab, all looking over the damaged car, their expressions a mixture of shock and concern.

  “Help me!” Harold shouted.

  Two men came up to the passenger door and began trying to pull it open.

  “Hold tight, friend,” one said. He wore a Liberty City Fireballs ball cap, its solid white front decorated with a fiery baseball. “We’re going to get you out of there.”

  “It’s jammed,” the other said, grunting as he pulled on the handle.

  They looked over the door for a second, then the man in the ball cap said, “Look, the frame’s bent. No way we’re getting that door open.”

  “Come on,” the other man said. “Let’s try the other side.”

  Two more people reached the front passenger doors and encountered the same problem. Harold looked over his shoulder at the driver’s side of the car and knew they wouldn’t have any better luck there. Both front and back doors were caved in from the impact. Crushed like a beer can.

  “Cover your face!” someone yelled.

  A second later, Harold heard a thwack and looked back in time to see a pole bounce off the window just behind his head. The man cursed then swung again. The pipe connected with another thwack, but bounced off without so much as cracking the glass.

  Harold held up his free hand. “No, stop, don’t—“

  The man swung a third time. This time the glass shattered, showering Harold with hundreds of tiny shards. He cursed, raising his free hand to shield his face.

  “For Pete’s sake, watch it!” Harold shouted.

  “Hold on, man, we’ll just…”

  Harold felt hands reaching under his armpits. Panic shot through him. “No, wait!”

  The man grunted. “…pull you out.”

  “No!”

  The man pulled and Harold cried out in agony. Stabbing pain tore through his arm as muscle pinched and skin pulled. He screamed until his breath ran out.

  “Stop! Let go you son of a bitch!”

  The hands released him and the pressure on his arm subsided, though the dull pain remained. He took long pained breaths, willing the pain to lessen. Memories from his childhood flooded his mind. Memories of that damn school bus and how it had ruined his life.

  Memories of his sister.

  Six: Then

  Something popped and metal groaned as more smoke began to stream into the bus. The screams of his classmates died away, replaced by cries of pain and fear. Several of the kids pounded on the windows above, trying to break them, but none were strong enough.

  The boy could hear voices outside on the street, adults by the sound of them, discussing the best way to get the children out of the bus. One asked about the police, another asked where the firemen were, the boy just wanted someone to help him and his sister.

  “No one’s coming to help us.” His sister said, wiping away tears from her cheeks. “Where are they? Why don’t they help?”

  “I don’t know. But they’ll be here. They’ll come.”

  “Oh, shit look at that!” someone outside the bus yelled.

  Becky gave her brother a surprised look. They’d heard cussing before, but that kind of language was strictly forbidden in their house.

  A loud thunk as something hit the top—side—denting the body, shook the entire bus. The impact knocked several kids off their feet, and the chorus of terrified screaming returned.

  Then, through the cacophony of voices, a loud metallic ripping sound drowned out the screams and light shone in from above as a whole section of the bus was ripped away.

  Children scrambled away from the impossible sight, rolling over seats and falling over each other in an effort to get away.

  Becky looked, her eyes wide with wonder. “It’s a hero!”

  The boy watched as a lone figure descended into the interior of the bus, his green cape flapping. His red and green uniform was spotless and formfitting. The image of a golden shield bea
ring a closed fist was emblazoned on his chest. He touched down and held up two red-gloved hands. When he spoke, his voice was calm and reassuring.

  “It’s okay everyone, there’s no need to be afraid. We’re all going to get out of here, okay? I need you all to be brave for a couple more minutes and I’ll get you all to safety. Everyone got that?”

  Becky nodded emphatically.

  Blaze motioned for two of the closest kids to come to him. They wrapped their arms around him and stepped on his feet, then he ascended slowly upward, out of the bus.

  “See,” the boy said. “A hero’s here, everything is going to be all right.”

  Then the engine exploded.

  Seven: Now

  The memory of his sister flooded Harold’s mind, pushing everything else happening around him to a distant, unimportant section of his awareness.

  He could still feel her fingers in his. She wouldn’t let him go, refused to give up. She held his gaze, her eyes filled with determination as he cried.

  “I can’t feel my legs,” she said.

  Harold remembered the panic. “What does that mean? That’s bad. What are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to be okay,” she told him. “A hero will come for us.”

  During those horrifying moments, Harold watched, helpless as the color slowly faded from her face and her eyes started to droop, almost like she was falling asleep. To this day, he never understood how she’d been so confident someone would save them. But as she lay there, her body crushed under twisted metal, she was still trying to reassure him.

  “A hero will come,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  Then her fingers loosened around his and her head collapsed to the seat.

  Someone pounded on the door behind him, bringing Harold back from his terrible memories.

  “Hey,” a woman’s voice said. “Hang in there, stay awake. The fire department is almost here,”

  Harold swallowed hard and tried to turn and see. A wave of nausea came over him as pain assaulted him. He concentrated hard, forcing himself to hold back vomit.

  “Easy, man,” a man’s voice said, pointing at Harold’s arm. “Hold still, you don’t want to make that worse.”

  Then Harold heard the sirens and the crowd around him began waving and shouting.

  “Over here!”

  “He’s trapped!”

  “I think the driver’s dead.”

  Harold couldn’t tell who was talking, everything seemed like it was all a bad dream. He could feel himself on the brink of passing out again, his body slumped against the seat.

  A man in a suit bent down, looking through the broken window. “You’re going to be okay, guy. The fire department’s here, they’ll get you out of there no time.”

  The searing pain in Harold’s arm had become a dull throb. His fingers tingled but he was having a hard time moving them, they were beginning to go numb.

  The thought of losing his hand sent the first real pangs of fear through his mind. They aren’t going to get here fast enough, he thought. The memory of his sister’s eyes closing for the last time flashed before him and panic returned.

  Desperately, he began trying to free his arm, pulling hard despite the terrible pain. He jerked back hard screaming against the pain. His stomach turned, then he twisted and vomited on to the cab’s floorboards.

  He heard concerned voices, muted like they were underwater, but couldn’t understand the words. Tears blurred his vision. He gritted his teeth against the constant throbbing of pain.

  Please, he thought, slumping down against his seat.

  Someone pounded on the cab’s door behind him. “Hey, you’re okay. We’re going to get you out. Just sit tight.”

  Harold craned his head around. Two firefighters worked furiously on the doors.

  Harold opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

  One of the firefighters kicked the door, then turned and shouted, “Gary, bring the jaws.” He turned back to Harold and smiled. “It’s okay, bud. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Harold blinked away the tears, wiping his face with his free hand. “Thank you, I—“ He stopped. A small pin gleamed on the lapel of the firefighters jacket. A closed fist on a golden shield. He couldn’t stop one side of his mouth from curling into a sneer.

  The words left Harold’s mouth before he even realized he was going to speak them. “Damn, you people are everywhere.”

  The firefighter paused slightly, his expression confused.

  Harold grunted. “Guess your god had better things to do, huh?”

  The firefighter frowned and opened his mouth to speak but his partner returned, carrying the large jaws of life.

  “We ready to open this bad boy up?”

  The Hero Worshiper, took the heavy machine from his partner. “Let’s get this guy outta there.”

  Eight: Then

  Flames roared to the chorus of groaning metal and screaming children. The explosion had tossed them both, along with several other children, to the very back of the bus. They were a mass of emotion, climbing over each other to get away from the flames creeping through the bus.

  The boy shoved one of his classmates—Derick, he thought. It was hard to tell, the smoke stung his eyes. Panic had seemed to grip everyone around him as a singular thought repeated in the boy’s mind: Help Becky. But help her how?

  The boy poked his head around the seat back, quickly counting the remaining students. Six left. Three more trips until the hero would get to them. If he got to them at all.

  Blaze appeared again, grabbing two children around their waists then disappearing again out of the top of the overturned bus.

  He’s not going to reach us in time, the boy thought, pulling his sister close. They’d curled up in the last seat, and remembering his many fire drills from school, stayed as close to the floor as he could. Even then, he coughed hard, breathing in wafts of black smoke.

  Blaze appeared again, grabbing another two, taking them to safety.

  “What’s taking so long?” his sister asked, refusing to lift her face from the floor as she sobbed.

  “It’s going to be okay,” the boy said through a coughing fit. He stroked her hair, trying to reassure her and finding that it reassured him too.

  The flame engulfed another row of seats and more black smoke rolled into the air. Most of it curled out of the hole Blaze had made in the bus’s metal skin, but some of it crept back in. As the boy watched, the trail of smoke crept along like some formless monster reaching out to grab him.

  The sound of metal tearing echoed around him and a split-second later another section of steel and glass was ripped clear, then hurled into the air. It vanished in the billowing smoke and almost immediately, a wide stream of water broke through the smoke, raining down into the bus. It splashed off seats and the floor, soaking the boy almost immediately. Becky screamed and tried to scramble away from the stream.

  “It’s okay!” the boy shouted over the roar of water. He sat up, bracing himself against the water.

  Blaze dropped through the spray, grabbed two more, and lifted them out through the water and smoke.

  The boy felt a smile form at the edges of his mouth as the flames retreated against the onslaught of water. The smoke dissipated, but the boy could still feel it in his lungs, making it painful to breathe. The roar of the water drowned everything else out, even Becky’s sobs. The boy didn’t even hear when the Hero touched down in front of them, only looking up when the he spoke.

  “It’s okay kids. We’re getting out of here.” Blaze smiled down at them, arm outstretched, hand open. Relief spread through the boy like a wildfire and despite the pain it caused, he laughed as he took the Hero’s hand.

  The boy wrapped his arms around Blaze’s waist, feeling the strength in his arms. Becky scrambled off the floor, half crying, half laughing as she too grabbed onto Blaze. He told them to hold on tight, then lifted into the air. They rose through the stream of water, through patch
es of smoke, and finally in to clean, fresh air. He laughed again. He was flying. The sensation was like nothing he’d ever experienced before.

  A line of cars was stacked up three wide down the length of the street, and a large crowd had gathered, all watching as the fire department set up more hoses and police ushered people away. The on-lookers clapped as Blaze set the boy and his sister down on the sidewalk, making sure they had their footing before letting go.

  “You’re going to be okay,” the Hero said. “You’re safe.”

  The boy looked up at the Hero, his eyes still blurred and stinging from the smoke. “Thank you, Blaze. That was awesome”

  Blaze smiled, kneeling down. “What’s your name?”

  The boy sniffed. “Chris.”

  “Well, Chris, you were very brave today.”

  Pride swelled in the boy’s chest. He opened his mouth to thank the hero again and an urgent shout interrupted him.

  “Hey, someone give me a hand over here!”

  Blaze turned and the boy leaned to the side as a firefighter waved to him near the front of the bus. Blaze shot away, a gust of wind from his sudden movement pushed the boy back a step.

  The Hero reached the car, looked in through the crushed back window, then quickly pulled the back passenger door free of its hinges. He tossed it aside without looking, and reached inside the car. A second later he pulled a boy from the wreckage, handing him off to a waiting firefighter. Immediately, he reached back into the car, crawling halfway inside it, then slowly, carefully, backed out, carrying what looked like a little girl.

  Chris felt his stomach turn. The girl wasn’t moving.

  Blaze called for the medics as he set her down on the pavement. An anguished scream cut across the street as the boy Blaze had just saved fought against the Hero, trying to get to his sister, her little body surrounded by the medics and firefighters.

  They were still working on her when Chris’s parents arrived to take him and his sister home. They never gave up, some doubling over from exhaustion as they worked to save her, but it was no use.