Дэвид Муди - Screaming Eagles

So this morning, he’d had to walk to the bus stop instead of driving to a park and ride, just to avoid a confrontation. Of course the bus had been late, packed to the gills, and had gotten him to Seattle just in time to miss his connecting ride.

September had a mean streak this year that didn’t want to let up. As the month marched toward October, it brought nothing but vicious storms, clouds, and cold, and Vic wanted nothing more than to stay in bed until June.

Seattle weather was notoriously wet. Ask someone about living in the state of Washington, and they inevitably mentioned that it rained all of the time, which wasn’t much of an exaggeration.

A bus finally moved through the intersection and came into view. The bright numbers displayed on the side display told him that it wouldn’t get him anywhere near his job.

How could both be so late on a Wednesday morning?

An angry man who’d been shaking his fist stormed toward the bus, was cut off by a pair of teenage girls in bright rain slickers, and sighed loud enough for even the bus driver to hear. The girls leaned close together as they ran up the bus’s stairs, oblivious to the dude’s anger.

The bus pulled away, and Victor was left with a dozen other miserable commuters, who checked their watches or phones while they waited. None of them moved an inch to let him into the bus shelter, so he stood and waited. Stood and waited. Christ on a crutch, was he sick of standing and waiting.

Another bus made the turn from 5th Avenue, and for a split second he thought it was his, but the numbers changed to TERMINAL and it sped away toward home base.

Miserable, Victor turned his attention back to the crossroad. Any second now, any second, and his bus would come around the corner.

His cell phone buzzed against his leg. Shifting his backpack around, he reached beneath his jacket and dug out the device. As he lifted the phone, his wet fingers lost their grip and the device clattered across the ground.

Even through the sound of the heavy rain, he knew what that cracking noise meant. He leaned over to pick his phone up, and nearly fell straight into the deluge. Water staccatoed across his back and hood, but he stood up, otherwise none the worse for wear.

The same could not be said for his phone.

Victor got a look at his shattered screen and lack of power, and found he was no longer in the mood to be a nice guy. He backed into his old spot, oblivious to the cries of indignation from the woman he pushed out of his way.

“That was rude,” she said.

Victor ignored her and stared straight ahead, just as she had done a moment ago. He could passive-aggressive with the best of them.

Whoever had called would have to wait until Victor arrived at the work site and could get to a working phone. Assuming he could see the number on his broken phone screen.

As another bus came into view, he realized it was his and moved back into the rain, but not before the angry woman with the fancy purse could dash around Victor and cut him off. She seemed to delight in stepping in front of him, judging by the way she straightened her back.

His phone buzzed again. He stared at the dead screen and realized there was a little bit of life left in the device. After trying several times to push the answer icon, the phone finally relented.

“Hello?” He pressed the phone to his ear. “Laura?”

“Victor? Did you see it?”

“Laura? What’s wrong?”

“It’s all over the news, baby. Please…”

“Oh hon, you wouldn’t believe the morning I’m having… Hello?”

The call cut off. He tried to call her back, but the remains of his screen refused to cooperate with his fingers.

The bus windows were completely fogged over from condensate. It rolled to a stop, tires kissing the curb, and the door shot open, letting out a blessedly warm blast of air.

People streamed out, but just when he thought his line was going to move, a mother with two small children moved to the front and asked the bus driver a question while the little ones—no older than three and four—tried to go in two different directions.

She got her hands on them, but her bag fell off her shoulder, items spilling across the floor. She yelled at her kids, apologized to the bus driver, and shoved things back into her purse as quickly as possible. An older gentleman grabbed a tube of lipstick off the floor and offered it to her.

Rain continued to pour into Victor’s jacket, and he decided that he was never getting on this damn bus; he was going to stand here, trapped in purgatory until the day was done. He was concerned about Laura’s call, but whatever she been talking about probably wasn’t going to effect him in the city. He’d just call her as soon as he was on his lunch break.

The busy woman with two children managed to catch both kids’ hands and help them down the two stairs. The pair were dressed in miniature, colorful rain gear, complete with knee-length yellow slickers.

The woman who’d cut him off stepped onto the bus and—of course—had to pause to find her bus pass.

Victor’s considerable patience came to an end as he groaned out loud, “Oh, come on .”

What came on wasn’t the lady moving her ass, though; it was a massive boom that thundered around them.

“What was that?” she said, and actually took a step back down the stairs.

He didn’t make it on the bus.

Instead, the impossible happened: the dark sky opened, pushing fat grey clouds out of the way. Bright light replaced the haze, casting the city in bright hues of yellow and orange. Oddly, rain continued to strike his jacket and hood in a rapid-fire pattern.

Victor raised his head. His hood was blown back, and rain hit his face and rolled down his neck, but it didn’t matter now.

As the clouds were shoved aside, a section of sky revealed itself, now bright red. The rain faded to a mist, and then was completely gone.

Around him, the city was silent… until a driver ran a red light and was promptly crushed by a semi that had the right of way. The car screeched across the asphalt until both vehicles rammed into a concrete divider.

Brake lights lit up as cars slammed to a halt. Accidents all around him as heads gawked upward.

The rude woman who’d cut him off leaned her head back and almost tripped off the first step. For all his earlier anger, Victor reached out mechanically and got his hand in the middle of her back. She stumbled into him, didn’t acknowledge his action, and took a step to the side while still staring upward.

Voices rose in alarm from every direction as the shapes crossed the sky. Hands frantically wiped across bus windows as the occupants struggled to look out and up. One of the passengers wore a pair of oversized headphones, and nodded, eyes closed, oblivious to the madness that was occurring.

Victor panicked, grabbing his phone and beating it against his palm. Laura! He had to reach her and tell her that he loved her, just one more time. When was the last time he’d even said the words out loud instead of shooting a “Back atcha” or “Me too” whenever she said that she loved him? Too long; far too long, was his guess.

But his phone was barely responsive beneath a spider web of shattered glass.

The woman who had seemed intent on making his day terrible had her phone out, and he nearly ripped it from her, but she dashed away, her travel mug sloshing coffee.

“What do I do now?” he muttered, and looked at the bus. The driver stared back at him in shock.

“What’s going on out there?”

“I don’t know, man. Something in the sky. Look up,” Victor yelled.

The bus driver slipped out of his seat and then down the stairs. He craned his neck back and gasped.

A roar built, then intensified until Victor had to slap his hands against his ears. The driver did the same, and staggered back onto his bus.