They reached the bus stop just as the lead bus began to move out. Kurt crashed through the door with Emma right behind him. The driver instinctively slammed on the brakes.
Kurt lunged forward, pulled him from the seat and stomped on the gas pedal. The big diesel engine roared and the bus lurched forward and began to pick up speed. Kurt grabbed the wheel and steered to the left.
Behind him, the driver had pulled a can of Mace and aimed it. Kurt shut his eyes, turned away and kept his foot on the gas. A commotion followed and a loud thud. When Kurt looked up, Emma had disarmed the bus driver, flung him to the ground and taken possession of his spray can.
“Nice work,” Kurt said.
She brandished the Mace in the driver’s direction and pointed. He looked and then moved back to the first open seat.
“No vamos a hacerle daño a nadie,” Emma said in fluent Spanish. “Estamos trabajando para el gobierno.”
Kurt continued to drive the bus, swinging wide around a corner and down the next street. The crowd stayed put. The murmuring didn’t end, but there were no uprisings. “What did you tell them?”
“I said we’re not going to hurt anyone and that we’re working for the government,” she explained. “It’s true, if you think about it. I just didn’t specify which government.”
“Works for me,” Kurt said, rotating the big steering wheel and guiding the bus down the road. The big rig was surprisingly easy to drive as long as he went straight. How the drivers traversed narrow cobblestone streets without taking out parked cars and the corners of buildings, Austin couldn’t imagine.
And after a mile, they’d reached the outskirts of Las Peñas. Kurt figured they’d left the Chinese agents far enough behind. He began to slow, easing over to the shoulder and looking for a place to park.
A sudden jolt from behind whiplashed his neck and sent shivers through the bus. The passengers screamed and several were thrown from their seats. Emma fell against the front window before regaining her balance.
Stomping on the gas instinctively, Kurt checked the mirror. The problem was obvious: a second bus had raced up behind with its lights off and rammed them. It was now maneuvering to pull alongside. Kurt swerved to cut it off and kept accelerating, but they failed to leave the other bus behind.
“Modelo nuevo,” the bus driver shouted to Kurt. “Más rápido.”
Emma explained. “He says that the other bus is a newer model and much faster.”
“I got the gist,” Kurt said, trying desperately to keep the other bus from getting beside them.
The two traveling monoliths continued to accelerate, roaring down the dark street and away from the brightly lit Las Peñas section of town. Other cars swerved from the road to get out of the way and Kurt accidentally took out a line of newspaper machines on the edge of the sidewalk, scattering a hundred copies of El Telegrafo, El Universo and El Metro into the air.
They careened through an intersection to a chorus of horns and onto a more deserted stretch of road that led down the hill and out toward the coast. With the pedal floored and heading downhill, the bus began to shudder; it wasn’t built for speed.
“They’re coming again!” Emma shouted.
Another hit from their pursuer rocked the bus. A third ramming attempt almost forced them off the road.
Fighting for control, Kurt had to slow down. In response, the other bus raced up beside them and swerved. The two buses crashed together, windows shattered and the passengers screamed. Some dove to the floor, others began to pray.
If there was going to be a beating, Kurt preferred to dish it out rather than take it. “Get everyone on the left side,” he shouted.
Emma waved the passengers over. Once they’d taken new seats, Kurt rolled the wheel to the right. The buses crashed together again and separated and the newer model fell back.
As they reached a long straight section of road, it came up once again. This time, Kurt glanced at the driver. It was the Chinese man with the bloodied nose.
“Hang on,” Kurt said, expecting another cross-check.
Instead of hitting him, the other driver just pulled close and held formation. Two heavy thumps sounded on the roof above them.
“We’ve been boarded,” Kurt said.
One set of dents appeared directly above him and Kurt knew what was about to happen. He dove from the driver’s seat as a collection of holes appeared in the sheet metal above and a spray of bullets perforated the seat and the dashboard where he’d been sitting.
Lunging to the floor, he slammed his palm into the brake pedal.
The air brakes clasped the wheels at full strength and the bus went into a skid. The man flew off the roof and landed on a spiked fence. Skewered, he passed from view.
Kurt jumped back into the driver’s seat as a second man swung down from the roof, his hands grasping the luggage rack. He came in from the side, kicking the door open and grabbing for Kurt’s throat.