Work Text:
You’d think driving with a license that was ever-so-slightly expired was a crime.
... Okay, maybe it is but in David’s defence he didn’t know his license was expired when he was pulled over. Who bothers to check the dates on those things?
Unfortunately, the cops didn’t agree with this completely reasonable argument which means he’s stuck riding this hell-mobile to work until after he retakes his driving test. Only three more days to go and he’s out of here. If he passes. He can’t bring himself to think how long it will be if he fails.
David sighs, irritation itching under his skin. The situation isn’t helped by the woman in the seat in front of him having a loud argument on her cell-phone and someone across the aisle tucking into an egg mayonnaise sandwich at eight in the morning. The sandwich-eater seems utterly oblivious to the stench they’re unleashing throughout this dirty metal box which, mingling with the coffee-breath of the person behind David, has David wondering if the paltry pay-check from the Blouse Barn is really worth this purgatory.
Then he remembers his empty pot of under-eye cream and the unexpected financial hit of the driving fine and grits his teeth. This weekend, he reminds himself. His test is this weekend.
Towards the back of the bus there’s a disturbance, a frisson of activity, people craning around to peer through the windows. It spreads forward like a wave, from back to front, passengers shifting, turning to look, a pulse of life entering the tedium.
At last. Something is happening.
*
David thinks he probably should have learnt by now – things can always get worse.
From the nasty reveal of precisely which photographs Sebastien had chosen for that last exhibition before he and David split up, to the CSA arriving at the Rose mansion with a stack of unpaid tax bills and an eviction order, there have been no shortages of reinforcements to the lesson.
And now, one more: turns out the guy in the blue shirt yelling and sprinting after the bus was not some businessman running late but an actual cop, with an actual badge, wanting to tell them about the actual bomb on the fucking bus.
The whole thing is so bizarre that David hadn’t been sure at first that he wasn’t dreaming.
When the bus driver had ignored him, speeding up to continue his route, the man had commandeered a car and leapt from one moving vehicle to another while the car driver, the bus driver, and most of the passengers screamed. The guy had then straightened up in the aisle, told the passengers not to panic but there was a bomb on board set to go off if the speed dropped.
As it happens, David thinks panicking is a perfectly reasonable reaction to such news. Even if that weren’t enough to do it, the driver having a heart attack at the wheel would surely push this into crisis territory.
Blue Shirt had scanned the collection of people on board, eyes alighting on David and issued the order, “You. I need someone to help move him.”
Such was the authority behind the guy’s take-charge attitude that David had obeyed without question. Blue Shirt had directed David to get his hands under the driver’s arms and between them, they’d lifted the moaning, but alive, driver out of the seat and onto the floor.
Blue Shirt, his leg stretched out to press his foot on the gas pedal, had then demanded to know if David could drive, listening only as far as David’s ‘yes’ before pushing him into the seat. He’d ordered David to keep the speed up, taken his foot away and David never even had the chance to mention the expired license situation.
David swears under his breath as he tugs the oversized wheel of the bus, flinching as they narrowly avoid a parked car on the side of the road.
Cell-phone woman, whose name is Erin as she tells the cop, is a nurse and she and a few of the other passengers move the driver onto a seat where she checks him over. Not a heart attack, she informs the bus at large. Angina. He needs medication.
The weakened driver manages to communicate that there's a pill bottle in his jacket pocket, slung over the back of the driver’s seat and then Blue Shirt is back at David’s side.
“You’re doing great. Just keep driving,” he tells David as he reaches into the pocket of the jacket. Out of the corner of his eye, David can see the police badge hooked onto the guy’s belt glinting in the light. “What’s your name?”
“David,” he answers. “What’s going on?”
His question ends in a gasp as they hit a bad patch of road, the rough surface causing the bus to shake. How has he never realised just how big a bus was? How is he meant to get this thing round corners? And where is he supposed to go?
“David,” the guy says and his hand pats down on David’s shoulder. “I’m going to take these pills to the driver and then I’ll be right back. I’ll explain.”
As Blue Shirt steps away from him, David thinks this better be a hell of an explanation.
*
With the driver settled and resting as much as possible in the middle of an emergency, the cop returns to the front.
“How are you doing, David?” he asks and really?!
“How do you think?” David bites out. “I was heading to work and then some guy swings through the door like James Bond, tells us we’re going to blow up and now apparently I’m driving a bus. Explain. Start with your name because I can’t keep calling you Blue Shirt.”
David can’t take his eyes off the terrifying expanse of road stretching out before him in all its potholed glory but he can hear the surprise in the guy’s voice when he answers.
“Blue Shirt? Think I prefer James Bond. But my name’s Patrick so maybe call me that.”
Patrick. Right. That’s better. A name makes this feel more real, less like a fever dream. Although dream or not...
“This is terrifying,” he tells Patrick who pats him on the shoulder again.
“I know. I’m sorry you’re in this, David. But I promise, I’m gonna do everything I can to make you safe.”
David chances a quick glance up at him. Patrick is staring at him, steady, sincere and there’s something about him. David believes him. Or he believes that Patrick believes his own words. At any rate, there’s a sliver of hope rising in the chaotic wash of fear and David seizes it with both hands.
“Okay. Okay. Just... You tell me where I need to go. You must have an idea, right?”
“There are people working on it,” Patrick says. “When I know, you’ll know. For now just keep going. Don’t slow down. Avoid congestion.”
Oh good. Something new to worry about. “How am I meant to do that?!”
Patrick thinks for a moment. “You got your phone?” David nods. “Hand it here.”
David does so, unlocking it with his thumb before handing it over to Patrick. He only remembers the background wallpaper is himself and his family at his mom’s surprise party a couple of years back when Patrick mutters, “Nice picture. I like your suit.”
Patrick presses the screen a few times and then props the phone up in front of David on the dashboard, a real time traffic app on screen.
“Think it’s illegal to use your phone when driving, officer,” David notes.
“This is fine. If you’re worried, I promise I won’t tell the cops if you don’t.”
“Mmm. But talking about breaking the law you should know my license is expired too.”
“Ah.” That gives Patrick a moment’s pause. “To be honest, David, we kind of cut it too close with the speed when you took the driver’s place and I really don’t want to risk switching you out. If anyone says anything I’ll take the blame, I think we have a pretty strong case for extenuating circumstances here.”
David winces when a low hanging branch slams into the windshield before glancing off, over the roof. Seriously, this thing is massive. Why didn’t he listen to Alexis when she was telling him about the time she drove an RV down a mountain path?
“That alright with you?” Patrick asks and David nods. “Great. Okay, I’m just gonna have a chat with everyone.”
Patrick clears his throat loudly and David hears the low murmurs of anxiety and worry sounding behind him quieten down.
Patrick introduces himself – Patrick Brewer, member of Canadian law enforcement – and gives a summary of the situation as he knows it.
The police think they know who’s behind it, he tells them. A disgruntled ex-cop with a vendetta. Patrick and his partner already thwarted his plans once but he’s trying again. There’s a team trying to track him down but he’s well-hidden and it’s taking some time.
“What does he want?” Egg sandwich guy demands.
“Money,” Patrick replies. “I’m afraid you’re the hostages. His rules are clear – no one gets off the bus or he detonates the bomb.”
“You think he’s serious?” It’s a woman’s voice, trembling with fright.
“I’m sorry,” Patrick says. “But yes. He’s for real. He’s pissed off and he thinks he’s owed a pay-out.”
David swallows, feeling sick. It all comes down to money. If only they hadn’t lost their fortune, he could have paid whatever the guy wanted. He could’ve bought the lives of everyone on this bus and gone home. To Schitt’s Creek. He never thought he’d want to be back there so badly.
Patrick raises his voice above the surging chatter and they all hush again. There’s something about his whole attitude – straightforward, competent, thoroughly in control – that demands attention.
“All we can do is keep order and keep driving. David is doing an incredible job at the wheel, Erin is caring for Albert, we all need to band together. What’s your name, sir?”
This to the egg sandwich guy which, obviously, is not the name his parents gave him. He’s Martin. Patrick goes round the whole bus asking for names, repeating each one after he hears it. David guesses it might be some kind of strategy he learnt in training, a way of making people feel seen and valued in order to calm them, but if it is a trick then it’s a good one because it works.
Patrick’s phone rings and he answers with, “What’ve you got for me, Kel?”
What Kel – whoever he or she is – has is directions to a long, as yet unopened, stretch of highway where David can drive without obstruction for miles. Patrick repeats their words to David and as he turns onto the smooth, unoccupied road, David breathes a little easier. It’s still stressful but made much better by the lack of other vehicles to get in the way.
However, that’s all the news Patrick’s co-worker has and he hangs up after telling them to, “Keep me in the loop.”
After checking once more on Albert, Patrick ends up standing with his back against the pole to the side of the driver’s seat, facing back down the bus where he can see them all. David supposes that makes sense – he’s watching over them all, their chance protector – but it does also feel like he’s standing with David in particular, offering his shoulder to lean on for support.
Maybe it’s this sense of camaraderie that makes David mutter, barely loud enough to hear above the engine, “If someone had told me this morning that I’d be sorry to be missing the Blouse Barn...”
Patrick’s head turns towards him and David quickly looks up at him then back out the windshield. From that brief glance, Patrick had looked tired, his forehead creased with tension but his eyes still holding curiosity.
“What’s a Blouse Barn?”
“I work there. I’m supposed to be there now.”
“I’m sure your boss will understand. If not, have them call me, I’ll back you up.”
David purses his lips. “Wendy will be fine. She owes me, I’ve done so much for her. I turned her business around.”
“Oh?” Patrick asks, intrigued. “What do you do there?”
David straightens up in his seat. “Well, the job description said Sales Assistant but the moment I got there I knew she needed more. I offer my expertise with the displays and merchandising and apparel decisions. I’m basically her fashion concierge, and I curate a premium shopping experience and a very specific atmosphere.”
What’s he doing? Is he showing off? David feels his face heat. Now is not the time to be attempting to flirt with this guy, no matter how cute and competent he is.
“And I... I hide the skanky clothes in the back. There are a lot of them, it isn’t easy, I...” David trails off with an awkward cough.
Beside him Patrick turns more fully to face David, leaning his shoulder on the bright yellow pole. Quietly, he says, “I think she’s lucky to have you. I can see why people would trust your eye, you clearly know what you’re talking about.”
Warmth floods under David’s skin and he has to force his mind back on track. It’ll be another people-handling technique. Patrick’s trying to put him at ease with a compliment, he is not flirting.
David opens his mouth to reply but Patrick’s phone is ringing again and his cool cop demeanour snaps back into place as he straightens up and puts it to his ear.
Even not looking directly at Patrick, David can see his body jerk in shock, the rigid tension causing him to stiffen his spine.
“You,” Patrick spits out. “You asshole.”
David feels his own pulse spike in response, adrenaline surging at the fact that whoever it is on the phone, they’re obviously unwelcome to Patrick. A danger.
David’s suspicions are confirmed when Patrick hisses, turning his back to the bus so no one but David can hear, “I’ll talk to you however the hell I like when you’re threatening the lives of these people.”
A pause and then Patrick says, “You want me to be nicer to you? Turn yourself in, I promise I’ll smile when I see you in a prison cell.”
Patrick’s tone is low, edged with intensity and David’s fingers flex on the wheel, heart galloping. If David strains his ears he thinks he can just about hear the murmur of the answering voice. He wishes he hadn’t tried. He doesn’t want that voice in his head.
Patrick scoffs. “More money? Sure let me check down the seats for change. You’re outta your mind.”
Another pause.
“No. You want more, you gotta give me something. I have a sick man here who needs medical attention. You let us move the driver off safely and I can talk to someone about... No, don’t… no!”
Patrick lets out a grunt of frustration and the hand holding the phone drops to his side. He sighs heavily, sadly, and when David glances at him, his forehead is pressed against the pole, his eyes clenched closed.
“Are you... Was that...?” David begins tentatively but finds he cannot finish either question. He knows the answer to them both anyway.
Patrick rubs his hand over his lower face before he stands up straight and shoves his phone back in his pocket.
Back to business.
Patrick spends the next hour or so taking calls from his colleagues – still no luck tracking the bomber – reassuring the passengers and checking on David at the front. When the phone rings again and Patrick walks away down the bus, David assumes it’s just another update from Patrick’s team. It’s only when he notices a buzz of activity in the rear view mirror a few minutes later that he raises his voice to ask, “What’s going on?”
The only one close enough to answer is a woman who David thinks was called Delia.
“They want him to try and look at the bomb, dear.”
“What?” David asks. “How is he... He isn’t leaving us?”
But when he glances in the mirror again he sees something that makes his stomach twist with nausea. A panel in the floor lifted away, the blur of asphalt speeding by underneath.
“What is he doing?”
“He needs to look underneath. That’s where the bomb is.”
At that moment Patrick lifts his eyes to meet David’s anxious stare in the mirror. He looks determined, his face set and he mouths something. David can’t hear him above the engine and the others but he thinks he says, “It’s okay.”
Then he’s lying down, Egg Sandwich – Martin – holding onto the back of his shirt, someone else clutching his legs and his upper body is disappearing through the hole.
Shit. David wrenches his eyes forward, his teeth tugging at his lip. He can’t look. He can’t think about the fact that a man’s head is inches from the road, dangling down from the bus David is driving. If he swerves or hits a bump, if the bus jolts or...
Behind him, sudden gasps and cries of alarm rise up. David’s teeth bite hard on lip as he flinches, breaking the skin, the pain causing him to jump.
“What?” he says, his voice shrill and he whips his head up to stare in the mirror. There’s movement, the cluster of people around the hole clamouring and exclaiming.
No one answers him, too busy tugging at the blue form lying on the floor. David tastes blood in his mouth, sharp and metallic.
“What is it?” he demands, louder now. “Is he okay? Patrick!”
The body is clear of the hole and in the mirror a head lifts, chestnut brown eyes meeting David’s as he hears his name. The relief is instant and overwhelming.
Patrick’s alive. David has not accidentally killed him.
Patrick thanks the crowd and they step back to let him up. The moment he does he’s reaching for his phone, dialling a number. Patrick gravitates towards the front as he speaks but the conversation is a short and evidently disappointing one. He hangs up and sighs heavily, leaning back against the pole beside David, gazing down the bus, lost in thought.
David clears his throat. “What happened? Back there with the... hole?”
“Martin’s hand slipped off my shirt. I fell,” Patrick replies distantly and horror grabs David’s lungs.
“He let go of you?!”
“Accident, David. High stress, sweaty hands. They caught me and pulled me back.”
“He should have held on tighter.”
Patrick doesn’t answer. When David glances at him, his eyes are far away and David tries something else.
“So, the bomb? Can you diffuse it?”
“No one in our department’s seen anything like it. I... They’re trying to find someone who has.”
David’s heart sinks. “So what do we do?”
Patrick rolls his face around to look at David. “Tell me more about the Blouse Barn, David.”
Now, David doesn’t enjoy being at the Blouse Barn most days. He certainly doesn’t want to spend too much of his time away from the place discussing it but it does have its advantages when it comes to providing distracting stories.
He tells Patrick about being called out for insulting the place in his interview and the way Stevie had cackled at his misfortune all the way home, leading on to the overly-endowed mannequins Wendy favours and the write-off mix up.
Midway through responding to something David said, Patrick frowns, his eyes fixed on the screen behind David’s head, separating him from the passengers.
“Kids,” he says suddenly.
“Oh!” David responds in surprise. “No. None. Not for me.”
The look Patrick sends him is almost fond but he doesn’t comment, instead pointing at a photo taped to the screen.
“No. I meant, the driver has a photo of himself with his family. The... The guy on the phone, when he called me he mentioned getting the driver back to his grandkids. How did he know, David?”
David cranes his head round – a quick glimpse of the man beaming proudly, two small blond children perched on his knee, and a young man with the same nose as the driver sitting beside him – before facing forwards again. His gaze refocuses on the wide stretch of road as he shakes his head.
“I don’t know.”
“I think,” Patrick says slowly. “I think he’s watching us.”
And if there was ever a more ominous sentence, David doesn’t want to know about it.
Patrick conducts a subtle surveillance, edging his way as casually as he can around the interior of the bus, speaking to the other passengers and quietly warning them about the possibility of a camera on board. As he returns to the front, his inkling is confirmed – he finds a camera behind the mirror located by the door. No microphone that he can see.
David listens to Patrick relay this to his colleague on the end of the phone, poking and prodding at the device and rattling off specifications. David has no idea what any of it means but Patrick’s apparent knowledge is soothing.
Less soothing is the road sign suddenly looming up on the left hand side. David reads it twice, unable to process the words the first time.
“Um. Patrick?” he says, then louder when Patrick doesn’t seem to hear. “Patrick?! I need you!”
“Hold on, Kel,” Patrick says and ducks under the mirror to hurry over to David. “David? Are you okay? What is it?”
“There was a sign,” David says, tilting his head back over his shoulder. “We just passed it. Highway ends in a few miles.”
Patrick swears softly. “Kel? I need a check on this road. David says it ends soon?”
Kel’s response, judging by Patrick’s sharp inhale, is not good. “Was no one going to tell us that? What if David had missed the sign?”
David becomes aware that his fingers are aching with how tightly they are clenched on the wheel and he forces himself to loosen his grip. It does nothing to ease the tension in his body or the sick feeling in his stomach.
“Okay, great, all I’m saying is that it would have been useful for us to know the plan. Pull up the directions, I’m putting you on speaker. You need to help David.”
He presses a button and a woman’s voice comes filtering through. “…And all I’m saying is that we’re tracking a lunatic here, Patrick! We had a plan for the highway thing, we would’ve told you!”
Patrick sighs. “Tell us now. David, this is Kel. Kel, David.”
“Um, hi?” David says, unsure what the protocol is for greeting someone over the phone whose job it is to help you steer a moving bomb off a highway.
“Alright, David, gonna need you to listen carefully. My partner says you got a good head on your shoulders, let’s see you prove yourself.”
Okay, not getting a hello then. David bristles, his lips pursing.
“He’s a civilian, Kel,” Patrick reminds her curtly. “Not a new recruit you need to toughen up. He doesn’t need you barking at him, he’s doing a great job.”
Kel inhales deeply but when she next speaks, her voice is softer.
“Yeah. Right, sorry David. Now, we’ve got an abandoned industrial estate just off the highway, basically a big circuit. Plan is to turn it into a hotel resort, I guess, I don’t know. Anyway, you need to take the next exit, it’ll take you down a bit of a hill to a fork. Keep right and keep going. Shouldn’t hit any traffic. Like I said: it’s abandoned.”
David listens in silence and follows her instructions, clenching his jaw all the way down the ‘bit of a hill’ that is really a pretty steep slope. He makes it though, and thanks Kel before Patrick takes the phone back.
While Patrick continues talking, David takes a moment to get his bearings in his new environment. Kel was right, it basically is a large road looping around a parking lot, buildings – a few offices and a couple of warehouses – clustered around the outside. The loop is large enough that they are able to keep the speed up but David can’t help but notice there’s no way out other than the way they came. However this is going to end, this is where it’s going to happen.
Patrick hangs up the phone and turns to the bus at large.
“Listen up,” he tells them all, his back to the newly discovered camera. The bus hushes at once, and David can sense them all, frightened but rapt, all their focus trained on Patrick. “I was right. We’re being watched.”
A small cry of distress rises from somewhere behind David to the left.
“I know you’re scared,” Patrick says. “But I need you all. There isn’t a lot of time. In a few minutes, I have my department’s top tech expert calling me back, he’s hacking into the feed from the camera and we have a plan.”
He quickly explains it to them, urging them all to play their part and David could swear that there’s a renewed energy in the air when he’s done.
It sounds doable. It sounds like they have a way out of this thing.
Once he’s addressed the bus at large, Patrick turns to David.
“You hear the plan David? We’re gonna record a section of footage – maybe twenty seconds – and loop it. Play it over and over so he no longer sees the live feed.”
David nods. “Yeah. I understand.”
“Okay. It might be a little trickier for you, I’m gonna need you to move the wheel as little as possible and… your face.”
David glances up in confusion.
“What’s wrong with my face?”
Patrick’s eyes widen. “Nothing,” he says quickly. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with your face. You’re very...” He pauses, grappling for words and David’s bemusement deepens before Patrick continues, “It’s just very expressive. It’s going to be noticeable when we loop it so I need you to keep it very still.”
“Oh,” David says and bites his lip. Then he realises what he’s doing and sucks them into his mouth to stop himself from doing it. He stops that too, frowning, his eyebrows drawing together.
Patrick might have a point, he thinks as he tries to force his face into a neutral expression.
“Hey,” Patrick says softly and David realises he’s been watching David’s facial gymnastics. “It’s not a bad thing, David. I’d never ask you to try and change it normally but…”
“It’s important,” David interrupts. “I know.”
“Yeah,” Patrick says. “Twenty seconds, then you can go back to normal. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Before David quite knows how to respond to that, Patrick is answering his ringing phone, drifting away as casually as he can while he knows he’s still on camera. When he’s out of sight of the lens, Patrick puts his phone on speaker and balances it on the shelf in front of the windshield.
He reaches up then, directed by the tinny male voice coming from the phone.
“He’s got the record feature disabled,” the voice tells Patrick. “So we need you to do a couple of things before we can start.”
As Patrick follows the instructions – plug the longer dangling wire into port D, flick the second switch from the left from the off position to on – David tries his hardest to keep his eyes on the road in front of him. He tries to focus on the office buildings passing by, or on the faded white line separating the road into two lanes, or on the mysterious origins of the abandoned shopping cart that is now lying on its side to the left of one of the warehouse’s open doors.
But Patrick is stretching up behind the mirror and his shirt is pulling across his chest, moulding to his biceps and his pecs and who can blame David if his gaze drifts over for a second or two?
David’s an adult man with working eyes. And Patrick’s… well.
He’s what? He’s a handsome man in great shape with broad shoulders and strong arms. A capable, confident cop. A good person who’s going to save them all.
Of course David wants to look at him. He’s certainly worthy of appreciation.
Patrick finishes and he lowers his arms, his eyes snapping down to catch David’s. David quickly looks back to the road ahead, the back of his neck warming as he feels Patrick’s gaze resting on him.
Patrick’s colleague is saying something and Patrick replies, still looking at David. But there’s no time for this strange tension and from the corner of his eye, David sees Patrick’s head turn away. He takes it off speaker, listens for a few seconds, thanks his co-worker, and then the phone call ends.
Patrick dashes out in front of the mirror, hissing under his breath at them all that they’re ready to go, his colleagues are going to start in a few seconds, no one make any big movements.
Patrick himself positions himself behind David’s chair, resting one hand on the back. He leans forward, peering out of the window in front of David. David can hear his soft breath behind his ear, not close enough to raise the hairs on his neck but near enough to feel his presence, looming behind him, strong and steady at his back. His pinkie finger is resting against David’s shoulder and David never realised before how many nerve endings are in that small area, how sensitive that particular spot could become, even through his clothing.
It's the biggest struggle of his life to keep his face neutral.
Ten seconds feel like a lifetime, twenty an eternity and he’s lucky that driving in wide circles on an uninhabited road is fairly mindless because otherwise he’d definitely be messing it up.
Finally Patrick is straightening and turning away. David misses him when he’s gone.
“That should do it guys, you all did great.” Patrick quickly dials his colleagues, who confirm that they have the footage and are setting it up to loop.
The next step, as Patrick tells them, is evacuation. There’s a number of vans on the way – they’ve been parked out of sight up the road after following them up the highway and even as he speaks, David spots them out of the rear-view mirror, careening down that steep hill that had had him cursing under his breath.
It’s not over, not yet, but just the sight of salvation on the way has the tight fist of anxiety around David’s chest loosening a little.
Patrick instructs David to move into the inner lane and the first van moves up alongside, matching their speed, drawing close. Patrick opens the door.
There’s a moment when they all freeze, waiting, suspended in time. If the recording hasn’t worked, if the bomber suspects anything, surely this would be the end. David half-expects it, his heart thundering, wondering if these are the last breaths he will take.
But no. No explosion and Patrick begins to direct them off. First Albert, who is weak but manages to stumble the few steps over the precarious walkway the men in the van slide out towards the bus steps.
He’s out. He’s safe.
Erin next. The other passengers clambering to their feet now, realising that it’s safe, that they need to move quickly. Martin leaves, the faint smell of egg sandwich following him out.
Patrick keeps order, handing one out after another, his colleagues reaching out from the van on the other side. One man is reciting a prayer as he leaves, someone else curses creatively, a woman tries hugging Patrick until he firmly removes her arms from his waist and tells her to keep moving.
It’s as the first van – full – is drawing away and the second moving alongside that a sinking feeling begins in David’s stomach.
If David moves away from the pedals, the bus will slow. If the bus slows it detonates. David won’t be able to get away.
The next van arrives, and David somehow manages to keep his hands steady enough to avoid swerving all over the road.
The last few passengers now line up in the aisle and Patrick hands them out one at a time, nodding professionally as they thank him. Then it’s just Patrick and David and the second van is moving away. A third is drawing up but David can barely see it, his vision narrowing to this road, this loop that will never end for him.
“David…” Patrick says.
“It’s okay. I know you have to leave me.” It’s not okay, it’s really not. David doesn’t want to die but what else can he say?
Patrick is stunned into silence for maybe three seconds before he responds with a fierceness that shocks David off the sad, frightened path he was starting to walk down.
“No! What are you talking about? I’m not leaving you. I told you, I’m going to make you safe David. The plan’s just a little different for us.”
Patrick glances up at the mirror behind which sits the camera.
“We need to move quickly because I don’t know how long he’s going to be fooled. The bus will explode, we can’t stop it, but we can control where to limit damage and injury. They told me we need to drive into the larger warehouse, it’ll blow when it hits the wall. We won’t be in it.”
The final van is close behind them and Patrick turns his head to follow its progress and then casts his eyes around the bus. With a small sound of triumph, he dashes away down the aisle and then returns, clutching a plastic box. By the smell, it’s Martin’s discarded egg sandwich container.
“Head to the warehouse, drive as if you’re going in.”
David does as he’s told, his palms sweating on the leather wheel.
“Good.” The van draws closer, pulling up along their flank. “Here we go, David. We’re going to move fast and we’ll have to jump for it. Get ready.”
He kneels down at David’s side, bracing one hand on David’s knee as he ducks his head under the dashboard.
“Lift your foot when I say,” he calls above the sound of the engine.
The warehouse doors are looming closer and the van’s open side door is level with the bus doors and David’s heart is loud, so incredibly loud in his head when Patrick yells, “Now!”
With a gasp, David lifts his foot and he feels Patrick scrambling beneath him, wedging the box between the pedal and the bottom of the dashboard.
Then he’s up on his feet, grabbing David’s arm, dragging him up and out of the seat.
“Go! Come on, David!”
David’s feet stumble but Patrick’s got a firm grip on his arm, holding him up. He turns and pushes David ahead of him, down the steps until there are no more. Then there’s nothing but a three-foot gap of racing tarmac separating him from the inside of a police van and safety.
Patrick doesn’t let him falter at this final hurdle. He shouts in his ear for him to go, to jump and David’s breaths are sharp and the wind is noisy in his ears but he’s jumping, falling, landing with a hard thump that makes his knees buckle. He collapses down to the floor, gasping and there’s a body falling down next to him. Patrick’s body.
They’re in the van. David breathes in the air that smells like pennies and feels the cool metal under his cheek and closes his eyes against the urge to sob in relief as he feels the van slowing and beginning to turn.
Somewhere close there’s a loud bang that slams into his eardrums, a blast of heat pouring through the still open van doors. The floor underneath him, the walls around him shake with the force and David becomes aware that there’s a weight on top of him, Patrick’s body rolling over him to shield him from harm.
*
“Take good care of him. He’s been through a lot.”
Those were the last words David heard Patrick speak and they weren’t even directed to him. They were spoken to the paramedic Patrick led him to before he dashed off with his team, driving away from David in an unmarked car.
The paramedic checks him for head injuries, signs of shock and trauma. He shines a light in David’s eyes and asks him who the Prime Minister is and the date and if he remembers what he ate for breakfast. The answers must satisfy him because he nods and stops asking things although he insists that David wear something resembling a tin foil cape which loses him several points in David’s book. At least Patrick isn’t there to see it.
A police liaison officer takes a statement and gives him a number to call to arrange an appointment with a counsellor who specialises in traumatic experiences. They say they’ll be in touch and he should feel free to call them but David’s barely listening.
He’s tired and drained and just wants to go home.
*
Following the paramedic’s advice, David returns to the motel rather than go to the Blouse Barn to finish his shift. Wendy is more than understanding when the police call her to tell her where he is.
He’s off the next day too and spends it in a haze of disbelief, wondering if that really all happened to him. Then he catches sight of his own pale face in the mirror or sees Alexis or Stevie glancing at him with a worried pinch between their eyes and he knows it did.
He has another shift on Friday. He asks Stevie to drive him to work and she doesn’t even argue.
*
Wendy is full of questions he doesn’t have the energy to answer but soon grows tired of his monosyllables and vague noises. She stops asking and mid-morning drifts away to fight with her ex on her office phone, leaving him alone on the shop floor.
David prefers it that way. Unless she’s about to emerge with another ‘request’ for him to babysit. He keeps half an eye on her office door in case he may need to make himself scarce in a hurry.
“Hello, David.”
David knows that voice. He spins around and there he is.
Standing beside one of the bustier mannequins, a small smile on his face at David’s evident surprise, is Patrick Brewer.
“Sorry I had to dash away. Luckily this is the only Blouse Barn in a hundred miles. Made it easy to find.”
“Yeah,” David says faintly. “All the other tacky clothing stores really missed a trick.”
Patrick’s smile grows and David stares at him, still not quite believing that he’s here. He takes in his face – there’s a gash on Patrick’s cheek and a faint bruise on his jaw and David can feel the worry gathering into a furrow on his forehead.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine, really. We worked out where the camera signal was being transmitted,” Patrick says. “That’s why I had to run. I wanted to be there when we caught the guy. He got a couple of hits in.”
“But... you arrested him?”
Patrick nods. “Put the cuffs on myself. It’s all over now. He won’t be getting out of this one.”
The relief loosens the remainder of the anxious knot David didn’t know he was still carrying. “Good.”
“It is.” Patrick’s eyes are doing their own scan, running over David’s face. “Are you okay? It was a rough day.”
David huffs. “Understatement. They gave me a number for a counsellor.”
“Wouldn’t hurt to call,” Patrick says softly, concern threading through. “Nothing wrong with accepting help.”
“Mmm. And I will. It might be good to talk. But today I feel... I don’t know. I don’t feel traumatised. There’s not even a scratch on me.”
“Not all wounds are visible.”
“I know,” David agrees quietly. “Trust me, I’ve had a few invisible ones. But mostly I... I think I’m going to be alright.”
“I’m sure you are,” Patrick says. “I saw how you coped with everything being thrown at you on the bus. It was impressive.”
David feels his lips twist into the corner as he attempts to suppress his pleased smile. Patrick’s gaze follows the movement before returning up to David’s eyes, a new intensity there.
“I, er,” David begins, unaccountably flustered by this man’s silent, focussed stare. “I should thank you. You saved my life. You saved us all.”
Patrick makes a soft sound of disagreement at the back of his throat. “No. Not alone. Without you driving, keeping us safe, keeping us going...” Patrick pauses, the mere thought of what could have happened enough to stay the words for a moment. “It would have been over before it started. Not many people could do what you did, David. It was... incredible. You were incredible.”
A shiver of pleasure passes through David’s shoulders and he folds his arms to try and disguise the tremor in his limbs.
“Oh. Okay. It was... Nice of you to come here just to say that.”
Patrick shakes his head. “I didn’t. Well. Not only that.”
“No?”
“No,” Patrick confirms. He blinks and then David sees his chest rise on a deep breath. “I came because it’s not appropriate for me to ask out charming, interesting men I meet in a crisis while I’m supposed to be handling that crisis. No matter how good-looking he is or how attracted to him I am.”
“Ah,” David says faintly, his heart thumping. “Yeah, I can see why that would be... a tricky situation.”
“Yes. But I’m off the clock now. So. I was wondering if you’d let me take you out to dinner.”
“Mmm,” David hums, just about resisting the urge to physically squirm in delight. “That’d be... I guess that wouldn’t be horrible.”
“Thank you, David. Just the enthusiasm I was hoping for,” Patrick says but he’s smiling.
“No! I mean, yes. Yes, I want to go out with you.”
“Great. Tomorrow, maybe? Are you free?”
“Yes,” David replies. Excitement fizzes in his stomach, head swimming with the idea of a date with the handsome cop. Then a thought occurs to him and he crashes back into the present. “Wait. No.”
Patrick’s smile starts to fade and David rushes to explain. “It’s my driver’s test tomorrow afternoon.”
“Oh,” Patrick recovers quickly. “That’s okay, we can go out afterwards. A date and a celebration of you getting your license back all at once.”
David grimaces. “Bold of you to assume I’ll have something to celebrate.”
“You don’t think you’ll pass?”
“I’m... not good under pressure.”
Patrick’s grin reasserts itself at that. “Based on my experience of you, I would strongly disagree.”
“Mmm. Well, you’ve only met me once.”
“It’s a hell of a ‘how we met’ story though, right? Anyway, I've met you twice now.”
David doesn’t comment on the first part of Patrick’s statement, even though the implication that they’ll be telling this story to others one day brings a pleasant warmth.
“Still. It’s not enough times to make that judgement.”
“You’re going to do great, David. And if you like, you can be the one to drive when we go out on our second date. We’ll see what happens for the ones after that.”
David laughs, surprised and delighted. “You’re very sure of yourself. How do you know they’ll be more than one?”
Patrick’s eyes twinkle with amusement and happiness. “Call it intuition if you like. I’ve got a good feeling about this.”
And as David gives Patrick his number, he feels good about this too.