Hour 23 by Robert Barnard Page B

were wet with tears.
    Nolan looked up and over the seat in front of him. Britney Miller had pinned David Kline, the source of the howl, against a window. Frantically, she tore at his shoulder with her teeth. Where Britney’s right arm should have been was nothing but a grisly, mangled stump.
    “It’s nothing,” Nolan said, after taking a gulp of air. “It’s nothing, but just—don’t look.”
    Chloe was shuddering.
    “Let’s go, you first. Stand up.” Nolan stood, helped Chloe to her feet, and kept her turned around towards the back of the bus as best he could. Most of the other students had already fled.
    Chloe jumped out of the back of the bus first. Her feet landed on the pavement with a soft thud. Nolan followed close behind.
    Free of the bus, Nolan saw his gym teacher, Coach Hysom, fast approaching the wrecked vehicle. A crowd of teachers and faculty had formed in front of the school, and the sound of sirens grew louder in the distance.
    “How many are in there?” Coach Hysom said, while he helped Nolan and Chloe away from the bus.
    “A few,” Nolan replied. “You have to stay away from them.”
    Coach Hysom gave Nolan a puzzled look.
    “I don’t—I don’t know how to explain it,” Nolan said. His face drooped with confusion. “They’re not themselves. They’re angry.”
    “All right. Both of you get inside.” Coach Hysom pointed to the front entrance of the high school and pulled himself aboard the bus through the rear emergency exit. Nolan walked Chloe towards the crowd of faculty waiting in front of the school.
    The cabin of the bus had filled with thick, dark layers of smoke. Coach had to pull the front of his polo shirt over his mouth to keep from inhaling it. The thought to wait for the sirens fast approaching in the distance never crossed his mind; in no time the bus would be swallowed by flames, and it was up to him to make sure any one left aboard made it out safely before help arrived.
    Through the smoke and shadows Coach could make out three figures near the front of the bus. He took each step carefully, holding the top of each seat for balance as he passed them. The smoke stung his eyes, making him squint.
    “Come on, follow me out the back,” Coach said. His bulky, rectangular glasses slid down his nose from the sweat forming on his face.
    None of the shadowy figures responded.
    “Come on,” he said, placing his hand on the shoulder of a figure. Quickly the figure turned and lunged at him through the haze, knocking him onto the floor. The figure fell with him, clawing and scratching as the two tumbled downward. Their faces practically touching, Coach could distinguish through the haze that the student who toppled into him was David Kline. David’s eyes darted around in their sockets, his mouth drooled, and there was an eerie wildness to his movements.
    “Get off me, David,” Coach grunted. He pushed upwards on the stocky boy. David ignored Coach’s plea and continued to moan and swing his arms, scratching Coach’s face with considerable force. Coach recoiled, holding a hand over his cheek where David had struck him. While holding his face, he could see a second figure materialize behind them in the smoke.
    It was Britney Miller, and she seemed almost overjoyed by David and Coach’s encounter. With her one remaining arm she alternated between slapping the seat beside her and tearing out clumps of her own hair, grinning and hopping in place as she did so.
    Coach panicked and kicked David off of him. The boy bowled backwards and knocked Britney down as he stumbled. There was a loud crack from the front of the bus, where the heat of the flames had become so intense it started to splinter the remaining pieces of windshield.
    With a grunt Coach jumped to his feet and dashed out the back of the bus. After landing on the ground, he turned behind him to watch as his attackers lurched closer and closer.
    Taking a deep breath of fresh air, Coach glanced to his left and to his right.