Page 55 of Keeping It Professional

“We need to move,” said the fireman. “Do you have your phone?”

The driver looked down again, at his gore-spattered seat. I reached in and winced at the squelch of his blood, how it slid off in thick splats as I rescued his phone. The screen wasn’t just cracked, but popped clean out.

“Broken,” I said. “Let me try dispatch.”

I walked far enough out of earshot he wouldn’t hear what they said, then I radioed dispatch. Asked for his kids. The answer came back, angry, impatient. Locating survivors wasn’t my job. I asked a couple of follow-up questions without pressing TALK, then switched it to listen so chatter came through. After a minute, I turned it off.

“Shannon and Andy, right?”

The driver tried to focus. He was fading fast now, his lips turning blue.

“They’ve got them,” I said. “They’re at Mass Gen. Safe.”

“Who’s with them? Is someone—” He broke into coughs.

“They didn’t have many details, but they’re okay. Not a scratch on them. Not even skinned knees.”

The driver seemed to fall in on himself, like the only thing holding him up had been hope. Now, in relief, he let himself crumple. His jaw fell open. His eyes showed whites.

“It’s time,” said the fireman, and crouched into place. Sophie moved to his right side and I moved to his left, but we knew it was pointless. He was already dead. We’d do all we could to keep his heart pumping, to keep the monitors blipping through his last drive, but itwouldbe his last. This fight was done.

After that, after showers, after maintenance check — after Sophie’s ear was taped up, not bitten, just scratched — after we’d written up our reports, after Clive had reminded us we’d done all we could, I stood in the locker room, and I thought,hadwe?

I’d been distracted by Sophie, if she was okay. It’d been my first thought, stepping out of the bus: her first mass-casualty. Was she all right? I still didn’t know if she had or she hadn’t, and in the cold light of hindsight, it didn’t matter. She’d done her job anyway, as best she could. Had I done my best job, with my focus on her?

I closed my eyes and saw the driver, what was his name? Sophie had asked him. Had he replied? I saw his mouth gaping when they pulled him out. His skin turning gray so fast it felt fake. I’d seen lightbulbs fade slower than the light in his eyes.

“Hey.” Sophie touched me lightly on my arm. I shouted on reflex and jerked away.

“Sorry. I scared you.” She looked pale, herself, and still smudged with soot. Her blue eyes looked bigger, glassy with shock. “Do you want a ride home? Or to come back to my place?”

My stomach turned over, horror. Disgust. Back to her place? With her? Tonight?

“They both died,” I said, my throat thick with bile.

“Both?” Sophie blinked.

“Clive told me, that first guy, the one with the pipe. He made it through surgery, then died of a stroke.”

We stood in silence a while as she let that sink in. All I could think was, could I have stopped that? If I’d got him back sooner? If I’d driven the bus? Had I missed something, some warning sign, in my distraction?This,this was why…

“Miles?”

“I have to go.”

“Wait! Call me later?”

I couldn’t respond. If I tried, I might puke, or worse, I might yell. My guts were churning with fury. Resentment. Heartache. Right or wrong, I blamed her at least halfway. She’d been a distraction, and me, I had let her. This was why partners werepartners, not friends. Not girlfriends, not lovers. Never anus.

“Miles?”

I ran out of there like a bat out of hell, and straight to my car, boot to the gas.

Reeves.

She wasReeves.

Never Sophie again.

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