Barry tried to rub the spots from his vision, but most of his field of view was still obscured by shifting rainbow hues. Disbelief prevented him from doing much of anything. Jimmy looked to Doyle. He started to speak, but no words came. With his slack-jawed expression, and the way he managed to open, and close, his mouth a few times, Jimmy reminded Doyle of a goldfish blowing bubbles.


    Before any of them could speak, the dust kicked up and a droning hum reached their ears. The dust was joined by leaves and light debris. The hum became an intensifying whoosh. It grew louder and louder. The cadence of clinking and clanking cheered the accelerating winds. The very air became hostile. The wind was tidal. It began to shove on them. The sand stung at their uncovered skin. Leaves rocketed into, and past, them. Discarded litter twirled as it raced by. A swarm of roof shingles flapped off the post office and jetted toward them.


    The motel manager sprinted into the lobby. The other man ran to his car. He yanked at the door handle and the door flung wide. The contents of his car were sucked out and hurled away. Deciding his room would be safer, the man juked, around the open car door, and vanished behind door number seven. Taking queue, Jimmy and Doyle bolted for the bus. Barry’s room was on the other side of the building, causing him to follow the latter two men.


    The three men were frantic. They arrived at the staircase and all three men tried to squeeze in. Doyle slipped inside but snagged the second step and slammed forward. Jimmy tripped on Doyle, causing him to flop over the man. “HEY. GET THE HELL OFF ME,” Doyle screamed. “Trying. Stop elbowing me!” Jimmy ordered.


    Jimmy yelped as he felt himself being ripped back outside. Arms flailing, he managed to grab both sides of the doorframe, before his feet felt the ground. Barry kept a single handhold on Jimmy’s jacket, as he leaned into the bus. He planted his left palm under Doyle’s upraised ass and sent Doyle tumbling over the top step. Barry turned back to Jimmy and grabbed a second handful of the red leather jacket. Quickly, setting his feet, both legs pumped upward as Barry snapped both arms toward the door.


    Jimmy had just moved, away, when Jimmy flew up the stairs like a tossed bale of hay. The bus driver landed in the driver’s seat…mostly.


    Barry cleared the folding bus door and yelled for Jimmy to shut the door. "Hurry!" Barry screamed as dust and debris swirled around him. Barry crested the top step, but the door was still open and the outside was filling the inside of the bus. Jimmy rapidly smacked the button. Barry realized the problem and turned back down the steps. “There’s no power, Jimmy.” He yelled over his shoulder. Objects bounced off the bus. Objects bounced off everything. Darkness already consumed the moonless night, and the air became dense with everything not secured. Only moments had passed, but the world got impossibly darker. Barry was assaulted by the torrent of wind. He pulled his shirt over his face and fumbled for the door. He located the door''s central hinge and shoved it. Nothing happened. He retreated a step and used both legs to drive the door shut. Still nothing.


    “I NEED HELP!” he roared. The other men quickly made it to the door. They wedged themselves around Barry and pushed. Grunts and groans erupted, but the door stayed open. Barry felt Jimmy turn from the door. “What are you doing?” Barry yelled over the deafening wind. “Help push, Jimmy!” Jimmy did not reply. Giving up on Jimmy, Barry rebuffed Doyle to push harder. The two men heaved. Barry ignored the searing pain in his back. His mind didn’t register the electric sting sprouting from his right thigh. With feral rage, Barry pushed. He screamed in frustration. His head started throbbing, and the sides of his neck ached.


    The door jerked. It closed an inch and halted. There was a hydraulic hiss as it slowly slid further along the track. The more it closed, the easier it became. The howl of the winds grew louder as the door closed. The howl lowered to a roar, then a high-pitched whistle. The door closed more and the pitch became sharper, sounding like a forgotten tea kettle. As the door sealed shut, the tempest protested with a final ear-splitting screech. The bus was quieter. Even as debris battered them on all sides, growing in frequency and force, they were insulated from the terrible force of the gale outside.


    Doyle’s ears perked at a sudden crunching sound, but soon recognized the sound, as it was followed by the ever-increasing luminance of a glow stick. Jimmy cracked another stick and tossed it into the stairwell. “I think we’re good” Jimmy told the other men. Doyle removed his weight from the door. Barry was forced back, as the door tried to fold open. Barry screamed for Doyle to keep pushing. “It’s not staying shut,” Barry explained. Jimmy hopped down and squeezed the big man. After frantically feeling for the manual locking bar, he gripped the rubber-handled lever and yanked. A metal "thwunk" signaled the door was secure. He leaned away from Barry, patting his shoulder as he did. “You should be good, now" he assured the exhausted man.


    “Nothing is fucking working" Jimmy informed them as he slapped the electric door switch. "The entire bus is dead. Lights don''t even work. We couldn’t shut the door because it is hydraulic. I reached under the dash and cut the line. That let us close it, and that is why it wouldn’t stay closed.”


    The commotion outside was so loud the two men could barely make out what Jimmy was saying.


    "E.M.P." Barry yelled. "It had to be. That would explain the explosions and the loss of power. And the random hurricane force winds."


    Doyle watched Jimmy nodding in agreement. He heard Barry groaning as he used the handrail to tow himself up from the stairwell. Rushing to help, Doyle reached out and took Barry’s left arm, helping pull the heavy man along.


    Barry stepped onto the landing and used the stairway partition to support himself. Placing both hands on the partition, he groaned as he straightened his arms and forced his spine straight. There was a loud exhalation as he shifted his weight, from his arms, back to his legs. Barry and Jimmy both noticed when Barry’s knees went limp noodle, forcing the man to lean onto the partition, again. Before they could ask if he was ok, Barry managed to stand erect and turned their direction.


    The three men were silent, for a time. They were all in varying degrees of shock. They each spent a moment looking around the bus. The windows were blacked out, but the green light provided enough illumination to pick out the random objects that happened to clatter off one of them. It reminded Barry of watching one of those shows where the little submarines are recording from deep in the abyss, or like when spaceships would zoom off at warp speed and the stars were whizzing past. The bus rocked and swayed from being buffeted by the wind and the many objects that it carried. The windshield had dozens of cracks from flying objects; street signs, rocks, outdoor furniture, even a garden gnome. After the gnome, Jimmy closed the curtain by sliding it across the windshield. "Just in case" Jimmy explained.


    "Barry?" Doyle''s voice broke the silence. "Yeah." Barry''s returned. "Terrorists?" Doyle asked, disbelief apparent in his voice. Barry shook his head as he answered, "We''re in the middle of Bum Fucked Egypt. "What were the terrorists trying to terrorize? A couple of farmers and a herd of cows?" Doyle released a nervous chuckle, then swung around and walked off, into the dark bus.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    “I don’t get it, either,” Jimmy started yelling, but that was, definitely, a bomb. Those were all bombs.” His last words were unexpectedly loud, as the roar of the wind drastically lowered. Like a retreating rain storm, the "tinks", "clanks", and "whomps", began to dissipate. The men could feel the bus relaxing as the relenting wind allowed it to settle onto its springs. They all felt relief, but Barry’s relief was accompanied by a sense of dread. Deep down, he sensed that the calm was an omen, a bad omen. Sure, the bomb''s destruction was over...and boy were they lucky to be far enough away to have survived...but he knew things would not be the same. In a way, he was grateful for the curtain of darkness that veiled them from the outside.


    Barry and Jimmy were startled by the sound of Doyle stumbling over something in the dark, followed by the even louder sound of him knocking something over. "Found it!" Doyle exclaimed. There was a clicking sound and his face materialized as it became illuminated by the flame of a butane lighter. He used the flame to search through a few cabinets. He located four candles and spread them around the bus. He finished lighting the last candle and flopped down onto the sofa.


    Barry and Jimmy walked into the living area of the bus. Barry took a seat across from the sofa. Jimmy shoved Doyle''s legs off the sofa and plopped down beside him.


    "What the hell...cough...do you...cough...think is going..." Jimmy couldn''t finish his sentence. His coughing became hacking. Doyle straightened and grabbed a half-empty water bottle from the nearby table. He tried to hand it to Jimmy, but the man was coughing too violently. "You must have breathed in too much dust." Barry diagnosed. "Drink some water."


    Jimmy coughed and wheezed for a few seconds. He finally reached for the bottle of water, but another coughing fit started. This time the coughing was hard and deep. It was an intense cough and it was incessant. Jimmy rose from the couch and leaned forward; hands on knees. Barry got up and tried to steady the unstable bus driver. Jimmy''s eyes were darting around, panic evident. He slumped to one knee as the coughing turned to laborious wheezing. He tottered onto his side. The other two men dropped to his sides.


    "Goddamn it, Jimmy. Breath." Doyle pleaded as he rolled Jimmy onto his back. Barry reached over and grabbed Jimmy’s shoulder, preventing Doyle from rolling Jimmy over. Jimmy was gagging on thick wads of bloody mucus. "Keep him on his side, so he don''t choke" Barry explained. They returned Jimmy to his side. The violent coughs and gags calmed and became labored wheezing. Jimmy''s eyes bulged as they darted between the other two men. His face flushed as he suffocated on his own fluids. Jimmy strained to lift his head and shoulders from the floor. Panic painted across his face as he clawed and pawed at Doyle''s shirt. Then he collapsed back to the floor.


    "MOTHERFUCKER." Barry yelled as the wheezing was replaced with a low gurgle. Pink bubbles were sprouting around the man''s mouth. Both of his eyes were red from countless busted capillaries. Blood oozed from the corners of his eyes. The sides of his neck glistened with the trails of blood that ran from his ears. Both of his eyes stretched wide, and his mouth opened so far, there was an audible crack. Jimmy snapped his head toward Doyle and his chest heaved, though no air was taken in. Jimmy convulsed with a powerful pleading in his eyes.


    Doyle began to sob. He had never felt so terrified. He drove past concrete walls at over two hundred miles an hour. He voluntarily strapped himself into thousands of pounds of metal and rocketed around in a circle for hours. He had been rolled, ramped, crushed, and launched countless times, but still, he had never felt as helpless, as he did now.


    Jimmy began to spasm and then thrash. His body knew how to breathe. It performed all the necessary machinations for breathing. The chest expanded, the mouth was open, the heart was beating...but there was no air. Instead of spent breath, only blood and phlegm bubbled from him. Jimmy was drowning from the inside. Doyle wanted to help. He needed to help...but he could not.


    “What can I do?” Doyle whispered, before anyone who could give him the answer. Jimmy strained and raised his arm to clutch Doyle''s collar. Jimmy’s fingernails darkened as blood began to escape from beneath his nails. He violently began to kick and flail. A moment later, his hand relaxed its grip and the thrashing subsided. His arm collapsed, dragging his hand from Doyle''s collar. His head slumped to the floor and his body went limp.


    Both men were frozen. Their shock became bewilderment as Jimmy''s skin seemed to bloom before them. His very skin went from a soft beige to a deep purple. A trick of the green light from the glowstick. Jimmy''s white t-shirt blossomed with thousands of tiny purple pin drops. Each one quickly wicked outward, spreading until they connected to the next one. Soon, Jimmy’s t-shirt was the same color as his leather jacket. Barry knew it was blood.


    Doyle stood up and planted his hands on the sides of his head and he began pacing around the bus.


    "What the hell is going on, man? I''m supposed to be in Dallas. I have a race in two days. My bus driver just fucking died. Jimmy is dead. He is dead. He shouldn''t be dead. There shouldn''t be bombs going off. There aren''t supposed to be any fucking EMP bombs blowing up in the sky. There are supposed to be motel signs, and street lights, and traffic lights, and bus doors that close. Not motherfucking bombs, and hurricanes, and dust storms, and flying fucking yard gnomes, and my bus driver is supposed to be a-fucking-live. Not melted on the FUCKING BUS FLOOR!"


    Barry listened to Doyle''s tirade, never taking his eyes off Jimmy. He didn''t know the man. The entirety of their interaction spanned two minutes of panic-fueled confusion. Jimmy was just a guy who was yelling at another guy in a parking lot who ended up on a bus and couldn''t get the door to shut in the middle of an aerial bombing. Even after all the madness that he had just endured, seeing this man die like that shook Barry''s sensibilities. What could cause a death like that?


    Barry sprang to his feet and peeled off his shirt. "Hey." He yelled, toward Doyle. Doyle turned around to see a shirtless Barry standing over Jimmy''s blood-soaked body. His chest and belly jiggled as he slung his shirt around his head and covered his mouth and nose.


    "Es…oda…e…stur…as…er…ump…em." Barry spoke through the shirt that covered his face. "What?" Doyle asked. "Is…godda…e…must…d.as..or..hump..ing." Barry screamed again, trying to force the words through all four layers of his folded shirt. "WHAT?" Doyle yelled back.


    Barry stared at Doyle for a few seconds, but did not respond. He took a deep breath. He removed his shirt and repeated what he said, as fast as he could. "Itsgottabemustardgasorsomething.”


    All at once, the realization of a potential chemical attack set in, and Doyle jumped onto the sofa. He buried his face in a throw pillow. He quickly lifted his head, breath held, and scanned the room. Doyle shoved his head back into the pillow. He repeated this process three more times before he found what he was looking for. He sprang up, lunged across the edge of the kitchen counter, and grabbed a metallic silver box with a bio-hazard sticker. He flipped the clasp up and ripped the box open. He rifled through box. After a few seconds, he spun around and flung a surgical mask at Barry. He quickly put the other mask on his face and gave Barry a thumbs-up.


    "Always prepared." Doyle congratulated himself.


    Barry held the mask in his hand, looking at it, but not yet switching it with his shirt.


    "Put it on, man. Doctors use ''em. They block germs and stuff."


    Barry looked, from Doyle to the mask, and then back to Doyle. He closed his eyes and dropped the mask to the floor. A moment later, he pulled the shirt from his face and took a big deep breath.


    "NO MAN!” What are you doing?" Doyle pleaded. "The gas will get you." "Doyle...people wear gas masks for this shit. Not t-shirts and cotton masks. If it’s some kind of gas then this cotton thing isn’t going to help us. Doyle thought about it for a moment, then took his mask off. "Guess you''re right." Doyle conceded.


    Doyle returned to the couch and sat down. He grabbed one of the pillows and hugged it against his chest. He couldn''t help but look at his bus driver; his friend. Barry noticed Doyle’s gaze. He grabbed a throw blanket and delicately draped it over Jimmy, before taking a seat in the recliner. Suddenly, Barry became very aware of the pain in his back and legs. He popped a few of the pain pills and reached for the chair''s lever.


    "Sixteen years” Doyle announced. "Jimmy has been my driver since before I was a hot shit household name. He was like a big brother. Always lookin'' out for me. Trying to keep me on the straight and narrow. Always told me when I was being reckless, but never judged me."


    Barry saw tears well up in Doyle''s eyes.


    "What the fuck is going on, Barry?"


    Barry closed the recliner and leaned forward. "I haven''t got a clue" Barry admitted.


    "I forgot I was drunk." Doyle blurted. "Rooms starting to spin." He leaned over and let himself fall across the couch. He stayed there, quietly hugging his pillow, until he passed out.