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Seventy-Six

SEVENTY-SIX

The crashing sounds of metal on metal.

Jack launched himself onto the seat behind Sarah. Julia and Diana screamed. Sarah, however, fell. Her hands shot into the air and grabbed at nothing, only to land on the floor, limbs peddling like a beetle on its back.

The sound continued. An intense rattle and pound.

It consumed all.

Peter knew that at some point he must have fallen asleep. Yes, the nightmare was vivid, but it was a nightmare nonetheless. Things like this didn’t happen to people like him—simple, really. His life had intertwined with his fiction. The notebook flew out of his hand and clapped onto the floor; a corner soaking up the dead man’s blood. Peter couldn’t help it; he wept. Jagged vibrations bulleted through him. His already busted lip cracked again.

The bus shook.

To Michael it felt like they were driving into the sky. The strobe of sun through the passing trees disappeared. He squinted against this blinding light, slammed his eyes shut and saw red.

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