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“Five, sir,” replies the helmswoman.
Shit.
On-screen, Amethyst continues moving toward the man until she pauses on top of his jacket. As she exchanges words with the driver, she moves the garment behind her back.
My jaw clenches. She must see him as a threat.
I watch helplessly as she clutches the jacket, dragging it to the center of the bus. Dread settles in my gut as she slips it on and fastens the zip, all the while glancing at an invisible spot to the side. What the hell is she planning?
As if in answer to my question, she reaches for the red exit handle.
Someone mentions that another car has left the asylum’s back gate, but I’m too engrossed in what’s happening with Amethyst for the words to fully register.
“Is she going to pull the emergency stop?” Jynxson asks.
She yanks the lever, and the bus’s side door swings open. The vehicle lurches to a stop, jolting Amethyst backward in her seat.
My gaze switches to the second screen, where the driver jumps out from behind the wheel and races down the aisle. Alarm hits me in the gut. I should be there, snapping that bastard’s neck.
“Damn,” Jynxson says, his eyes fixed on the images.
Amethyst tries the lever again, opens the door, and leaps off the bus just as the driver lunges to grab her shoulder. She hits the ground rolling before finding her feet and sprinting across the road into the trees.
My heart pounds as the driver charges after her, his large strides swallowing the distance between them with sickening speed.
“Close in on them, now!” I snarl.
The drone tracks their movements. It’s impossible to shoot the driver without risking Amethyst’s safety. She’s barely ahead of the driver, darting from side to side to evade his grasp.
She weaves in and out of the trees, using the evasive movements we practiced, but the man is determined to get her back on that bus.
“Three minutes, sir,” the helmswoman says.
Every second with Amethyst in the line of fire is excruciating. We can’t get a lock on the persistent bastard. Rounding a tree, she pauses to reach into her pocket. When she extracts a gun, my heart roars with triumph. I grit my teeth, waiting for her to fill him with bullets.
But nothing happens.
She glances at the gun, her eyes widening with panic. It’s either out of ammunition or jammed.
“Two minutes,” says the helmswoman.
I rise off my seat.
“Try again,” I snarl at the screen.
She charges at the driver.
“What are you doing?” I yell.
The man spreads out his arms in anticipation of her attack. I hold my breath, wondering if there’s a method to this madness. At the last minute, she ducks low and veers off toward the bus.
“She’s trying to steal it now?” I ask.
“Looks like it,” Jynxson mutters.
The driver jogs after her, seeming pleased with this change of events. Perhaps he thinks he intimidated her back into compliance.
“As soon as she’s out of range, take the shot,” I snarl.
