T H E Q U E S T I O N
T H E Q U E S T I O N I S S U E # 7
I S S U E # 7
S U F F E R T H E C H I L D R E N
S U F F E R T H E C H I L D R E N
It's 5:49 AM when I pull up to the front of the school bus depot. I hop out of my car and rush to the entrance, not even bothering to take the keys out of the ignition or shut my car's door. The
ding-ding-ding of my car's warning chime fades to silence as I step inside the bus depot, trying to formulate a plan to stop the buses from leaving. I look around and see-
... There's no one here.
No one except an old man sitting in a chair and nodding off behind a counter. I walk up to him and clear my throat.
"Whuzzut... Huh?" he mumbles, before looking up at me and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
"Hey, ya ain't got a face. What's up with that?""New razor, close shave." I rub a gloved hand over my chin.
"I have questions about today's bus schedules."The old man shrugs.
"Ain't no schedules today. Holiday.""A holiday?""What, you been livin' under a rock? Gaston Hupert's birthday. Kids is off."I turn away from the man, looking at the buses all lined up. There's a gap between two of them where another bus could fit, an oil stain on the concrete confirming my suspicions. When I look back at the old man, he's reading a magazine.
"But a bus did leave here."He grumbles a bit and lowers the magazine.
"Never said one didn't. Just said there ain't no schedules.""Where was this bus heading?""Downtown, Carver High. Assembly there, think it was Spicer or Spencer or somethin'. Superintendent.""When did it leave?""Bout ten minutes ago."Shit.
"Did anyone except the driver come in this morning?""Some Mexicano and a little weasel lookin' guy, bout thirty minutes 'fore the driver came in. The Mexican was yappin' my ear off about this and that, couldn't tell what in the hell he was talkin' bout half the time. Think the little weasel had to go to the bathroom or somethin' cause I didn't see him till they was leavin'.""Did they get into a car after they left?""Big green panel van.""Did they follow the school bus?""I wasn't payin' no attention to 'em after that. I was tryna read." He gestures to the magazine in his hand.
Alright. Wasted enough time here. There's a bus heading downtown to Carver High. Two men, maybe more, in a green panel van tailing not too far behind it. They have to make sure their job is done right, probably have to blow the bomb manually with a remote detonator. I leave the depot and hop back into my car, slamming the door shut and stomping onto the gas pedal. I race down the street at 60 miles an hour and take a right turn. Tot and I had rigged my little VW Beetle up with a Porsche engine, racing shocks, and a Ferrari transmission. The little Bug that could, I like to call it. Proving its use once again.
The sun is rising now. Not much time left to stop this. They have a ten minute head start on me. I keep my foot pressed down hard on the gas and breathe in as slowly as I can. Keep my heartbeat steady. The Man is panicking and scared and hopeless. If he can't stop this, he won't be able to live with himself. The Butterfly is telling him that he can do this. Stay calm. Feel the ebb and flow of the world. Let relaxation take you.
Relax...
... What the
fuck am I thinking? Relax?
They're gonna kill kids! Those bastards are gonna blow up a Goddamn
school bus!
I slam my foot even harder onto the gas, the pedal flush with the floor. The speedometer needle is quivering, hanging at about 80 miles per hour. I drift around a corner onto Carver Street and then I see it. A bus parked in front of Carver High School, a green panel van parked on the opposite side of the street. I slam on the brakes and my car skids to a stop about thirty feet from the van. I burst out of the car and sprint for the van.
The passenger window is down. I see a tanned man sitting in the passenger seat, fiddling with a remote in his hands. He's turned away from me and looking at a scrawny guy with glasses and a face like Steve Buscemi.
"Fuckeeng goofball, Junior!" the man says.
"You parked us too close! Back up and-"He doesn't have time to finish his sentence as I wrap an arm around his neck and pull him out of the window. I take the detonator from him and throw it down an alleyway behind us. I use one hand to hold him by the collar while the other one beats down on the side of his head like a drum.
The back doors of the van fly open and four men climb out of it, sprinting to the bus.
"Junior, grab the fuckin' grenades! Get on the bus!" one of them yells out. Frenzied, the driver grabs a box from the back of the van and gets out, rushing for the bus as well.
Shit.
I drop the man and his limp body falls to the ground. I take off after the men, who are already boarding the bus. The driver, Junior, is almost on board when I grab him by the back of his shirt and throw him to the ground. The box goes flying out of his hands and a dozen grenades spill out of it, all over the road. I kick Junior in the head, hoping that'll be enough to keep him down, before sprinting onto the bus.
There's about thirty kids on here, screaming in fear and backing away as close as they can to the windows. One of the men whips out a pistol, waving it around, but I'm already behind him. I grab him by the wrist and
twist, the pistol falling out of his hand as I throw him to the floor.
I'm stomping on his face when I feel a fist hitting me in the back of the head. My hat flies off my head and I stumble a few feet forward, right into a railing that my head bounces right off of.
"Shit!" I twist back around, ignoring the throbbing headache from the two hits, and take in my surroundings.
The aisle between the seats is spacious, spacious enough for two of the men to stand side by side. The third man steps over the body of his buddy and throws a wild haymaker at me. I bring my arms together and block the hit, before sending my elbows into his chest. He stumbles back and I lift a leg to kick him in the gut, sending him to the floor. He tries to pick himself up but I send a kick into his face, hearing a sharp
CRACK as his nose breaks against my foot.
The last two men charge me together. Right as they reach me, I duck down and spin around with a sweeping kick. They fall to the ground, banging their heads on the hard leather seats as they do. I smirk a little. Never fails. I rise to my feet. One of the men tries to stand but I just kick him right in the nads and he falls back over.
I snap my head over to the bus driver who's looking at me in mixed horror and astonishment.
"Got a phone?" She nods rapidly.
"Call the cops." She whips out a cracked iPhone that's about six generations out of date and dials 911.
Then a grenade crashes through the windshield and rolls to my feet.
I scramble to pick it up, already fearing that it'll explode and take my arm off. I toss it back out through the hole it came in from and it explodes in mid-air, flying shrapnel shattering the rest of the windshield. I look outside to see Junior standing in front of the bus with a few grenades in his arm, already grabbing another one and getting ready to bite off the pin.
Thinking fast, I sprint and leap forward, grabbing onto the top railing and swinging myself through the hole where the windshield once was. I twist to my side and keep my legs straight as my shoes collide with Junior's face in a drop kick. I slam onto the asphalt with a grunt as Junior falls to the floor, the grenades flying out of his grasp and onto the road.
I pick myself up and start massaging my temples. God that railing was solid as a
rock. I look back to the bus driver who's rattling off the details of the crime as quickly as she can. I can already hear sirens in the distance. Time to take my leave. I get back into my car and peel off as quickly as I can.
I'm heading home. Not my apartment. Not Tot's. But where I grew up.
I try not to think of the medical reports about a wailing baby boy covered in cigarette burns and bruises left on the footsteps of a hospital. Try not to think about the older boys that would twist my arm around my back and hold it there until I was sobbing. Try not to think about the loneliness, watching all the younger kids walk out with a new and happy family.
Try not to think about how it looks the exact same. Old red brick. Wooden sign that hasn't been touched up in decades. Saint Catherine's Home For Orphaned Children. My home. I can hear the sounds of children playing in the yard around back. It brings me back to another time. Not better. Not worse. I release the removal gas and take off my mask before getting out of the car and heading inside.
One of the sisters approaches me as I walk into the lobby, the wooden floor creaking beneath her feet as she walks.
"Are you here looking to adopt, sir?" she asks.
"No. I came to check up on a child. Myra Fermin's girl." I say.
The sister's eyes widen.
"Jackie? She's in the yard playing with the other children.""Can I see her?""Yes, sir. Come with me." The sister gestures for me to follow and I do so. Would've known the way with or without her help.
"You'll have to be patient with her, she's... Special. She doesn't always understand."I smile to myself.
"You don't have to explain it to me, sister."When we get out into the yard, I can see about a dozen children running around and playing tag. The only one that isn't is a red haired little girl, maybe about nine or ten, sitting on a swing set and mindlessly rocking back and forth as she watches the other children. I already know who she is before the sister confirms it with a finger pointed right at her.
"That's her."I leave the sister at the back door and approach Jackie. She notices me when I'm a few feet away, her eyes widening as she looks up at me. I kneel down to be at eye level with her.
"Hi, Jackie. My name is Charlie. Your mother told me about you.""Hi," she says, smiling a little.
"Can you push me mister Charlie?"I smile back at her.
"Sure."In the coming days, I'll be fighting. For my life? For the good of the city? I'm not too sure. But I know that there will be violence. The Man is ready for it, welcomes it. The Butterfly is trying to think of ways to keep everyone safe from it. I have a long and hard road ahead of me. But for now, I'm pushing the little girl on the swing, listening to her laugh with a joy that melts my heart.
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