Highway to Hell

Walt called Jim from the back of the bus, his little keyboards on his lap, and the rest of the band came around, smelling new song. Jim reached for his phone to record whatever Walt had come up with, and realized it’d slipped from his back pocket. It wouldn’t be the first time it dropped on the bus seat. Sean saw him pat his pockets and snort, and volunteered to go grab it.

That was when the bus swerved sharply, wheels screeching, throwing everybody to the side. Then they heard the first impact that pushed the bus skidding to the other side. Another hit against the rear bumper and the bus started spinning. Another hit, a big truck that bashed the whole side of the bus. Another hit and the bus seemed to crack open like a frigging nut as it fell on the opposite side, still ramming down the highway.

Jim had that image carved in his mind: the bending steel snapping like rubber bands, the bus split in two. Sean launched up and out, flapping his arms in the air,