The air hissed from the primary door cylinder with the shriek of a ruptured steam boiler.
PSSSSSSSSSS.
The heavy brass mechanical arm at the top of the stairwell twisted against its mounting bolts. The two folding jackknife door leaves swung open three inches, then six inches, fighting against the ninety-five pounds per square inch of Mac’s pneumatic reservoir.
Cold, rank swamp air blasted into the front of the bus.
It smelled of decaying river reeds, wet soot, sulfuric marsh gas, and the rancid, vinegary stench of wet receipt paper that had sat in stagnant ditch water for thirty years.
“The solenoid is shorting out!” Mac roared, his right hand fighting the violent kick of the steering wheel along the turnaround apron.
“Someone wired a bypass coil into the auxiliary door linkage! The pressure is bleeding off the primary tank faster than the compressor can pump it!”
Julian braced his boots on the outer threshold step of the doorway.
