Julian Vance saw the muzzle flash of cold compressed air before the boom reached his ears.
Thwack!
The four-inch industrial rubber suction cup slammed into the right windshield pane with the force of a bowling ball. Laminated glass groaned under the impact, flexing inward half an inch before rebounding against the steel mounting frame.
A three-foot sheet of heavy crimson vinyl unrolled across the glass with a wet, slapping snap. The red ink was thick as wet paint, dripping down the windshield like fresh arterial blood. Large block letters sealed against the glass, glaring backward into Mac Cole’s eyes:
[RULE 9 AMENDED: DRIVER MUST TURN HEAD TO ROW 12 FOR AUDITOR INSPECTION. REINSTATE COMPLIANCE OR FORFEIT TRANSIT LICENSE.]
The red vinyl covered forty percent of the windshield. It blinded Mac’s forward sightline down the right traffic lane.
“Impact on forward glass!” Lin Mei yelled, her thumb slamming down on her digital stopwatch. “Cure countdown has started! T-minus sixty seconds!”
The bus leaned hard into a curving concrete overpass. Mac Cole didn’t blink. He kept his right hand locked onto the steering wheel at ten o’clock.
