Lin Mei pressed her yellow wax pencil flat against the cold aluminum wheel-well cover.
Behind them, the twin sirens of Van N-1 and Van N-3 wailed through the fog. Red strobe lights pulsed against the rear glass of Coach #404.
“They’re closing at forty miles an hour!” Lin Mei called out.
She didn’t look back into the dark aisle. She looked up at the sixteen-inch convex mirror bolted over the driver’s cage.
In the curved glass, the two matte-black step-vans were barreling forward. Their red-filtered headlights cut through the swirling yellow mist like hot needles.
“How long until they reach our bumper?” Julian asked.
He stood beside the fare-box, his hand gripping the brass stanchion pole. His knuckles were white.
“Seventy seconds,” Lin Mei said. Her voice was rapid and steady. “Eighty if the road ice slows their front tires.”
