The Last Stop

“I have a two-part question. First, can you detail the events of last week and second, how are you going to spend the $20,000?” A reporter asked from the crowd.

“Sure. To answer your second question, I have no idea. I haven’t given it much thought. As for last week, I’m briefly going to give my account of what happened. I actually wrote it down right after so that I could remember it all.” I said to the room full of press and cameras. I was nervous, but recounted what took place.

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It was just another Friday. On occasion, my grandmother and I took a bus around New York as a way to destress and spend time together. Living in New Jersey meant we had to take the train to get home, so we rode the bus to the end of the line in order to get our train tickets.

Rush hour drew near, and my mother met us on the bus to head home. Our driver was a tad crazy and overly protective of the bus rules. The only thing I wanted was to be close to the front so that I could run in quickly to get train tickets for us, but each time I inched up or had a toe on the line, the driver yelled at me. She even pulled over once, saying that she wouldn’t go any further until I moved.

The scent of liquor formed a cloud around her seat, and her drunken state only enhanced her loud and boisterous nature. At one point, a man near me called out, “She doesn't have any underwear on.” The man claimed that she was wearing a dress and that she took them off at a red light, handing them to him. What kind of bus driver wears a dress? I thought.

Her braking made the trip unbearable, and at times when she wasn't paying attention, the bus glided through red lights.

Finally, we made it after she did a full circle around the building before stopping to let everyone out. My main concern was having enough time to get the tickets and still make the train. Smoke swarmed me as I ran out the door. People were directing us into the building carefully, telling us to stay on the main level of the three-story structure. I knew that there was no place to get tickets on that level, but I looked anyway and found nothing.

They had people standing in one area in single file lines. After I’d given up on the search and having no information as to what was happening outside, I noticed a college friend standing on the upper level. I tried to yell to her, but she didn’t see me, and the place was so big she didn’t hear me either.

The temptation to go upstairs overwhelmed me, but the anxiety I felt in my chest guided me in the direction of my family. I was at a crossroads, use the stairs next to me to find my friend—who might know something—or go back to my mother and grandmother ticketless.

As I combed through the third floor, my friend was nowhere to be seen. It was completely empty. I began wondering if my mind played tricks on me much like an illusionist would. Then my luck changed. There in the corner, the ticketing machines. Of course, I went to buy them hastily, but as I was about to stick my card in the machine, I heard two men coming around the bend.

I don’t know why but I hid. Mainly because I wasn’t supposed to be up there, but more so because something in my gut didn’t feel right. Why were people upstairs one minute and then like ghosts the next? There was a closet down the hall from the ticketing area. I power walked over to it and quietly snuck in.

“Set up over there. We piled all the people from every bus in one area, none of them suspected a thing. Make sure you stay hidden until the last bus pulls in,” I heard one of them say.

The whole thing was a coverup, the smoke, everyone in the same place at the same time, all of it. Since I could only hear them, I didn’t know what they looked like or what they were planning. That unexpected turn of events put knots in my stomach. Who knows how deep the rabbit hole went? Was our bus driver a part of this?

When I was in the clear, I opened the door quietly and nearly stepped on a little black book sitting on the floor. One of them must have dropped it. I didn’t stop to read it for fear of being caught and darted back to the first floor as quickly as I could.

Everyone was sitting on the floor. I scanned the area frantically, looking for my family. After a few minutes, I made it to them and whispered. “We have to get everyone out of here. Everything that happened wasn’t coincidental. It was planned out.”

I saw the worried looks on their faces. The last thing I wanted was for them to lose it over what I said. But I didn’t know what kind of time we had or who was involved. Just then, a police officer walked by. A gentleman got up to question him, and he was told to sit down like child.

“Let’s tell the police. They have to do something,” Grandma said.

I shook my head, “No. We can’t trust them.”

Remembering the black book I stuffed into my pocket, I discreetly opened it and sifted through the book. Inside were plans and handwritten drawings of the entire building. There were multiple snipers situated throughout the vicinity and all of them were pointing at us. I rubbed my temples, hoping that something would come to mind—My phone.

I looked down at the bars, no service. Okay, next idea. They must have jammed the signal. Everything had been planned for months, and we were their ransom, their bargaining chip. Only we were not going to survive, and the worst part was they played on everyone’s fears, but no one knew we were a pawn in the game.

“Does anyone have a lighter?” I asked the group of people next to us. A man with a hefty beard passed me his. I thanked him and took notice of everything in the general vicinity.

Behind us was a restaurant. Once the cop walked by on his ten-minute rotation, I got up and ran inside, closing the door quietly. My watch said 6:22 pm. As I suspected, the place had been evacuated, but there was a fully stocked bar with tons of alcohol. I grabbed a few bottles of vodka and headed into the kitchen. Bottle after bottle, I dumped the contents onto the countertops and stoves.

Time check. 6:29 pm. I had to get back in case he paid attention to me. Before I left, I dropped the lighter and closed the door, making sure to dump a couple of bottles leading to the entrance. I had to wait for him to go by and hope he hadn’t realized my absence.

People around us watched as I returned to my seat, but I acted completely normal. I picked up the book once more. It had the locations they were looking to hit next, somewhere in Times Square, Yankees stadium, an outdoor concert, and a few others.

Waiting felt like forever. The fire had to cause an explosion at some point and hopefully knocked out whatever signal they were using to keep us from using our phones. Pretending like we weren’t sitting ducks was exhausting because, at any minute, the snipers could open fire on us, and the one person who knew did nothing. I had my family to protect, but I couldn’t just leave the rest. It was all of us or none of us.

Suddenly, the explosion I’d been waiting for came, followed by the smoke detectors and the sprinklers going off. Mass hysteria happened. The cop was shoved out of the way by a stampede of people, and I grabbed my mom and grandma and pushed them towards the exit.

“We have to run and not look back,” I told them.

Then the sound I’d been dreading. Bullets. They rained down in front of me. It must’ve been adrenaline because I’ve never seen my Grandmother move so fast.

I heard everything going on around me like it was a movie. People fell, children cried, feet stomped on the ground, heavy breathing. If fear had a sound, that might be it.

We made it down the block untouched. With an ice cream shop still open, some steps from where we stood, I took Mom and Grandma into it and told them to stay there. Mom called the police.

Something caught my attention. The news showed a sketch of the officer we saw in the train station as a wanted suspect in a previous shooting a few years ago and a reward for relevant information. That’s what I’m going to do, go back for him.

Either I was immensely stupid or stupidly selfless. No matter how you looked at it, it felt like a terrible idea. Who in their right minds would go back into a burning building, and in case that wasn’t hard enough, try to dodge bullets like raindrops? After taking a deep breath, I bolted out the door and ran back into the storm. One positive was I no longer heard gunshots.

When I got to the clearing, the scene was frightening. Many lay dead, family members or friends standing beside them and some dragging their wounded. The shooters were gone, probably fleeing their fates, but the police officer still laid on the floor unconscious from the blast. I finally made it to him, tired and completely disheveled, but I caught my breath and dragged the man out of the building with every bit of energy I had left...

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“With the events that took place one week ago in Manhattan, the three shooters, five bus drivers, and a gentleman posing as a police officer have been apprehended and await trial. Also, found at the scene by the family was a little black book detailing plans to hit parts of New York and other major cities. This family acted swiftly to be our eyes and ears of the situation. In light of their efforts, along with the $20,000 reward, they will also receive an award for bravery and protecting this city.” The mayor spoke.

I took in the applause. Some people wait their entire lives to leave behind a legacy like that, but for us, history has been rewritten to include what our family had done. Even though I might be remembered forever, what I’ll always remember is the number twenty-three.

That’s the number of people who were killed that day.