Shell Shocked (12 page)

“Jack, it's okay, stop the bus, we're past the buildings!”

“Get off!” Jack yelled. “Jump!”

“What?”

“Jump!”

“We're going too fast!” I screamed.

Jack hit the brakes hard and the bus slowed—although you wouldn't have guessed it looking at the ground hurtling by outside the door.

“Jump! I'll be right behind you!”

I hesitated.

“Now!” Jack screamed.

This was still too crazy. If I didn't jump far enough to get clear, the back wheels of the bus would crush me.

“Get off before I toss you off!”

That might have been easier.

“Now! Jump and roll!”

There was no more time to wait. I jumped, trying to get as far away as possible. I was flying through the air like
a bird, and then I hit the ground and spun and rolled and rolled, head over feet, finally coming to a stop, my face plowing into the soil. I tried to push myself up but the wind had been knocked out of me. I strained to get air into my lungs, struggled to push myself up onto my knees. I watched the bus continue to roll away … why hadn't Jack jumped off? Had he jumped and I hadn't seen him, or—? The bus blew up, and I was knocked backwards by the force of the explosion!

MY BODY AND FACE
were pelted with what felt like pieces of hail! I turned away and covered my face with my hands. There were pieces of metal lying all around everywhere … they'd showered down around me like shrapnel from a bomb. I'd made it out just in time and—Jack. Where was Jack? Had he jumped off the bus in time?

A figure stood up and staggered toward me out of the dust. It was Jack! His face was cut and his clothes were ripped. His face was black with soot and his eyes were wide open and he had a wild look.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“What?”

“Are you okay?”

He shook his head. “The bus … it exploded!” he yelled.

“It was on fire.”

“What?”

“It was on fire!” I yelled.

He shook his head. “It … bus … it's gone … it just exploded.”

There were sirens, and I turned around to see a plant security vehicle and an ambulance and a fire truck rumbling toward us, red lights flashing. I reached up and grabbed Jack's hand and he pulled me to my feet. He was stunned but he was still strong. We walked away from the wreckage and toward the oncoming emergency vehicles.

The fire truck rolled past while the ambulance and the security vehicle squealed to a stop right in front of us. Immediately the doors sprang open and people jumped out. Mr. Granger was the first, and he ran to our side.

“Boys, are you all right?” he demanded.

“It's Jack … his ears … he can't hear.”

Mr. Granger called for the ambulance drivers. Jack didn't fight or object as the two men took him, one on each side, and led him away to the waiting ambulance. Mr. Granger took me by the arm and we followed.

“How close was he when the bus exploded?” Mr. Granger asked.

“Close, really close. I was farther away.”

“The force of the explosion may have damaged his eardrums. They might have burst.”

“He won't be able to hear?” I gasped.

“He'll be fine. It happens sometimes, but they heal quickly.”

“Thank God.”

They took Jack into the ambulance and had him sit down on the edge of a stretcher. Mr. Granger and I stood at the open back doors.

At that instant a second fire vehicle rumbled up. I turned and watched as it passed and saw the men from the first truck, already out, using their hoses to put out scattered fires.

“What exactly happened?” Mr. Granger asked.

“The bus was on fire,” I said. “Under the hood … the engine. The driver tried to put it out but he couldn't. We knew we had to get it away from the building. Jack jumped behind the wheel and we drove it away.”

“Good thing you did,” Mr. Granger said.

“I thought it would burn … that we had to move it because it was a fire risk … but I didn't think it would explode like that, you know, so big.”

“Yes, it was a much bigger explosion than ...” He stopped mid-sentence and turned to the ambulance attendants. “How's he doing?”

“Some cuts to the scalp and maybe a burst eardrum—”

“Nothing more serious?”

“No, he's going to be fine.”

“Good. Take him to my office.”

“We should be taking him to the infirmary to be—”

“Take him to my office, now!” Mr. Granger ordered. “Then you'll take him to the hospital. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” the attendant said.

Another attendant jumped out the back of the ambulance and slammed the two doors closed. He then ran around the side, jumped into the driver's seat and set the vehicle in motion, sirens blaring and lights flashing.

“George, it wasn't just the bus exploding. It was the dynamite,” Mr. Granger said.

“No, we got it away from the dynamite. It was the engine, it was on fire, that's why it exploded.”

“Smell,” he said, and he inhaled deeply.

I sniffed the air. There was an odour of smoke and fire. Was that what he meant?

“That's the unmistakable smell of dynamite,” Mr. Granger said. “And, judging by the extent of the wreckage and the size of the crater that the explosion caused, I would suspect that it was at least twenty or thirty—”

“George!”

I turned around. It was Daphne.

“Jack … is he … is he ...?”

“He's in the ambulance, but he's fine,” I said.

“Thank goodness!”

She looked genuinely relieved. Maybe she really did care for him.

“Here.” She handed me the camera.

“Thanks.”

“Have him call me as soon as he can,” she said. “I'll be worried until I hear.”

“I'll have him call. He'll talk to you,” I said.
Although he might not be able to hear you
, I thought.

“Please excuse us, but we have to leave,” Mr. Granger said to Daphne. He turned to me. “You're with me.”

Mr. Granger walked over to his car. I ran after him and jumped in the passenger side as he climbed in behind the wheel. The lights and siren on the top of his car were still going. He turned the siren off.

“I've seen her around the plant, but I can't place her. Who was that?” he asked.

“Daphne. Remember from the bingo night? She's a friend of my brother's.”

“Aah, yes, I remember.”

“Yeah, and she was there with us when we saw that the bus was on fire.”

“She seemed very interested,” he said.

“That's because they're sort of girlfriend and boyfriend.”

“Sort of?”

“I guess they are.”

“She looks older.”

“She is. She's seventeen, and she
thinks
Jack is seventeen.”

He nodded. “But why did she have a camera?”

“It's my camera … well,
The Commando
's camera. I had it with me in case I saw something that would make a good story.”

“You certainly saw something. Did you get any pictures of it?” he asked.

“A couple. At least I think I did.”

“I'll take the camera and develop the film. You never know what we might find.”

Mr. Granger turned the car around and I looked out the window. Between the emergency vehicles with their flashing lights and the firemen dousing the scattered fires, the whole scene was unbelievable. I tried to see if there were any parts of the bus that I could recognize as parts of a bus. Nothing. If the explosion did that to the bus, what would have happened to us if we hadn't bailed out? A shiver went up my spine.

“I thought that bus was only used for transporting people,” I said.

“It is.”

“So why was there dynamite on board? Don't they use trucks to transport stuff like that?”

“We do use trucks.”

“You shouldn't let them put dangerous materials on the buses.”

“George, we didn't
let
anybody. That fire, the dynamite, that was all planned. Those were acts of sabotage.”

“Sabotage? Are you sure?”

“I'll know more once we complete our interviews and examine the wreckage. We have a team coming in from Camp X right now.”

“You should double the men at the gates,” I said.

“Doesn't that seem like shutting the barn door after the cow has escaped?”

“It's not a cow, and it's not escaping I was thinking about,” I said. “This would be the perfect distraction to allow somebody to bring in something that they shouldn't.”

Mr. Granger was about to speak but he stopped. He grabbed the car radio instead.

“This is Granger to communications,” he said into the microphone. “I want all deliveries, I repeat,
all deliveries
held at the gates until further notice.” He replaced the microphone. “You almost got yourself killed and you're still thinking about plant security. Are you sure you're only twelve?”

“Pretty sure.”

“You came very close to never seeing thirteen,” he said.

We pulled up to an open parking spot beside the ambulance. Jack was being led away by the attendants. He brushed away their assistance. That was like Jack. Obviously he was feeling a little bit more like himself. We caught up to them as they started up the stairs toward Mr. Granger's office.

“You two wait downstairs,” Mr. Granger said to the attendants. “You'll take him to the hospital as soon as I'm through with the debriefing.”

Jack was holding a large piece of gauze to the side of his head. It was soaked with blood, but at least it looked as though the flow had stopped. We walked into the outer office. There was a young girl sitting behind a desk working away on a typewriter. She looked up from her work and I skidded to a stop—it was Juliette!

“You work for Mr. Granger?” I asked.

“You two know each other?” Mr. Granger questioned.

“We're practically engaged,” she said. She started to laugh, and then her expression changed to shock as she saw Jack.

“Jack, are you okay?”

Jack had that same stunned look on his face, but he smiled at her. I wondered if he'd even heard the question.

“What happened?” she asked.

“That's what we're going to find out,” Mr. Granger said.

“Yes … yes, sir.”

“I don't want to be interrupted. Hold my calls.” He stopped. “Except from my good friend Bill.”

Of course he'd want to talk to Bill.
I
wanted to talk to Bill.

“And does Bill have a last name?” Juliette asked.

“I think everybody has a last name,” Mr. Granger replied. “But Bill is the only name he ever needs to give to you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

He opened the door and ushered us into the office. He pulled up two chairs and set them right in front of his desk, and we sat down.

“You boys seem to know everybody at this plant,” Mr. Granger said.

“Not everybody. Juliette is a friend of Daphne's.”

“What an interesting coincidence.”

The way he said “coincidence” made me think that he was wondering if there was more to it than that. Being the head of security probably made him question everything and everybody. I knew that feeling well.

“How long has Juliette been your secretary?” I asked.

“Not long. She's filling in this week while my regular secretary is away on holidays. She's done a fine job. She's bright … excellent typist … can take dictation. You look surprised.”

I was a bit surprised that Juliette was such a skilled secretary—I hadn't really seen her that way. But that's not what I told him. “I guess I'm surprised that they'd put somebody kind of new in as your secretary. I thought everything you did would be pretty top secret.”

“She deals only with things that are routine. The inside
information—knowledge about the operatives in the plant, for example—is kept securely away from even my regular secretary.”

“Of course, I should have known. Sorry, it's just that my brother says I see spies everywhere.”

“Welcome to the club. Now, back to what we need to discuss. Tell me what happened.”

“There's not much more to tell. We were sitting outside and saw the bus was on fire.”

“Where was the fire?”

“Under the hood, in the engine. There was lots of black smoke, and then, when the driver popped the hood, we saw lots of flames. How is he?”

“Second-degree burns on both hands, but he'll be fine.”

“And you think the fire was deliberately set, right?”

“No question.”

“But how would somebody do that? It's not like the driver wouldn't have noticed somebody going under the hood.”

“The trigger might have been placed there the night before, and then as the engine heated up it set off a small charge that ignited the fire.”

“What about the dynamite?”

“That could have been anywhere on the bus. It could have been as simple as somebody leaving a bag underneath a seat, or wrapping it underneath the body of the vehicle, and then the heat from the fire finally ignited it.”

“But where would somebody get—?” I stopped myself as I realized how silly that question was. We were surrounded by dynamite and explosives. Hundreds of people had daily access to explosives.

“It would be child's play to either bring in individual pieces or abscond with them from our supplies,” Mr. Granger said, confirming my thoughts. “I hardly like to think what would have happened if that bus had exploded among the buildings.”

“It would have been bad.” Maybe that was an understatement!

“You boys really are heroes.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

“What?” Jack asked loudly. He hadn't bothered trying to follow the conversation.