A Script for The Four AM Transit Schedule

The four a.m. bus sighed and hissed its way through deserted streets, a lonely vessel navigating a sea of sleeping concrete. The city outside the smeared windows was a silent film of sodium-orange light and deep shadow. Inside, the greenish fluorescent tubes hummed a weary tune, illuminating the scuffed floor and rows of empty, cracked vinyl seats. Shiro watched this empty world through the vast windscreen, his hands steady on the wheel, the rhythmic thump-thump of the bus crossing expansion joints a hypnotic, comforting mantra.

This was his life now. Schedules, predictable routes, the quiet solitude of the graveyard shift. It was a world away from the high-octane, screaming-engine chaos he'd left behind. Penance, he sometimes thought. A long, slow, boring road to something that might feel like redemption. He preferred it this way.

He pulled up to a stop at the corner of industrial nowhere and residential decay. The doors wheezed open. A man stumbled on. He was clutching his side, his jacket dark with something wet. Even in the poor light, Shiro knew him. Kenny.

Kenny 'The Weasel' O'Connell. A man whose luck was always running out. He collapsed into a seat right behind Shiro, dropping a heavy-looking duffel bag at his feet. He was breathing in ragged, painful gasps.

"Shiro? Bloody hell, is that you?" Kenny wheezed.

"Keep your voice down," Shiro said, his eyes flicking to the large rearview mirror. There was one other passenger on the bus, a woman with sharp features and a tailored coat sitting near the back, seemingly engrossed in a book. She hadn't looked up. "What happened to you?"

"A business negotiation went south," Kenny coughed. "The other party had a stronger closing argument. You gotta... you gotta help me, Shiro. Just get me to the docks."

"I don't do that anymore, Kenny. I drive the Number 14 loop. The docks aren't on my route."

"Make 'em on your route!" Kenny pleaded. "There's... there's enough in this bag for both of us. A new life. You and me, mate. Like the old days."

"The 'old days' are why I'm driving a bus, you idiot," Shiro hissed, pulling away from the curb. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. His calm, predictable world was cracking apart.

In the rearview mirror, he saw it. A pair of headlights, far back, but moving with purpose. A black saloon. No taxi light. It had been parked across the street from the bus stop.

He felt the old familiar tightening in his gut. The cold calculus of speed, distance, and escape routes began to flood his mind, overwriting the mundane transit schedule.

"They followed you," Shiro said. It wasn't a question.

Kenny twisted in his seat to look. "Ah, hell."

"You brought this to my bus? My job?"

"I didn't have a choice! Where else was I gonna go?"

Shiro glanced in the mirror again. The woman in the back, Nana, finally looked up from her book. Her eyes met his in the mirror. They were unnervingly calm, intelligent, and analytical. She gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod, as if giving him permission.

Who the hell was she?

Unscheduled Stop

The black car was gaining. Shiro gritted his teeth. A bus wasn't a souped-up sedan. It was a whale, not a shark. But a whale could still make a mess if it wanted to.

"Hang on," he said.

He swung the wheel hard, taking a sharp right down a narrow side street he wasn't supposed to be on. The bus groaned, its tyres screaming in protest. Kenny yelped as he was thrown against the window. In the back, Nana remained perfectly poised, as if she were merely experiencing some mild turbulence on a flight.

"This isn't the route!" Kenny yelled.

"The route's been cancelled due to unforeseen idiots bleeding all over my floor," Shiro snarled.

He raced down the street, the big engine roaring. The black car followed, more nimble, staying right on their tail. He saw a laneway up ahead, used for rubbish collection. It was impossibly narrow.

"This is a bad idea," Kenny whimpered.

"I've had worse," Shiro replied.

He wrenched the wheel, forcing the front of the bus into the laneway. Metal screeched and screamed as the sides of the bus scraped against the brick walls of the buildings on either side. Sparks flew. Rubbish bins were tossed aside like toys. The bus wedged itself in, blocking the entire lane.

He slammed on the brakes, the bus shuddering to a halt. He was already out of his seat, grabbing Kenny by the collar.

"Out. Now. Back door."

He half-dragged, half-carried Kenny to the rear exit and kicked it open. They stumbled out into another street. Behind them, they could hear the angry sound of the black car's horn, its path completely blocked. They had bought themselves a few minutes.

"This way," Shiro said, pulling Kenny into the mouth of a dark pedestrian tunnel.

As they plunged into the darkness, Shiro glanced back one last time. The woman, Nana, was stepping calmly off the bus. She adjusted her coat, looked at the wedged bus, then down the street towards the trapped car. She showed no panic, no surprise. She simply watched them go, a thoughtful expression on her face, before she turned and walked away in the opposite direction, disappearing into the pre-dawn gloom.