Detoured

Even knowing that it was his last class ever as an undergraduate did not help motivate Peter Penrod. In a normal student such proclivity for sloth at that stage would have been termed “senioritis,” but such behavior was the norm for Penrod. His roommates, who were all carrying a full load of fifteen credits to his five, had no sympathy for him. Generally jealous of his excess of free time, his roommates were, however, proud of him for being more physically active and riding his bike to campus. Penrod himself actually enjoyed riding to class and looked forward to it on the days he did not have class, which were most days. That Thursday Penrod mounted his bike full of enthusiasm for his mode of transportation, but not his destination.

She knew the exact length of her bus, and it was obvious at a glance that it was not going to fit. Julia Franks had been driving the same bus for eight years and had never seen a worse detour. Whoever had decided on the detour route obviously had not thought of the buses that would have to squeeze down the smaller side streets. Franks could overhear students complaining that they should have walked, that the bus was taking too long. She felt that their tone suggested that it was somehow her fault as the driver. A grimace gripped her face as she began to turn onto an even smaller street.

Officer Warrick rolled his eyes. Jealous, younger officers grumbled their disappointment as they were assigned their duties for the day. For whatever reason, they thought he and Morris had gotten the better assignment. A veteran on the force for more than a decade, Warrick knew better, as did Morris, who was only marginally less unexcited. Both knew that they would be spending the day crowd-controlling confused and curious civilians. Warrick gripped his jacket, picked up the keys to his bike, made eye contact with Morris, and exited the station.

A little less than a mile from the entrance to campus, Penrod saw a long line of cars. Traffic at this time and place was not entirely unusual, but he had never seen it this extreme. Not in any hurry to get to class, Penrod decided to just wait in line with the cars. Stoppages did not usually take very long here and he was content to wait.

She waited ten seconds before losing patience. Franks was tired of all the loud students on her bus. She would have been on break by this time normally, but the detour had changed her schedule without asking. She began to make the right hand turn knowing full well she was not going to fit if the car in the other lane did not move. As she got closer, she gave the other driver the same glare that melted courage in the hearts of students who knocked on her doors as she pulled away from the curb. Franks, notorious for keeping rigidly to schedule, did not stop once she started to leave a stop. The other driver got the message and began pulling up onto the curb to get out of her way.

Three officers, not including Morris, who had probably stopped at Ferrell’s Donuts on the way, were already on the scene. Warrick dismounted his cycle, placed his gloves on the seat and began walking over to the roadblock that the officers had setup up with their motorcycles. One was standing in the road, directing cars while the other two were standing back a bit, chatting. Behind them, the SWAT team was unloading from their truck. Warrick waved to the two by the bikes and went out to relieve the officer directing traffic.

Traffic was not normally this slow. Penrod glanced at his watch and saw that, as much he would like to continue to wait and enjoy the time outside, he was going to be late if he did not move faster. Sighing, he moved maneuvered right into the proper bike lane and began pedaling forward. Even though he knew in the back of his mind that he was getting closer to where he did not want to be, he did take pleasure in passing people sitting in their cars. They were stuck waiting while he had the freedom of mobility. As he neared the intersection the cars were stacked so closely together that he had to slip back into line. A fortuitous movement forward in traffic allowed both him and bus to get into line.

Muttering under her breath, Franks made the last turn of the detour and regained her normal route. The return to familiar and bus-friendly territory soothed her enough to not honk at the cyclist who pulled right in front of her. Students were yelling from the back of the bus, wondering if they could get off here. She aimed a death stare into her rearview mirror, which communicated silently yet clearly that no one would be getting off the bus until they reached a bus stop. Franks saw policemen ahead directing traffic into yet another detour and let out an audible curse that garnered snickers as well as groans from nearby students.

Warrick directed traffic with one hand and kept the other in his jacket pocket. Bored, he peered back at the SWAT team. He had heard over on his radio that someone had reported seeing a suspicious object. Warrick was doubtful. The last report had turned out to be part of an erotic scavenger hunt. The SWAT team had extracted a vibrating replica of Ron Jeremy’s left index finger. Despite the probability that they were ruining the fun of more middle-aged swingers, the SWAT team was always eager to get some action; it was a relatively quiet town and they were prone to boredom. Sudden shouts caught his attention just as he was turning his gaze back to the traffic. Warrick motioned for the approaching bus to stop. A glance to the biker left of the bus communicated the same message. He spun around in time to see that the “elite” team had developed slippery fingers. Probably a result of too much Ferrell’s, like Morris, who had still not arrived. Warrick unconsciously stepped backward as a dark object slid past his motorcycle and continued toward him. A confused murmur rose up behind him as passengers of the vehicles behind him saw a rolling object approaching and SWAT team members running after it. Wishing he had received any other assignment that day, Officer Warrick spun around and tried to communicate that everyone should calm down. As forcefully as he yelled and waved, Warrick felt as though he were underwater so sluggish were his motions and so muffled his cries. He felt the object thump heavily against his left foot and was swallowed up in a flash of white light.