(This is basically Pete's P.O.V. from the last chapter)
Pete's P.O.V.
Patrick was knocked out of his bunk and I heard a thump. I helped him up and he groaned in pain.
"What the fuck is happening?" I shouted.
Joe and Andy shrugged, but Patrick looked toward the driver's compartment, where we heard the dreadful screaming coming from.
He had a look of fear but determination in his eyes. He made his way to the door that lead to our driver. I wanted to shout after him, but the bus kept jerking side to side. I couldn't form words.
Patrick leaned into the compartment and I saw his body stiffen. He quickly ran back and ripped the curtain off Andy's bunk. What the fuck is he doing?, I thought.
"Mark's on fucking fire!" He shouted. I was confused for a moment, then I felt the heat.
Our bus was on fire. And we were inside of it.
Patrick was already back in the drivers compartment, hitting Mark's burning legs with the curtain. I saw black smoke billowing around him. Flames were licking up the dash of the bus.
I started to walk in his direction, trying to keep steady from the bus's sudden jerks. Suddenly, the bus lurched sideways really hard. I was thrown into the couch.
But I saw Patrick thrown into the wall and the door slammed shut.
"Patrick!" I shouted. I looked back for a second and saw Joe slumped against the floor, a bruise blooming on his cheek. Andy was leaning over him.
Andy looked up at me. "I got him, you get Patrick!" He yelled.
I nodded and ran to the door. I tried to pry it open, but it wouldn't budge. I started banging on the door, desperate to get it down.
I felt the bus gradually come to a stop. But the nightmare wasn't over yet.
I heard the most horrible noise that had ever reached my ears.
Patrick's screaming echoed throughout the bus. I felt banging on the other side of the door. I was vaugely aware of Andy helping Joe out of the bus and talking to 911.
The only thing that mattered right now was me and Patrick. And there was a door between us.
"Pete, help! It hurts so fucking bad!" Patrick screamed, muffled by the door.
Holy shit. What happened?
Suddenly, the banging on the other side of the door stopped. I heard a slump, like someone was falling against the floor. "Patrick! 'Trick, buddy, stay with me!" I shouted.
I started ramming my shoulder against the door. I did this several times until it finally gave way.
Smoke came rushing out of the room, punching me in the face. I was stunned for a moment, then pulled my shirt over my nose and stepped in. I felt my feet hit something and looked down.
Our bus driver, Mark, was unconscious on the ground. I hooked my hands under his armpits and pulled him out of the bus. I screamed for Andy to help him before running back inside.
At this point, almost the entire drivers compartment was on fire. I tentatively stepped in, seeing Patrick huddled in a corner, barely conscious.
Patrick looked horrible. He had blood gushing out of a wound on his head, staining his hair and cheek. His eyes were watering profusely. He was weakly coughing from the smoke, not able to do much more than wheeze in his state. His skin was a light grey color.
Then my eyes traveled off his face and I noticed the real problem. His arm had flames hungrily traveling up it. They were almost at his shoulder. His skin was red, black in some places. The skin was sickly pealing off and bubbling.
The look on his eyes told me he was in so much pain, so much agony, but he couldn't even scream. He was too weak.
I snapped out of my trance and grabbed the curtain Patrick used to put out Mark's legs. I quickly started hitting his arm with the curtain. He started wincing and whimpering. I felt horrible and stopped. I threw the charred piece of cloth over my shoulder.
I hooked one arm under his legs. I grabbed his good arm and threw it over my shoulder. I carefully put my other arm under his torso. Then, as slowly and carefully as I could in a small burning space, lifted him up.
I winced when I saw him biting his lip, drawing blood, to keep from screaming. Tears leaked from his eyes, mixing with the blood that was now covering his face.
As I was walking out of the small door way, his burnt arm brushed against the wall. He shrieked and mumbled something I couldn't understand. I apologized and ran out of the bus, not a moment too soon.
As soon as I stepped off the bus, the engine exploded. I was thrown forward, Patrick flying out of my arms.
I landed on the ground with a thud. My vision was foggy, all I could hear was a strange ringing. But the only thing running through my head was Patrick.
In the distance, I heard sirens. I pushed myself up, trying to fight against the dizziness and the pounding in my head.
I felt someone turn me over and push me down. "No," I said," Patrick..."
An oxygen mask was put over my face. "Sir, we need you to calm down," I heard someone say.
Calm down?! How can I calm down?! I needed to find out if Patrick was okay!
That's the last thing I remember running through my head before I passed out.
