When did the kids have to be the adults?
The Flood and the Drunk Driver
I was on the school bus when the emergency alert blasted through everyone’s phones. Flash flood warning. Seek higher ground immediately. Avoid all low water crossings.
“Mr. Brown, there’s a flood,” I yelled from the front seat.
But Brown just pressed harder on the gas.
“I’ve driven this route for 15 years. Little water never hurt anyone.”
The rain was coming down so hard we could barely see through the windows. Jason tried showing him his phone with the emergency alert.
“Sir, it says all vehicles should—”
Brown snatched the phone and shoved it in his pocket.
“No phones on my bus. You know the rules.”
The water was racing across the road now, brown and churning with branches and debris. My hands were already shaking as we headed straight for it. The bus hit the water and immediately jerked sideways.
Younger kids in the back started screaming as muddy water rose up to the door seals. Brown yanked the wheel hard and the bus violently swung from side to side.
“See, I got this under control.”
A silver flash slid out from under his seat during the violent turn. His words were slightly slurred.
“Just need to gun it through this little puddle.”
My heart was hammering so hard I could even hear it over the rain. The water kept rising on the road, getting thicker with debris. Then the engine sputtered and died right in the middle of the flood.
Brown kept grinding the ignition over and over.
“Stupid new buses. Piece of junk.”
He turned to face us while we begged to be let out.
“Shut your mouth before I write up every last one of you.”
That’s when I smelled it. Beer. My stomach dropped as I connected the dots. We were trapped in a flood with a drunk driver. Before I could react, he turned back around and got the ignition going.
When he wasn’t looking, I speed texted into our group chat.
“I think Brown is drunk.”
Other kids were starting to notice too. His bloodshot eyes. The way he kept missing the radio buttons. His shaking hands.
“Why does it smell like my dad’s beer?” a second grader piped up innocently.
Jason the class clown went completely white.
“Yo, is Mr. D actually wasted right now?”
“We should report this properly when we get to school,” Sally insisted.
Bradley stood up.
“We need to get off this bus now.”
Brown whipped around, stumbling slightly.
“You think you’re in charge, tough guy? I’ve been driving since before your parents were born.”
Water was hitting the windows now. My whole body was trembling. I bolted for the emergency exit and pulled hard. Nothing. It had been disabled last week after kids kept setting it off as pranks. Panic clawed at my throat.
“It’s locked,” I screamed.
More kids rushed to help me pull. We were all yanking on it together. We were on a rural route in heavy rain with no cell signal and no houses for miles. Brown suddenly swerved at an oncoming car for no reason.
“That’ll teach them to use my lane.”
A kindergartner wet his pants and started sobbing uncontrollably.
“Sit down or you’ll never ride this bus again. I know where you all live,” Brown screamed.
He was doing 50 in a 25 mph school zone now weaving between lanes. We approached a busy intersection with a red light, but he wasn’t slowing down. Then I saw her. A woman holding a toddler standing on her car roof.
My blood went ice cold.
“Stop. You’re going to hit them.”
The whole bus screamed in unison.
“Maybe they should have thought about that before being in my way.”
There was no more time to think about the rules. I sprinted to the front and grabbed the red emergency brake lever, pulling with everything I had. My hands were slippery with sweat, but I didn’t let go.
The bus skidded violently and kids went flying. Water was pouring in through the door seals now. We pried windows open while bigger kids boosted smaller ones out first. The entire bus worked like a machine.
Older kids formed human ladders, passing the little ones up and out. Rescue boats reached us just as the bus wedged against the concrete bridge supports. Brown was still screaming about disrespect while being pulled from the water.
His breathalyzer showed 0.19 BAC, over twice the legal limit. Security footage from the bus revealed he’d been sipping from that flask throughout his entire shift.
Turns out he’d been written up three times for seeming tired, but the principal had ignored every complaint to avoid dealing with the driver shortage. The fire chief told reporters that if we’d stayed on that bus 30 seconds longer, it would have been a mass casualty event.
