He hunches forward, out of breath. How long have I got? he asks himself. How long before it happens?

Ordinarily, the number 83 takes about fifteen minutes to reach the front. But on roads as bad as this it’s sure to be much longer. How long, though?

He spins round. A group of three year eights walk slowly up the hill towards him.

‘Do you know anyone on that bus?’ he yells, pointing to a bus that has now disappeared from view.

‘Have we missed the bus?’ one of the girls whines.

Will blocks their path. ‘Do you know anyone on the 83?’

They spend what feels like ages mulling the question over.

‘Listen, right,’ Will snaps. ‘Can you please call anyone you know who might be on it?’

‘Why?’ the boy asks.

‘Just fucking do it!’ Will yells.

‘And say what, angry man?’

‘There’s gonna be an accident.’

The kid grins. One of the girls sings The Twilight Zone music.

‘Fuck’s sake. I saw something when it left. The … the back wheel looks like it’s gonna fall off any second.’

The lie is surprisingly effective. All three of them are listening now. ‘Death trap, that thing,’ a girl says. ‘Always breaking down, innit.’

Will grabs the iPhone the boy’s fiddling with. ‘Who here is on that bus,’ he says, scrolling through the contacts.

‘Try Tommy D,’ the boy says, finding the contact for Will and pressing call.

‘Not answering,’ Will snaps. ‘Why isn’t he fucking answering?’

The three of them look blankly. ‘Never answers,’ a girl says. ‘Who answers voice calls at this time of night? Text him.’

Will chucks the phone back. He’s wasted a minute of precious time already. Panic courses through him at the thought of the bus getting further and further away.

‘Please, guys,’ he says, holding out two shaking hands. ‘Text everyone you know who might be on that bus. Call them too. Tell them they are in danger, yeah? Get them to tell the driver to stop. Tell them all to get off at the next stop. Yeah? You’ll do that.’

Frightened by his tone, the three of them all agree. They tap at their phones, sharing sideways glances at each other.

Will faces the direction in which the bus disappeared. However fast he runs, however slow the traffic, he’s not going to catch it. But he needs to get to it.

Or I could get to the front first …

He grabs his own phone. It bleeps Low battery at him. There’s one cab firm saved on there, used occasionally for getting Nain a lift home.

‘Outside Ebbswick Community Secondary,’ Will barks before the controller is halfway through saying the firm’s name. ‘To the front at Ebbswick. Patten’s Island.’

‘The front, sir? Or Patten’s Island?’ His tone is condescending.

‘Level crossing. You know the level crossing?’

‘I do, sir.’ The tapping of computer keyboard is hellishly slow.