30 seconds and 3 shots later, the scoreboard was two dolls’ heads and a raider left in the dust – but the pink caddy was still coming.
I swore and levered in the last round; the back of the bus was speckled with bullet holes but I was somehow still intact. At the wheel, Junior thrashed erratically, jerking the vehicle left and right as he hoovered chips.
I held my breath and dropped the iron sights on one of the caddy’s front tires – and squeezed.
The tire came apart like a bomb going off, jerking the pink monster 3 feet off the ground. The whole thing came down with a deafening smash, immediately throwing up a cloud of dirt and ash as its bumper dug a deep trench.
We accelerated away, leaving the caddy to crunch to a halt before it was swallowed by our billowing dust cloud.
I shouldered Bessy and made my way shakily to the front of the bus. Junior had finished the last of the chips and was staring fixedly out the dusty windshield.
Not too far away, the jagged peaks of mountains loomed over the ashen plain.