The Greyhound engine purrs mechanically through the soles of my boots. Through grime-streaked windows, street lights shrank into a distant periphery of darkness. I'm blasting Slowdive in headphones to drown out the world.

From the back row, the bus is a large metal capsule of flickering overhead lights and other anonymous passengers. Nobody wants anything to do with anyone else. Looking leads to perception and perception leads to being seen. It's like a monastery of shadows.

Movement up front breaks the trance.

Towards the very front of the bus, a large man stands up near the driver, looking out to the quiet freeway ahead. They nod to one another and the standing giant pulls a mask over his head. I pull my headphones down to my neck. The silence of the bus is replaced by a collective murmur of confusion.

The man turns. He’s holding something long and dark that glints when he passes under a reading light. No words, just movement toward the first occupied seat. A woman screams, then a jagged, high-pitched sound cuts through the stagnant air. It’s abruptly stifled as a dead thump echoes through the floor.

Chaos erupts in the narrow aisle. Passengers scramble, some attempting to block the man's advance by throwing bags or looking for possible weapons, while others press toward the back in a suffocating crush. The man moves with a calm, steady focus, closing the distance between the front of the bus and the rear. Limbs are violently separated from bodies in rapid succession. Blood from multiple casualties mixes in mid-air before splashing against every nearby surface.

I couldn't even swallow. My social nightmare had become physical; the aisle now a bottleneck of imminent death. Even if I could reach the front door without being hacked to pieces, the driver is in on it.

My hands shake while reaching for the red emergency release beside me. It blasts wide open and the night wind is absolutely deafening, hitting me in the face like a wall. Looking back to the carnage, I make eye contact with the mask.

There is no time to calculate the drop. I stood up onto the seat, tucked my limbs tight, and threw myself into the rushing black void.

Nobody ever tells you what it's like to jump from a moving vehicle. It's fast and slow at the same time. And you definitely don't have time to land safely. My violent collision with the earth is the most disorienting pain I'd ever felt. I tumbled across the gravel shoulder, a blur of motion and full body agony before sliding into the tall, dry grass of the ditch.

Silence returns, broken only by the fading whine of the bus engine as it disappears into the distance.

Attempting to stand brings a white-hot flash of pain through my left leg. It’s a severe sprain or worse, and my palms are raw from the asphalt. I sink back into the dirt, gasping for breath and letting the concussion wash over me. A huge knot tightened under my hair. The highway and night sky are two infinite black planes separated by a thin horizon of distant lights.

I begin the slow, hellish process of moving. I crawl, then limp, dragging my weight through the dark. Every step is a test of will. My headphones are still around my neck, cracked and silent. I pull them back over my ears to steady myself as the long walk back begins.