Station Breaker

24 Emt

This is either going to look like a master-stroke of evasive maneuvers in about two seconds or I'm going to be dead.

The stadium is so damn huge the ambulance was just one tiny detail against the wide-open expanse of bright green grass. Now it's my one chance of not getting murdered.

PING!!! A bullet whizzes past me and strikes the side of the van. The next one is going to hit me if the driver locked the door.

I mean, who the hell locks an ambulance in the middle of a soccer stadium sideline? What are the chances someone will try to steal it?

Thankfully the door opens and I slide my body inside just as a bullet shatters the left-side mirror with a CRACK!!!

PING! PING! PING! The sides of the ambulance are being battered by the Workmen firing on me from both sides. Fortunately, neither of them has a direct angle at me… yet.

Please have keys! Please have keys!

Fuck! No keys!

"Que porra você está fazendo?" screams a man from the back.

I look behind me and see an EMT getting up from a nap on the stretcher.

PING! A bullet puts a hole in the wall near his head. He reflexively ducks down.

"Keys now!" I yell at the top of my lungs. "Llaves!" I shout in Spanish, praying that's not Portuguese for abandon me.

Scared, he fishes a metal ring from his pocket and tosses it in my direction. I find the ambulance key and twist it in the ignition right as one of the Workmen runs to the far side of the upper section on the lower deck to take a new firing position.

CRACK!!! Glass shatters from my right as the other asshole also finds a new place to shoot.

I jam my foot on the accelerator and send the ambulance down the sideline, trying to keep my body below the dashboard as much as possible — which makes for some exceptionally shitty driving.

I scrape the left side against the concrete wall to the left then overcompensate and smash through a line of chairs that was holding an entire soccer team just a few seconds ago.

Seats go flying into the air and I try to keep the van from flipping.

My companion in the back lets out some Portuguese swear words and starts to pull himself towards me.

"Stay down!" I yell.

A bullet hits the back window, underscoring how serious it is for him to keep his body flat. I mean, if he'd like to let me lay down and avoid the gunfire while he drives, by all means. After all, he is the one wearing the uniform that means he's supposed to save lives.

I turn the van into a wide arc to steer it into the tunnel without smashing into the side. I'm so focused on not hitting the walls I don't even realize until the last second there's a metal gate down.

In a movie I'd be able to ram right through that thing. In real life, I'm not so willing to take that chance.

I spin the steering wheel, coming inches away from the barrier and drive straight towards where I came from — which leaves the front windshield open to the shooter.

I gauge how far I have to go then just duck down out of sight.

PING! PING! Two bullets hit the hood and the side of the windshield, but nothing actually goes through it, or more importantly, me.

Remember when all I had to worry about was a hole in my spacecraft heat shield? Good times.

I race towards the far tunnel stepping on the gas, not caring what's on the other side. If there's a gate on this one, maybe at least I'll have enough speed to tear it down.

If not, well, I don't have a seat belt on, so I'll die of a concussion real quick when I fly out the windshield. Positive thinking, David.

The EMT behind me is muttering some kind of prayer. He realizes we're being fired upon and probably thinks this is the end of his life. He can't make up his mind if I'm his savior or the devil. I vote both.

PING! PING! PING! Bullets hit the side of the van as I get closer to the tunnel exit. Nothing hits the windshield, which means the Workmen are behind me.

There's no gate blocking my exit this time, so there's that. The downside is the exit actually leads into the lobby of the arena. Wonderful.

The van blows through the tunnel and I have to turn a hard right to avoid slamming into a concrete pillar.

I'm in a food court with rows of colored signs to my right and a long wall to my left.

A few dozen people scatter as they realize the terror from outside has now come into their safe place next to their hambúrguer and cerveja stalls.

PING!!! There's a ricochet behind me as one of the Workmen has taken a new firing position, apparently from the field.

That means he's only seconds away from entering the tunnel.

I mash the gas pedal and send the ambulance flying down the corridor, hitting rows of trash bins and destroying an entire section of high-top tables.

Ahead of me, I see a group of three men who look like cops of some kind. They've got guns drawn and are standing in the middle of the court near a concrete column.

Should I bail out and ask for their help? I start to slow down.

BANG!!! BANG!!! BANG!!! They open fire on me!

I yank the wheel to the left as the windshield begins to crack from several rounds. This brings me to my closest point to them and I get a quick glimpse before I accelerate into what looks like daylight.

These guys aren't Brazilian. They all look like cousins of Commander Yablokov back on the K1.

BANG!!! BANG!!! BANG!!! BANG!!! BANG!!! BANG!!!

The back of the ambulance is assaulted by a barrage of fire. And not just any barrage — congratulations, David, you've just met your first Russian kill team!

And it gets even better…

The bright ray of light that you thought is the outdoors where there aren't any bad men trying to send you to heaven? It is! Except it's also a ramp leading to the upper section of the stadium!

Remember when you wondered how they got all those people in and out of the stadium? The answer is a huge walkway suitable for building the pyramids — and plenty wide enough for one asshole driving an ambulance the wrong way.