An Evening With The Rush Hour Hero (A "The Powers Of Love" Story)

Excerpt:
...Far in the distance, the wail of a siren pierced the late afternoon.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Vic jumped onto the ruined front hood of the car and stepped quickly among the hot folds of metal to get to the other side. There was a slight gap between the bus and the car near the front, but the car had angled as it stopped and the rear bumper almost touched the bus’s broken headlight. There was just enough room for Vic to stand between the two vehicles, but he couldn’t open the driver’s door—there was no way to get to the woman inside.

Vic considered his options, his mind ticking through them quickly. There weren’t many. Push the bus back a bit, just enough to get the door open—he could do it, he felt the strength still flooding his system, but didn’t know what traffic might be lining up behind the bus and didn’t want to take the chance of involving other vehicles. He could move the car—the truck that had clipped the front bumper when the woman switched lanes had finally rolled to a stop a few hundred yards ahead, and between it and the city bus, they had blocked off the entire left lane. Or he could just wait—an ambulance was on the way; he heard the sirens. Didn’t they say not to move someone at the scene of an accident? Or was that the scene of a crime…

Suddenly, he caught a pungent whiff of gasoline that decided him. Setting one shoulder against the car frame between the front and back doors, Vic gave an experimental shove. Energy swirled through him, spiraling out from the center of his being to flash through his veins, dousing them with strength. The car rocked grudgingly beneath him, then skidded a couple feet. He put his shoulder to it again, gave another hard push, and felt the car shudder under him as it moved farther away.

The truck driver ran up to the other side of the car. “Hey man,” he started, but when Vic gave the car a third hard shove his way, he danced back. “Whoa. How’d you do that?”

Ignoring him, Vic banged on the driver’s side window. “Lady! Can you hear me?”

No reply. Turning his attention to the children, Vic spoke to the little boy closest to the door. “Open this.” The boy stared at him with large eyes as if he didn’t understand. Vic pointed at the door, mimed pulling up the handle, then realized the car probably had child-resistant locks that made it impossible to open the back doors from the inside. Fuck.

As if he had spoken aloud, the little boy’s eyes grew wider, his mouth opening in a perfect O of shock. “Sorry,” Vic muttered.

Someone touched his arm and Vic whirled to find the truck driver beside him. “I smell gas,” the guy announced.

“Thank you,” Vic said, elbowing him aside. “You’re such a help. Stand back, will you? Unless you can tear the doors off this thing—”

“Man, not me.” The truck driver shook his head, his mousy gray ponytail bouncing from shoulder to shoulder for emphasis. “You need that jaws of life shit.”

Vic said again, “Then stand back...”