“Copy,” the captain said. She didn’t turn it into fear. She turned it into a list. “We secure the bus to the wrecker only. We clear civilians from the bridge and the undermined bank. We move to the church lot on high ground. We leave the bus if we have to.”
The operator didn’t argue his pride. “I can hold her,” he said, voice doing the math, “but I’m not married to it. People first.”
June had already rotated toward the cluster of kids. “Okay, friends,” she called, bright enough to cut the storm without lying to it. “New plan. We’re going to take a parade walk, slow and careful, to the parking lot near the church. It’s dry, it’s bright, and it smells like coffee. We’ll hold hands two by two, and if you don’t have a hand, you get mine.”
