[VIEWER'S DISCRETION STRONGLY ADVISED!]
[Dear readers, in the next 12 chapters, this story will temporarily divert from football into intense action and violence. You can skip to Chapter 23 to resume Ken's football journey. The following chapters contain explicit descriptions of harm, injury, and death. Reader discretion is strongly advised.]
…
The dashboard clock glowed 4:00pm as the bus cut through the winding highway en route to Lagos.
The sun hung low, bleeding orange light across the sky, casting elongated shadows on the road. Dense forests flanked the highway, their tangled greenery forming a tunnel that seemed to swallow the bus whole.
Jessica dozed in the seat beside Ken, headphones still snug over her ears.
Her head rested against the window, rising and falling with each gentle bump in the road. It was a pretty bumpy ride. Outside, the trees blurred into streaks of green as the vehicle surged forward.
Ken leaned back, unease stirring in his chest.
It was hard to stay calm in circumstances like this, not with the nature of the country's current economy. It was common knowledge that traveling through areas like this after nightfall was risky.
Not just the bad road. Not just the risk of an accident.
Most worryingly, the forests offered perfect cover for robbers, and if a vehicle broke down here, help was a distant hope.
Every driver knew the unspoken rule; your bus had better be in perfect shape before you braved these roads. Especially at night.
And then, without warning, the bus began to slow.
Ken leaned forward, squinting at the road ahead, and there he saw it: a choked line of vehicles stretched far into the horizon; cars, trucks, and trailers packed bumper to bumper, honking and inching forward in a chaotic dance of frustration on the road.
The road's four lanes were completely clogged.
One look and Ken could tell what it was.
"Traffic," he muttered, shaking his head in frustration.
As the minutes ticked by, the sun dipped below the treetops, and twilight descended like a shroud. Inside the bus, heat and impatience grew. Passengers shifted in their seats, murmuring irritably.
Even the numbness of sitting in one place for so long could not suppress their irritation. Being caught in traffic in a long journey like this one was unbearable.
The stagnant air was filled with the drone of engines, the occasional bark of a conductor, and the relentless chorus of honking horns.
Jessica stirred. She blinked, rubbed her eyes, and frowned.
"What time is it?" She asked groggily.
Ken checked his watch. "Seven".
"Seven?" She echoed, her eyes widening. "We've been in this for three hours?"
He nodded, sighing. "And still no sign of it clearing".
Jessica slumped back. "I really don't want to be on this road after dark".
"Me neither," Ken replied, trying to mask the worry in his voice. "But we're stuck. We have no choice; we wait".
The hours crawled.
The occasional lurch forward offered brief hope, only to be followed by another standstill in the traffic. By the time the moon rose, illuminating the night, the traffic had become a sea of glaring headlights.
Forest shadows danced across the road under the cold wash of artificial light.
"So," Ken said, trying to lighten the mood. "What's the first thing you'll do when we get to Lagos?"
Jessica smiled faintly. "I guess, take a long shower, and eat some real food. I'm starving".
He chuckled. "Same here. This trip's draining the life out of me".
To Ken, draining the life out of him was an understatement. This was why he hated long road journeys, especially here in Nigeria.
Eventually, the impossible happened; the traffic began to ease. Slowly, then all at once, the vehicles surged forward, the bottleneck finally dissolving.
A wave of relief washed through the bus as it accelerated into the night, weaving between trailers and buses with newfound speed. Clearly, the driver was also impatient to leave this area as soon as possible.
At that moment, Ken's phone buzzed again. Glancing at his phone, he noticed; missed calls from his mother. He dialed back quickly.
"Hello, Mum?"
"Ken? Where are you? It's so late, are you safe?"
"We're moving now. There was a long delay, traffic, but we're on our way now. I'll call again when we're closer," he said, keeping his voice steady.
"Please be careful," she urged. "And don't hang up too late".
As the call ended, the driver cranked up the music. Afrobeats poured through the speakers like a flood, washing the stress of the passengers away with it. Some passengers nodded to the rhythm, others quietly hummed.
A fragile sense of peace returned to the bus.
Then, chaos struck.
Suddenly.
The bus lurched violently as the driver slammed the brakes. Tires screeched, followed by an eruption of screams.
Ahead, figures stood in the road. Ten men, armed, faces obscured by scarves, rifles raised.
"Everybody down!" The driver screamed.
The music died.
Gunfire erupted!
Bullets tore through the body of the bus. Screams merged with the sharp metallic ping of rounds piercing steel and glass.
Passengers dived for cover. Windows shattered. Blood sprayed. A bullet slammed into the driver's forehead; his skull split open, painting the dashboard red. His body collapsed onto the steering wheel, and the bus veered wildly before skidding to a stop.
Ken threw himself over Jessica, shielding her. Shards of glass rained down on them, screams ringing from every corner.
And then, just as quickly as it began… silence.
The only sounds were ragged breathing, sobs, and the groans of the wounded. Smoke drifted through the broken windows. The air was thick with the coppery scent of blood and burning rubber.
Ken dared to lift his head, heart pounding wildly.
The bus was riddled with holes. Seats were torn, bodies slumped. Jessica trembled beneath his arms, her eyes wide with shock.
Outside, the gunmen regrouped, silhouettes moving in the dark.
No one knew what would happen next. But every soul on that bus could feel it…
…The nightmare had only just begun.