The Samaritan's Vendetta

If death were asleep, the collective strength of our heartbeats could have woken him up. Moreover, if he was already up, then he must be close by; riding with us in the bus and perhaps entertaining himself by the timidity and fear we exuded.
The presence of fear was more tangibly felt than imagined and the prescience of horror more certain than faith in the rising sun.
For the second time within minutes, we were jolted by an unexpected gunshot that sounded more like a bomb which shattered the windshield of our long luxury bus. Everything was happening faster than light and the events of the preceded twenty-minutes were strong enough to triple the sales of any newspaper.
Our long bus had stepped on something huge and the driver fought to stabilize the swivelling vehicle.
A young man in his mid-twenties, out of impulsiveness had opened the glass of the window and looked outside. He was immediately shot in the eyes and fell backwards; landing on his wife and splashing blood all over her and on a few other passengers near them. She grabbed him, screamed with a sharp and loud voice and instantly lost her voice. Those seated near them screamed along and rushed to offer helping hands while the vehicle swivelled. They managed to lay him on the floor of the walkway but had difficulties trying to control his wife. His head was practically blown out, but his body still made some quacking movements. He was a complete horror to behold and more painfully, they were honeymooners. Yet, that second gunshot rattled everyone.
The bus escort, a man in his mid-forties, who practically towered head and shoulders above everyone in the bus, and had all along boosted our confidence throughout the duration of the journey up until ten-minutes earlier; landed heavily on his back and exposed a forehead destroyed by bullets. The speed with which everyone gave way to his fall was even more frightening. Fear, to say the least gripped our hearts and bodies even more than shoes to our feet.
We turned our heads in unison to the direction of the fall and there on the floor: was the defender of the bus, on his back with a badly-defaced face, next to the already dead young man with his whaling widow.
“Jesus! Jesus!!” Linda screamed and then gagged herself at once. I turned to her, and saw that her eyes were already as red as blood.
“Hey!” I said and tried to calm her with my eyes but she looked away from me and began to nod forcefully with both hands covering her mouth.
“Save me, Jesus!” I heard her briefly but I didn’t look at her again because I was as confused myself.
The bus began to decelerate its pace and began wobbling until it made an abrupt stop which made most of us nearly smashing our heads against the seats in front of us.
Screaming ensued. There was total frenzy and confusion as everyone looked at his or her neighbour with a face that earnestly scrounged for some explanation.
From the front seat area, the frenzy hastily waned and like the wind, it blew all the way backwards to where I was seated. Anyone who was standing gradually and peacefully went back to their seats except for the young widow who was obviously still whaling but with no sounds coming out her mouth. Now I could; just like everyone else, see the figure that was responsible for the sudden wave of calmness.