she's
actual
size

The sun was long set, and I was on my way to pick up the multi-national itinerant seasonal workers from the park. I was driving a Gillig, and another driver was following me in an LTV.

There's a section of the county we have to drive through that is built up with light industrial class buildings. The warehouses are set back from the road, and there are large stretches of grass between the properties.

It's rather dark in that section, but I couldn't use my headlights because of oncoming traffic. My mind had zoned into that Zen place it goes to when I drive; my eyes and attention are on the road, but my consciousness is far, far away. I was cruising at about 40 miles per hour. Suddenly -

Deer. Four or five of them. In the middle of road.

It's common knowledge that a ten-ton vehicle cannot stop on a dime. The driver can stand on the brakes as hard as she can, but the bus will still take a good two hundred feet to come to a complete stop. Also, a Gillig's brakes are designed poorly; braking hard will make the bus pull to the left. The harder you brake, the harder the bus will pull. If you're not prepared for it, it's easy to dodge into the other lane.

(It's deeply ingrained in my subconscious to stay straight when presented with an animal on the road. Swerving can only make the problem worse.)

I stood on the brakes, gripping the wheel as it tried to wrench leftwards. The airbrakes groaned, and the tires skidded on the pavement. The deer scattered - some to the left, some to the right. Something in the back of my mind acknowledged the echo of my tires' squeals as the bus behind me tried to avoid rear-ending me. I sounded the horn to help scare the deer away.

In about a hundred and fifty feet, I managed to bring the bus down to about ten miles an hour. Letting the bus coast for a few lengths, I scanned the grass on either side of the road for any sign of the deer. I saw nothing, and I calmly, carefully accelerated back to normal speed.

Finally, the adrenaline kicked in. My heart pounded, my hands shook, and my senses were alert. A bit late, you guys, I thought, reprimanding my autonomic nervous system. Scanning in my mirrors, I looked again for any sign of the deer, but the other bus' headlights blocked my view.

Worry. We'd split up the herd - one group on each side of the road. They would try to rejoin each other.

I picked up the radio and called the other bus. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah," he replied. When we got to the park, I asked if he'd seen where the deer vanished off to. "Two to the west, four to the east," he said.

Just what I was afraid of.

On the return trip, as we approached the spot where we'd seen the deer, I saw flashing lights. A cop was off to the side of the road, and a truck was in the middle of the oncoming lane. The officer signaled me around the truck, and I couldn't help looking...

Shattered glass lay in the road; the truck had lost a headlight. A deer lay on the ground in front of the truck. Its neck was twisted back, and its eyes looked up at the sky.

I feel so guilty. I know that there wasn't anything I could have done. But I scattered the group. If I had been along just a few seconds later, they would have all made it across the road. Alive.