Every morning, the same route. Line 318 — the yellow bus. The driver, a calm and punctual man, drove the quiet road through open fields. No traffic, no stress. The passengers were familiar: workers, errand-runners, a few just enjoying the ride.
Everything felt normal. The driver wore a relaxed expression, soft music played on the radio. The sun was shining. Passengers chatted quietly, some dozed off, others scrolled through their phones.
Then, out of nowhere — a dog appeared.
A large golden retriever. It raced alongside the bus, then zigzagged wildly, as if trying to get their attention. Its ears flapped, tongue out. Passengers stirred.
— “Look! It’s racing us!” someone laughed.
— “Maybe it’s lost…” an older man said.
But something felt… off.
Suddenly, the dog surged forward, blocked the road, and barked furiously. The driver slammed the brakes. The bus screeched to a halt.
Passengers got off, approaching cautiously. The dog didn’t move — just stared.
And then — BOOM! An explosion tore through the bus. Flames, glass, chaos.
Those who stepped off survived.
The dog… remained.
Shaking, the driver whispered, “It saved us… But how? Who did this?”
Police launched an investigation. The mystery remained: how did the dog know?
