“ Well, now that we've seen pictures of little Tyler walking, I feel like I know everyone. I now have a personal stake in these people's lives. I hope the bus doesn't crash or anything; I wouldn't be able to cope. ”
We open with a shot of Vegas, because someone at CBS is apparently worried that the audience might think they've tuned in to a rerun of The District otherwise, then swerve out to empty roads in the desert. The camera focuses on a tour bus speeding along the road, then swoops inside. A soigne woman is leaning over her seat and talking to a balding guy with a why, God, why me? look on his face, telling him, "Come on! I earned this vacation! Have you ever been married? When it's good, it's great. And when it's over, it's even better. Uhhh-hmmm?" He smiles a little, and she settles down in her seat. The camera moves down the aisle and lingers on a youngish man in a suit, rolling dice across the copy of some generic book about gambling. He looks across the aisle and says, "I'm telling you: the seven comes up every six rolls. I got a system." One man just nods; the other queries, "You know what casinos say about guys with systems?" "What?" asks Systemic Stan. Heckling Hal replies, "Welcome." One row back, a portly, balding fellow snits, "He doesn't know what he's talking about. Everything you need to know about craps is right in this book." His wife, who looks as though she should be taking marital advice from the woman a few rows up, continues cross-stitching as she says, "I was talking to Shirley. She said the only way to make money in that town is slots." Well, if Shirley says it, okay. I vaguely remember seeing the best-selling book Shirley on Gambling. Chapter One: What Is The One-Armed Bandit? The camera and I lose interest and move on: first we see the driver steering the bus -- "ship of fools, bus of yokels," the husband opines -- then we go back to the interior, where we see a young man damaging his hearing, then an old man playing Gameboy and announcing his score to his disinterested wife, who'd rather inflict photos of her grandchildren on a captive audience. Well, now that we've seen pictures of little Tyler walking, I feel like I know everyone. I now have a personal stake in these people's lives. I hope the bus doesn't crash or anything; I wouldn't be able to cope.
In other, less wholesome parts of the bus, a couple is canoodling to the lavatory. The door opens, and a dead ringer for Bruce Springsteen -- provided Bruce was both hungover and about ten seconds away from giving in to homicidal impulses -- staggers out, a bottle of Thunderbird in hand. As the bus driver benignly announces their location -- forty miles outside Vegas -- Bad Bruce heads down the aisle, arousing suspicion in all who behold him. The bus driver continues with his amiable patter, then resumes driving. Bad Bruce sits down in the front seat and offers the driver a swig; the driver declines with, "No. I know my limits." He then demonstrates that he does not know the speed limit, flooring the pedal and grasping the wheel of the bus in preparation for some serious driving. The wheel begins shaking violently; the bus driver looks alarmed. We see assorted passengers looking up, concerned -- even the canoodling couple disengages and looks around to try to figure out if they're still to a bathroom (yup) -- and the driver fights to regain control of the bus. We switch to the exterior of the bus: a tire goes flat and the bus begins swerving, its bulky body swaying precariously atop tires that are barely on the road. Inside the bus, people are flung to and fro, making the usual assortment of panicky noises. The bus swerves wildly, and we see it running on the rims of the tires, then veering into a concrete barrier. We switch back into the interior for a moment to see panicky people, then watch the bus run off the edge of the road, bouncing down the cliffside. Tyler's Grandma! Systemic Stan! Ebullient Ex-Wife! Noooooooooooo!
Chasing the Bus
“ We see someone rushing toward the car pinned under the bus, then return to look at the CSIs' somber faces. Gil is holding his crime scene case like a blankie as he stares down. ”
Okay, I've collected myself.
We then see the red glare of a flare, and five backlit silhouettes. From San Francisco, coming in as a science geek CSI 3, it's Sara Sidel! From another planet, acting as tonight's primary and chief forensic guru...Gil Grissom! You know her as the ex-stripper with uncanny instincts -- it's senior CSI Catherine Willows! Coming in to represent Texas: he's tan, rested, and ready for ridicule, Nick Stokes! Aaaaaand coming in at six-foot-four, it's Warrick Brown! Give it up for yooooooooour Las Vegas Crime Scene Investigators! The crowd goes wild...sorry, y'all, but I saw them standing there and instantly flashed to the Chicago Bulls introductions, circa 1995.
Anyway, the entire team is looking down at the bus -- now resting on its side and illuminated by two emergency floodlights -- as rescue personnel bustle around trying to make sense of the chaos. We see someone rushing toward the car pinned under the bus, then return to look at the CSIs' somber faces. Gil is holding his crime scene case like a blankie as he stares down. Down at the scene, a fire chief is telling two rescue workers, "We do not touch this car until everyone is off the bus." The CSIs watch somberly as workers hustle to tend to the wounded, or lay out body bags with brutal efficiency. Sara comments, "I feel so useless." Without taking her eyes off the scene below, Catherine replies, "It's still a rescue operation." All five of them look as though they wish they weren't there -- or that they had arrived an hour later. Warrick mutters, "Well, we're not running this show." Nicky says, "Not yet!" Atta boy, Nicky. It's good to have goals. Gil weighs in shortly before the credits with: "They do their job, and we do ours."
Cut to The Who, failing to take this episode as a cue to break into Magic Bus.
When we return from commercial, Dylan's Grandma is in a c-collar on a stretcher, weakly calling for her husband Walter as she goes. Gil, Sara, and Warrick watch her; then Gil snaps to, briskly saying, "I want everyone thinking worst-case scenario. The highway's finally ours. Cones and pictures, skid marks, loose asphalt, anything and everything." Warrick nods his understanding. Sara points out, "It's a pretty wide highway out there. Are we clear to call in for help?" Gil replies, "Every Las Vegas CSI is on their way here." Warrick kicks in, "Cadets?" Gil gives the go-ahead to call the cadets in to help. Warrick and Sara head off, and Gil begins walking around the disaster scene. We see Walter (the Gameboy-playing grandpa) laid out on a body bag; a few corpses down, a woman last seen osculating at the back of the bus is sobbing wildly over the body of her boyfriend. Gil hastily moves on. He surveys more carnage, and we zoom in on Nick asking someone, "You the only trauma doc?" Without taking his eye off the person he's working on, the other guy replies, "That's right. Lucky me. I personally black-tagged six. My line of work, that's a bad night." Nicky briefly empathizes, then asks the doc to point out the bus driver.