Narrow escape episode 1

Narrow Escape (A true life story)
EPISODE 1
May God keep us from fowlers and pestilence that lurk at noon and the darts of enemies that fly at night. This is a potent watchword I wouldn't hesitate to appropriate every morning before setting out for the day's work, as a spiritual fortification. My return to Jos where I had bagged my first degree ended up a nightmare; for which I have ever wished no-remembrance-of, in a lifetime.
Just so I had begun my annual leave two days ago when thoughts of revisiting Jos on my original certificate crept into my mind. All efforts put to making findings about a one-off transit to Jos proved futile. Although a handful of bays dreaded the bad roads enroute Jos, which has turned out a roller coaster ride of about 16-hour time aggregate.
In the outset of the trip, I considered a farewell with some of my friends who resided in Ibadan before continuing my journey to Jos, as I patronized the Peace mass transit on that very Sunday morning. The Journey had been quite smooth until we had a stopover at Lokoja, off Abuja.
About 5:30pm, enroute a village called Abaji, 4 gunmen, not sure whoever they were, interrupted our trip as they haul onto the road and aimed a gun spree at our bus.
It was hard for me to believe what I had just witnessed while it all played out as though it was in a movie. Unfortunately, the driver could not entertain any thought of over speed for an escape plan from the gory scene, as the roads were worse with death-trap pot holes. In a jiffy, we got hit in our rear tire and summersaulted. We are doomed! I panicked within me as the bus flipped to a halt.
Stop there! Get out! Everybody, get out! I heard them yelled as they sieged our scrapped bus in a circle, armed with sundry machine guns. Most of us in the bus sustain injuries from the accident. Of course, Migraine from my head collision against the door of the stumbling bus took a toll on me. Others were either steeped in blood from their foreheads or nursing injuries in their legs.
Come down! One ordered again while struggling to force the door open. The other had gone ahead to harass the driver with a slap and pulled out. My two teammates were beaten out of the wrecked bus.
After prolonged yanks at the door, one of the gunmen eventually opened the door; in detriment of my door seat position, landed on my skinny head a 'factory-resetting' slap. Those whom you could see struggling out were under pressure and coercion.
Other buses on the same road were forced to make detours upon sighting the incident kilometers away. We were compelled to sit on bare floor until everyone was out of the scrapped bus. We were stripped of all means of communication such as mobile phones. Yes! My new two-week old Tecno Camon was taken from me.
One of them whom I sensed was their leader walked up to us and shot twice into the air in an attempt to have us quiver in fear and started mouthing a vernacular which sounded like the Hausa language. After a moment when he found that he wasn't communicating, he employed a translator of his men for pidgin English.
“Make una stand up and waka enter the bush (You all should stand up and get into the bush). He said, as he genuflexed towards the nearby bush. We all stood up reluctantly and walked into the bush. At the moment, I knew that we are in for a long haul.