Through the Storm(59)

She nodded and they both walked out to the highway and then sped away on their bikes. After retracing their route north for two miles, they exited the freeway and turned south toward Riverbank.

Later, Conner spotted an abandoned gravel pit where he and his friends had gone swimming on hot summer evenings. He paused to splash the cool water on his face.

Madison rolled to a stop beside him. “This is taking a lot longer.” She gulped water from a canteen.

“Yeah, but I don’t think Goatee, Shaggy, and the others have followed us, so I’m happy.” He looked at the map. “We’re coming in a back way.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, not really.” Conner shook his head. “We’ll be on winding back lanes all the way to the farm. Since I know these roads, I want to stay in the lead. I could find my way home from here in pitch blackness.” He looked into the sky. And we’ll probably get to the farm after nightfall.

“Do we have any food left?” Madison asked.

“No.” Suddenly anxious to see home, Conner said, “Let’s get going.”

Several hours later, long shadows shaded the roads. Still, sweat rolled down Conner’s forehead, burning his eyes. He squinted and blinked as he struggled to read the sign ahead. Then he wiped his face with a sleeve and the words snapped into clear view. Braking to a stop, he pointed. “Entering Lewis County! This is where I live.” He grinned, remounted his bike, and sped south as fast as he could.

Madison pulled alongside and smiled.

For the next few minutes, they pedaled side by side down the quiet country road. He watched her pull strands of long brunette hair as it flapped into her face as she pedaled beside him. They had been through a lot, but together they had found a way to survive. He wanted to somehow express those feelings to her. If he could just find— Madison looked back. “What’s that noise?”

“A motorcycle!” Conner motioned toward the woods. “Quick, follow me.”

They were barely off the road when a biker, wearing goggles and carrying a satchel, roared around the corner on an old red Harley.

Conner reached for the rifle slung over his shoulder.

The biker slowed, waved a pistol, and shook his head. He gazed intently at both Conner and Madison before he revved the bike and disappeared around the next bend.

“I saw that guy.” Conner wiped his face with both hands.

“Where?” Madison asked as they walked back to the road.

“At that house with the other gang members. He drove up while I was watching. I think he’s some kind of messenger.”

“I’m glad he wasn’t interested in us.”

A shot boomed.

Madison frowned. “Maybe he was interested in someone else.”

“Maybe.”

The roar of the motorcycle engine faded into the distance.

Conner mounted his bike. “I’ll lead.” He had learned to drive along many of these back roads and had traveled most of them in the years since. Less than a mile ahead, he eased his bike into sharp curve. Images of twisted metal, blood, and death flashed in his mind. Deadman’s Curve. Several head-on collisions had occurred in the bend, and at other times drivers slid and hit the bridge.

The bridge. He took a deep breath as unwanted memories raced into his mind. A few months after obtaining his license, he had followed a friend’s car around this curve. The friend had gone too fast, slid on wet pavement, and bashed into the narrow bridge with a metal ripping roar he would never forget. Slamming on the brakes, Conner’s car slid toward the mangled vehicle but stopped inches away. He lived, but his friend didn’t.

Most locals took the curve slowly. Conner coasted slowly around the curve on his bike.

He saw the bridge first, then the leather-clad biker, sprawled face up in the middle of the road nearby.

Conner braked and dismounted his bike.

Madison gasped.

He waved for her to back away and then he gazed along the trees for bandits.

Birds chirped.

Seeing no threat, Conner eased forward and, for the second time in two days, pressed fingers against the neck of a dead man. A single bullet wound marred his chest. Deep shadows now covered parts of the road. The biker may not have even seen the person who killed him.

His goggles and satchel were gone, probably snatched by whoever stole the red Harley.

“Is he dead?” Madison asked weakly.

“Yeah.” Conner nodded. “We probably should get away from here.”

As the sun continued its downward trek, Conner and Madison hurried south into the growing darkness.

*

Rural Lewis County, Washington, Tuesday, September 13th

Neal felt every year of his age in aching legs and sore feet. As the sun fell below the horizon, filling the world with shadows, he and Claire stopped to rest. Now he struggled with the idea of continuing on. If he did, they could reach the farm in a couple of hours. He forced his tired body to move.

In the distance, the sound of a motorcycle grew.

“Do you hear that?” Claire asked.

Neal nodded. With both the shadows of late evening and the distance they were from the road, it seemed unlikely anyone speeding by on a motorcycle would notice them, but Neal eased the shotgun onto his lap as he listened and waited for the biker to pass.

He braced himself as the engine’s roar grew louder.