Dusk was settling in. A solitary headlight approached in her rearview mirror. With a whoosh, a motorcycle passed, the single red taillight ascending the next hill. A second pair of headlights came over the rise behind Angela, advancing quickly and illuminating her mirrors. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel as a massive black SUV shot out around her, its size and speed shaking the little car.
“What the…?” she exclaimed to the empty passenger seat. She witnessed the speeding monster climb the long low hill, gaining on the motorcycle. Although night was approaching fast, she could see the larger vehicle pull alongside the motorcycle, entering into the opposite lane. The two vehicles neared the top of the hill, the SUV hidden by the rise to oncoming traffic. The black mammoth swerved and sent the much smaller vehicle off the road into the grass and trees.
“Holy crap!” she cried out, removing her foot from the gas. Surely there must have been another vehicle approaching to cause the SUV to make such a drastic move. She watched the top of the hill, but no other traffic came, nor did the huge vehicle come back to check on the ill-fated bike and rider.
She returned pressure to the accelerator and followed the deserted country hill to the approximate spot where the motorcycle left the road. The pounding of her heart echoed against her temples. She closed her eyes. Deep breath. Relax.
She grabbed her purse from the passenger seat and climbed out of the car. She rooted around in the large satchel and found the rough cut of keys at the bottom. She hurried around to the back of the car and popped the trunk, then stared at its contents. A few boxes and two suitcases, one his and one hers.
Her brother, Bobby, a park ranger, had come across his share of bears and wild animals, but instead his life had been taken by a drunk driver. She was on her way back from burying him, his few items worth keeping packed away in the flimsy cardboard. She shook off the memories and yanked forward a small metal box.
“Thank you, Bobby,” she whispered as she unlocked the safety box and removed the revolver, carefully putting it in her purse.
She slammed the trunk and hurried down the incline, the soft ground sucking at her high heels while she tried to maintain her balance on the steep slope.
“Hello,” she called out, the motorcycle’s engine her only reply.
The cacophonous engine did nothing to calm her nerves. She turned off the bike and wedged the key into the pocket of her jeans. She tilted her head to the silence. There. Movement.
The rider was trying to get up, hidden by the brush about ten feet from the downed Harley.
“Hey, are you okay?” she asked seconds before the motorcyclist collapsed into the long grass.
The rider was covered head to toe in jeans, a black leather jacket, riding gloves, and a full helmet, but sheer size suggested a man.
She dug her cell phone from her purse. “Crap.” A no-service signal flashed on her phone. “Hey, buddy, can you hear me?”
A long, low moan was the only response.
Angela knelt next to the man. “I’m not getting any cell service out here, but I passed a hospital sign about ten minutes back. If we can get you to my car, we can drive there.” She reached out a hand and pressed against the cool leather. “Hey, buddy, can you move?”
Another moan and the man forced himself up into a crawling position, and then back on his knees. His left arm hung useless at his side. She’d bet five dollars his arm was broken.
Using his right hand, the man tried to lift the visor on his helmet, but it would only go up a crack. Angela eyed the bent plastic. Another five that was broken, too.
“Let’s go,” he uttered hoarsely.
Between the slight slope of the ground, the odd-hanging arm, and whatever other injuries were hidden beneath the leather jacket, the man had to struggle to stand. Once upright, Angela maneuvered herself under his good arm and staggered with him up
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