Brad knew it was foolish to be driving a motorcycle this late in November. However, with his car in the shop and his wife visiting her mom in Florida with the kids, there was no other option – except maybe Uber, which could be rough on the pockets. With Christmas a few weeks away and two hopeful boys with long Santa lists, he couldn’t afford to bleed cash.
On the plus side, it hadn’t started snowing yet, and the roads were clear, although the forecast called for a monster hit this evening. But it would all be fine. He was doing the speed limit, there was no one on the highway, and he’d be safely home before the storm arrived.
He cracked his neck to relieve tight muscles as a thousand work thoughts passed through his mind. His manager had warned that profits were down, and layoffs might be coming in the new year. Another reason to monitor his money outflow. Things would get seriously tight if he got laid off. He didn’t want to think about it.
No better distraction than family.
“Siri, call Katie.”
A female AI voice said, “Calling Katie Mallory.”
The speakers in his helmet rang for a good ten seconds before Katie answered. “Hey, love. Where are you?”
“On the highway. Where are –”
“How fast?”
Here we go. “Just fast enough. I’m on the highway, for Pete’s sake. I have to at least keep up with the traffic.”
“How. Fast?”
Already, Brad was regretting the call.
“Sixty, alright? Don’t worry. I’m keeping at, or even under, the speed limit.”
“No more speeding tickets, okay?”
“Look, I’m being a good boy. No more speeding tickets. I hear you.”
“The last one was over a hundred bucks.”
“Heard you. Heard you. Loud and clear.”
“Thanks. I just want you alive for Sean’s birthday on Sunday. It’s all he’s talking about.”
He passed a large blue sign with a big H on it and pictured Northern Michigan General Hospital, where both his kids were born. It seemed like yesterday.
“Oh, that’s the only reason you want me alive?” he asked.
“That,” she said, lowering her voice, “and you owe me a little lovin’.”
“I owe you?”
“Remember, you fell asleep the night before we left. Said you’d make it up to me when I got back.”
I did say that.
He licked his lips. “Well, I’m a man who always pays his debts.”
For the first time since he hit the I-75 double lanes, Brad spotted a car far off in the distance in his side mirror. Good. It was getting post-apocalyptically weird being out here with no one else on the road. He guessed the storm warning had everybody leaving work early, not to mention it was the night before Thanksgiving. He probably should’ve done the same.
“How’s the ETA?” he asked.
“On schedule to be home tomorrow late afternoon. In time for the lovingly-prepared Thanksgiving dinner you promised us.”
Damn. I forgot to pull the turkey from the freezer this morning before leaving for work. Gotta do that as soon as I get home.
“Yup. Everything’s good to go. It’ll be a spectacular dinner, just you wait and see. All the trimmings.”
“You’re amazing, honey. Thanks so much for that, and thanks again for being so understanding about me and the kids visiting my mom. She loved seeing them.”
“No biggie. It’s important the kids connect with their grandmother. Plus, I was able to put some extra time in at work to free up the holiday. All good. I just worry about you on the road for that crazy long drive. What is it, twenty-four hours?
“Twenty-three hours and ten minutes, to be exact. Staying at a classy side-of-the-road motel tonight. Should be there in an hour.”
“That’s good. You must be exhausted.”
“Yeah, my neck’s killing me. My back, too. Looking forward to a nice glass of wine. Hope this place has a bar.”
As Brad leaned into a curve on the inside lane, he spotted the same vehicle approaching in his lane, slowly gaining on him. It looked like a truck, or perhaps a large SUV.
“Brad?”
“Yeah, sorry. It was just me on the highway, but there’s someone else now.
“I thought you said you had to keep up with the traffic?”
Brad groaned. “I may have exaggerated a little. And I didn’t say there was traffic, just that I had to keep up with it, y’know, if any developed.”
“Uh huh. Brad, so help me, you better be keeping the speed down.”
“I am. Swear it.”
Brad took one hand off the handle and massaged his trapezius muscle. Katie wasn’t the only one with a sore neck.
A side wind picked up and jostled him a little.
“Oops!” He corrected the bike.
“Everything okay?” Katie asked.
“All good.” He tightened his grip on the handlebars. “A little wind. There’s supposed to be a storm coming, but I’ll be home long before that.”
“That’s goo–” There was a pause. “Aw crap, Brad, my phone’s about to die, and my charging cord isn’t working. The thingy at the end is all bent. I’m going to have to let you go. I’ll see if I can find a new one at a gas station. Call you tomorrow on the way. Love you.”
“Love you ba–” The call ended before he could finish.
He glanced into his mirror again. The truck was still back there. Closer now.
His eyes grew heavier as the work week took its toll. He needed something to stay alert.
“Siri, play some classic biker rock.”
“Okay,” the AI voice answered, “Let’s start things off with Born To Be Wild by Steppenwolf.”
The electric opening guitar riffs filled his helmet, and he began bouncing his head to the rhythm.
Another look in the mirror showed the truck still gaining speed. As Brad came out of the curve, he could see that it was actually a large four-door pickup.
Damn. Do I just let it pass, or do I speed up?
Before he had time to decide, the black Silverado pulled alongside and matched his speed. He looked over to see the driver’s intentions, but the windows were tinted.
Alright then, pass already. He gently squeezed the brake and decelerated, but the truck did the same.
Okay. Fine. I’ll pass you. He palmed the accelerator and watched the needle on his speedometer jump to 80 miles/hour.
He was on a straightaway now, approaching another curve. He glanced to his left and quickly noted the pickup once again matching his speed.
What the fuck? Asshole. He shook his head and continued to accelerate. No choice now. The speedometer read 95 miles/hour as he came into the turn on the inside lane.
The last thing he remembered was the truck somehow passing him, then suddenly jerking a yard or so into his lane. Reflexively, he yanked his handlebars to the right and hit gravel on the shoulder. The bike went into a slide, hit a steel guardrail, and then vaulted over, cartwheeling end over end, twenty or more feet into the air. Man and motorcycle separated midair.
The bike landed fork-first into a concrete culvert and exploded into a thousand pieces. Brad came to rest with a resounding, tortured thud on a grass embankment. His eyes fluttered open. All was silent, except for a soaring guitar solo blaring from his helmet.
The Silverado pulled over on the shoulder and then backed up. A tall, slender man with dark hair in a black trench coat exited and walked over. He had a red scarf wrapped around his lower face. He looked down at Brad with cold, appraising eyes. Not a drop of humanity or compassion anywhere in them.
He stared into Brad’s face for a moment without speaking, then craned his neck, performing a top-to-bottom scan of the injured man. Precise, detailed, almost clinical. He poked at Brad’s leg with the toe of his shoe, then pulled back, gulping air like he was about to vomit.
Brad was broken. He knew it, and he knew it was very, very bad, but his brain was sluggish, and he couldn’t remember what had happened. Was he dying? His only clear thought was that Katie was going to be so pissed. And his boys. Oh, God, his boys …
Please. Help me. Brad tried to move his lips, but no sound came out. He couldn’t feel any individual parts of his body. There was only pain. Intense, uniform, all-engulfing pain.
Call for help. Please.
The man knelt on one knee, staring at Brad’s chest, his chin moving up and down ever so slightly in time with Brad’s breathing. He watched him for a few more seconds, then nodded, took his phone out of his pocket – thank God! –and put it to his ear. Brad couldn’t hear most of what he said over blaring music and whipping winds, but he knew there was something about “a motorcycle accident on the I-75” and “the curve just before the Northern Michigan General Hospital exit.”
The man was an angel! Thank you, thank you!
Brad’s eyelids were so heavy. He kept them propped open long enough to see his angel drop the phone back into his pocket, walk back to the Silverado, and drive off without a single word.
The vehicle’s right blinkers flicked on just before Brad’s world went dark.