by Cheree Alsop
I shook my head. “I can’t read any more. This is overkill!”
Magnum cracked a smile and laughter filled Cassidy’s voice when she said, “But he sets such an impressive scene.”
“It wasn’t that impressive,” I replied.
Sandy stared at me. “How do you know?” she demanded. “You weren’t even there. It was positively amazing.”
“I’ve seen a million videos of it,” I replied dryly. “Trust me. He wasn’t some ‘heroic modern knight fighting to save his kingdom.’”
“Are you sure?” Madelyn asked. I looked at her and she smiled as she said, “I was there, and that’s pretty much how it looked to me.”
“You guys are ridiculous,” I replied.
Magnum gave me a pointed look. “I hear there’s going to be racing at the factory after the dance.”
I glanced at the others around us who didn’t know my secret and said carefully, “I don’t have a bike, remember?”
“I remember you smashing mine to pieces,” he replied.
I fought back a smile.
“I’ll bring you something, don’t worry,” he concluded.
“But Kel almost killed himself last time. Are you trying to finish the job?” Sandy asked.
“Something like that,” Magnum replied.
“We’ll be there,” Madelyn said.
Magnum’s eyebrows rose. “Speaking for your boyfriend? I like that.” He raised his voice. “Race at the factory after the dance!”
A cheer answered from the students who milled around the floor.
A slow, beautiful rendition of “Moon River” began to play. I held out my hand. “That’s our cue,” I said. Madelyn slipped her fingers in mine and we walked to the dance floor with the others close behind.
I CHANGED OUT OF my rented tuxedo and into the new riding outfit Jagger had so thoughtfully provided for me, despite my protests that the Black Rider had no reason to ride again. “Ya never know,” he said, handing me a new flat black helmet.
“What happened to the old one?” I asked.
He gestured at the wall of the shack. “Thought it’d make a great display.”
My heart slowed at the sight of a deep groove along one side. I walked over and ran a finger down the mark. “That bullet would have killed me.”
He nodded. “I know. You need this, too.”
I looked back to see him hefting a new bulletproof vest. I accepted it with a lump in my throat. “I owe you my life,” I said.
He smiled. “You saved about five dozen of my friends an’ family. We’ll consider it an even trade.”
I laughed and took the vest. “Thanks for everything.”
He nodded uncomfortably and motioned for me to leave. “‘Ave fun out there.”
“I will,” I said as I hurried out the door to Uncle Rick’s truck.
Madelyn and I drove to the factory in comfortable silence. She leaned against my side and I held an arm around her shoulder. Once in a while I found myself looking down at her, amazed that I had such a girl with me.
“Eyes on the road,” she said with a laugh the third time.
I grinned and slowed the truck. The factory loomed in front of us, its floodlights on and vehicles already lining the track. I turned to Madelyn. “It doesn’t feel right leaving you here.”
She laughed. “Go. I’ll catch up. It wouldn’t work if we showed up together.” She patted the steering wheel of the truck. “Besides, I’ve always wanted to drive one of these.”
“A truck? It’s not what it’s cracked up to be,” I told her.
She motioned. “Hurry. Magnum hates waiting, and now that you’ve finally got him acting like a decent human being, I would hate to see him revert back to his old ways because you dawdled with a girl.”
“I’m dawdling?” I asked.
“Yes,” she replied with a laugh, pushing me. “Go, Black Rider. Show the student body you’re still around to keep them safe.”
I climbed out of the truck and grabbed my helmet and gear from the back, then walked across the factory toward the sound of commotion and excitement. I paused at the corner of the track near the last bend and changed into my riding outfit. My chest ached as I pulled on my jacket, reminding me how lucky I had been. My heart pounded in my chest. I suddenly realized I was nervous. My gloves felt tight. I clenched my fingers in an effort to stretch out the leather. “Get on with it,” I told myself.
I took a calming breath and stepped onto the track. Talking slowed from the crowd of students and then stopped altogether.
“The Black Rider,” someone yelled. It’s always nice when there’s a person who can point out the obvious.
Students began to clap. I gritted my teeth and forced myself to remain still when the clapping turned into cheering and then a full-out roar. “Black Rider, Black Rider,” they chanted.
Magnum crossed the track to me with a smile on his face. “A little much?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Maybe a little.”
He laughed and slapped me on the back. “Let’s get on with this race.” He led me over to his truck, where a tarp covered the motorcycle in the back. “Some idiot about destroyed my motorcycle the last time they rode it, but I was able to salvage what was left. I think I’ll keep it to myself and let you wreck this one instead.”
He pulled off the tarp and I found myself staring not at his original motorcycle, but the ER-6n that got shot up at the Festival. I had never been so emotional to see a piece of machinery; I was grateful the visor hid my shock. I climbed onto the bed of the truck and ran a hand down the newly painted flat black frame. I shook my head. “How did you do this?” I asked quietly.
“With a little help from our mutual friend at the junkyard,” he replied. He turned and shouted to the students who ringed the truck, “What do you think? You wanna see the Black Rider race again?”
The reply that followed his words was so loud, it echoed in my helmet. I backed the motorcycle down the ramp, then started the engine. It growled and a smile spread across my face. I eased it to the starting line and looked over at Magnum on his blue CBR.
“Ready?” I asked him.
He nodded. “But no rooftops.”
“Deal,” I agreed. “I think I’ll be keeping my tires on the ground for a while.”
He laughed. “After what I’ve seen, that’s probably a good idea.”
I found Madelyn standing in the crowd. She smiled her warm smile and mouthed “Beat him.” I nodded and revved the engine.
Magnum tipped his head toward me, his voice barely audible beneath his helmet. “Hey, you ever think of teaming up with someone?”
I shrugged. “I guess I could use a sidekick.”
Magnum’s eyes widened in dismay. “A sidekick!”
I grinned beneath my helmet. “But you would definitely have to change your name.”
The cowboy hat flew into the air and I gunned the engine, leaving Magnum behind in a cloud of dust and tire smoke.
To my husband, Michael Alsop,
my hero and my true love.
To my family for each and every day.
No matter the ups and downs,
every moment is an adventure.
I love you!
I MOTIONED TO MAGNUM and he darted to the right. I rolled the throttle of my motorcycle and took the left. The engine of the semitruck protested as the driver forced it up the steep mountain incline. According to the sheriff, if we had the right truck, it was loaded with stolen televisions and other electronics. The plates matched, so all we had to do was get the driver to pull over and check the cargo.
I rode on the yellow line, waited for a car to pass, and then widened the distance between me and the truck so the driver could see me. I motioned for him to pull over. He glanced at me, then turned his attention forward again. Frustrated at how far away from Sparrow our search for the truck had brought us, I decided to take a chance. I drove close to the truck’s door and banged on it with my fist. He jerked the truck toward me. I back
ed off quickly so I could gesture for the driver to pull over again.
The truck driver glared at me, but his attention suddenly shifted to the other side where Magnum was no doubt running out of patience as well. The pavement hummed under my tires. The vehicle between us swiveled from side to side as the driver tried to force either of us off the road. The telephone poles that dotted the road flew past as the truck barreled up the road at speeds far faster than its safety or size could handle. The engine growled in protest as it was pushed even faster.
The truck again swiveled slightly, but the driver wouldn’t look at me. I wondered what Magnum was doing to keep the driver’s attention. We rode through a mountain pass that angled sharply upward. There was a turn to the left at the top of the incline. Two cars sped down the pass toward me. I fell back and tried to catch Magnum’s attention. The cars rode by in a blur on my left side. Magnum glanced back once and I waved him down, but he turned back to the driver.
I gunned the motorcycle and raced to Magnum’s side. He was shaking his fist at the driver and pointing ahead, trying to get him to stop before we reached the turn. I slapped him on the shoulder, a dangerous move with both of us riding at such speeds near the edge of the road, but it got his attention. I motioned quickly for him to fall back. There would be room to take the driver down after the turn. He nodded and I slowed, relieved.
Magnum didn’t fall back with me. Instead, he grabbed something from his jacket pocket and threw it at the truck’s window. The driver jerked the truck toward Magnum. I was forced to fall back or be crowded off the road to the ravine beyond. My heart leaped in my throat at the sight of Magnum fighting for room. I couldn’t do anything when the truck driver jerked his vehicle all the way over.
A plume of dirt and grass signaled Magnum’s crash. The truck shook like it had been hit by a massive fist. My breathing stopped entirely at the sight of sparks shooting from beneath the tires. The vehicle gave another massive shudder as it veered onto the shoulder, then lurched over something in its way. I darted to the left just in time to avoid the destroyed remains of Magnum’s blue CBR motorcycle. I braked hard, desperately searching for any sign of Magnum. He wasn’t with the wreckage. My blood ran cold at the thought that he was still somewhere under the truck.
The truck centered itself in the lane. I downshifted and surged ahead, speeding past the right side of the truck. I spotted Magnum underneath the trailer, holding on to the frame directly in front of the rear tires. My heartbeat pounded in my ears. If I couldn’t get the truck to stop, he would be crushed for sure.
The truck jerked toward me in the same maneuver the driver had used to run over Magnum’s motorcycle. I anticipated the move and braked so the truck passed, then gunned to the driver’s door again. The need to save Magnum filled every thought. I gritted my teeth and grabbed the rail by the door, then pulled myself onto the step.
My motorcycle tipped and slid along the road. I yanked at the door, but the driver had it locked. Enraged, I pounded on the window. The driver grabbed something from beneath his seat. I cursed at the sight of a handgun. Before he had time to turn it on me, I slammed my head forward, hitting the window with my helmet as hard as I could. The glass shattered around me. Shards bounced off my riding gear.
I reached through and grabbed the gun with one hand and the steering wheel with the other. The driver braked, sending the truck careening back and forth across the road.
“Pull over!” I shouted.
When he failed to comply, I elbowed him in the nose. His head jerked back and he let out a yell of pain, dropping the gun. I grabbed it and pressed the barrel against the side of his head. “Pull over,” I growled.
He nodded and slowed the truck. We stopped at the top of the incline just before it veered to the left. I could see the abyss of the ravine through the passenger window.
“Get out,” I said.
He fumbled for the door handle and opened it. I pulled him to the ground and forced him on his face on the gravel.
“Magnum!” I shouted. “Are you okay?”
I jogged around to the other side in time to see Magnum slowly release his grip from the truck’s frame. He set a leg shakily on the ground, then let go of the vehicle as if he would never touch another semi again. I grabbed his arm and steered him away from the ravine.
He pushed back the visor on his blue helmet. “Took you long enough to stop the thing,” he grumbled, his voice shaky.
“Sorry, man. I tried.” I checked him over quickly to make sure he was all right. Besides a few scrapes and some dirt on his helmet, he appeared to be unharmed.
“I’m fine,” he snapped, pushing me away. “Where’s the driver?”
“On the other side. Just try not to kill him,” I said.
He ripped off his helmet and followed me around to the other side. A string of not-so-muffled curses told me exactly how he felt.
I let out a huff of air at the sight of the driver running down the road. Magnum glanced at the gun I still held, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted, “We have a gun. We’ll shoot you if you don’t get back here!”
The driver slowed, then stopped and threw up his hands in defeat. He turned and made his way back toward us.
Magnum lowered his voice and growled, “I should shoot him anyway. He tried to kill me.”
“The sheriff will deal with him,” I said, glad I was the one holding the gun.
“We could toss him over with the truck.”
I rolled my eyes. “The bullet holes would be suspicious.”
“Now you’re getting technical.”
I let out a slow breath, “That didn’t go the way it was supposed to.”
Magnum chuckled, surprising me. “The sheriff owes me a new bike.”
I jerked my head back toward the truck. “We just recovered major evidence in a merchandise theft ring. I’m guessing he’ll be glad to get you a new motorcycle.”
He was about to reply when the truck’s wheels turned slowly backwards.
“Uh, Kelson,” Magnum said as the truck’s back tires slipped off the road toward the ravine.
“Crap,” was all I could think of to say.
I ran for the door, but Magnum grabbed my arm. “There’s no time!”
He was right. Before I could touch the frame, the second set of tires was over the edge of the road. The vehicle paused, then slid into the ravine.
Magnum and I watched as the truck rolled over and over, smashing trees and bouncing down the side of the mountain with the sound of twisted metal and breaking glass. Smoke and dirt rose in a plume as the back doors flew open, sending boxes of merchandise flying. The vehicle carved a path like a giant bulldozer, leaving destruction and tattered boxes in its wake.
The driver stopped next to us and watched silently for a moment until the truck came to a stop near the bottom.
“That’s not my fault,” he said quietly.
I glared at him, even though he couldn’t see me through my black visor. “This whole thing’s your fault,” I replied.
He shook his head and pointed at the truck. “Not that.”
Magnum’s mouth fell open and I could see him trying to maintain control. “You should have put on the brake!”
“Your comrade here pulled me out before I could,” he protested.
“Everyone puts on the brake,” I said, astonished.
“Not when they have a gun to their head,” the truck driver argued.
Magnum’s fists clenched. “You almost ran me over and left me hanging on the side of your truck, and you’re the one who’s mad? You’ll be going in for attempted murder along with transportation of stolen merchandise.”
The driver glared at him. “You’ll have to prove it.”
Rage showed in every line of Magnum’s body. “It’s our word against yours. Who do you think the sheriff will believe?”
“Two high schoolers on motorcycles who just sent my truck off the side of a cliff? You should be going in for destruction of property.”<
br />
“The sheriff will take care of you,” I said, trying to stay calm despite my urge to hit the guy. Silence followed my words. The three of us stared at the wrecked semitruck for a few minutes.
“Maybe not everything was destroyed,” Magnum mused.
“It rolled about four hundred times,” I countered.
Magnum shrugged. “Televisions are packaged pretty securely with all that Styrofoam. Some boxes might have stayed in the truck.”
An explosion drowned out his last words. The valley below us washed in orange. Dirt and debris flew everywhere. The blast ricocheted off the peaks around us. We stood in silence as the sound faded away to leave the quiet pop and hiss of flames amid the wreckage.
“That’s not my fault,” the truck driver repeated as the three of us stared down at the burning mess that used to be a truck full of stolen merchandise.
“Shut up,” I growled.
Magnum cleared his throat. “So, uh, how are we getting back?”
I glanced at him. “You didn’t bring your cell phone?”
He shook his head. I thought of my phone sitting on the end table at the Ashbys’ house. “Where’s your cell?” I asked the trucker.
He gestured at the destroyed truck lying in the bottom of the ravine.
I fought back a wave of ironic laughter. “I guess we’ll have to take my motorcycle.”
“Let’s see if it still works,” Magnum muttered, obviously sore about his own pile of twisted metal down the road.
I kept the driver between us as we made our way to my motorcycle.
I righted the Er-6n, checking it over to make sure no vital fluids were leaking. It was pretty scratched up, but the sliders had prevented it from being too damaged in the fall. I pulled dirt and clumps of grass from the pegs and brushed what gravel I could from the paint. I slid the gun behind my belt and studied the limited seating options.
WE PULLED UP TO the police station with the truck driver sitting in front of me on the gas tank and Magnum behind me perched on the very back of the bike. Needless to say, it was a very uncomfortable ride, and Magnum’s muttering wasn’t quite shielded by his helmet. The few cars that passed us on the road definitely got a laugh out of the situation. I wouldn’t be surprised to see the picture in the next Bulldog Bulletin, if not on the local news.
