Chapter 3: Headlights In The Mist
The rumble in the pavement intensified until the dark wet asphalt vibrated right through the soles of my worn sneakers. I squeezed my eyes shut against a blinding sheet of spray kicked up by an unseen vehicle, my fingers digging desperately into the spine of Galrriets as if the old paper could shield me from the rushing wind. When I opened my eyes again, a pair of brilliant amber headlights cut through the gray mist, followed closely by a second, a third, and then a whole ragged line of them. They looked like a chain of fallen stars dragging themselves across the dark belly of the highway.
The roaring engines settled into a deep, synchronized purr as the convoy slowed its pace, forming a protective barrier around the shoulder where I stood shivering in my silver foil. The lead motorcycle glided to a stop just a few feet away, its heavy tires hissing against the rain-slicked ground. Through the shimmering veil of water, I watched the rider kick his stand down with a solid metallic thud. He killed the engine, and the sudden silence of the night rushed back in, broken only by the steady drumbeat of the rain on my emergency blanket and my own ragged, whistling breath.
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The man swung his leg over the saddle and planted his heavy boots firmly on the shoulder. He was tall, wearing a weathered leather vest over a dark jacket, his long gray-streaked dark hair plastered against his rugged face. He didn't rush toward me like a stranger lunging in the dark; instead, he moved with a deliberate, cautious slowness, holding his hands slightly open at his sides to show he meant no harm. Water dripped from the brim of his leather cap as he took a few slow steps closer, his dark eyes scanning my small frame, my soaked hair, and the emergency blanket wrapped tight around my shoulders.
When he reached me, he didn't try to pull me up or grab my arm. He simply lowered his heavy frame, sinking down into the mud until his broad shoulders were level with mine. Up close, lines etched deep around his eyes softened his rugged features. He kept his voice low and steady, cutting cleanly through the steady rush of the storm. "Sweetheart, why are you out here alone?" he asked, his tone remarkably gentle for someone who looked like he belonged to a completely different, harsher world. I stared down at the wet leather of his boots, my lower lip trembling violently as the last of my defensive walls finally collapsed.
