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THE NEXT MORNING WHEN Reggie and I pulled into the driveway on a machine that made enough noise to be picked up the next state over, Etta, Kayla, and Jasmine rushed from the house and joined us in the yard. I noticed Willie had made it home, and when I got off the machine, he came over and greeted me with a handshake and a bro-hug.
“What on earth is that?” Kayla asked.
“It’s a motorcycle. Reggie found it for us,” I said.
Reggie had some difficulty climbing out of the sidecar, and I thought the entire machine would tip over when he did, but it bounced back on its mostly bald tires.
“It was in that old red barn over near the Jackson’s place.”
“You should have left it there,” Etta said.
I shook my head. “Nah, this will work great. It’s got room for both of us and our gear, and it should get us to Virginia fine.”
“As long as you treat it nice,” Reggie said.
I nodded.
“And check that oil every hundred miles or so.”
“I know.”
Reggie was about to add something else, but I stopped him. Even though I was over-confident that the old machine would get us to Virginia. I figured if it even got us as far as the Alabama state line I’d be good with that. Every little bit of not having to walk or pedal helped.
After an hour of repacking and reorganizing so everything would either fit on the motorcycle or in the sidecar, we were ready to hit the road.
“I hope we meet again someday, Baker,” Etta said as she drew me into an embrace.
“I hope so, too,” I said in her ear. She gave me a peck on the cheek, let me go, and moved onto Kayla while Reggie stepped in to take her place. He took my hand in his and brought me in for a hug.
“You’re always welcome here,” Reggie said.
“And if you’re ever up in Virginia, there’s a place there for you,” I said, meaning every word.
Reggie sighed, and when he exhaled, I noticed his body shrank. “I suspect this is probably goodbye forever,” he whispered.
I didn’t speak, and after an awkward ten-second silence I wanted to respond to say otherwise, but in my heart, I realized it was the case.
“Take care of yourself. And your lady,” Reggie said. He gave me a last squeeze, let me loose, said farewell to Kayla, and followed Etta into the house.
Willie stood off near the door, hands in pockets, and I thought he’d follow his parents into the house. He surprised me though, when he ran toward me at full speed and jumped into my arms and wrapped his arms around my neck, almost making me fall over in the process. Willie started to say something but choked on his words. He let go, dropped to the ground, and sprinted toward the house.
Etta came out a second later and returned to Kayla. “I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to know each other better, but I have a feeling that you’re a really good person, especially deep down where it counts. I want you to have this.”
Etta handed something to Kayla, who held the item in her hand. I looked over and saw it was a pin. A silver dove.
“I can’t take this,” Kayla protested.
“You will. And may the Lord watch over you and Baker.”
Etta gave Kayla another kiss and hug and returned to the house.
“You really have to go, Baker?” I turned around and spotted Jasmine standing next to the motorcycle. She did not try to hide or wipe away her flowing tears.
“Yeah, kiddo, we do. We have our own home to go to, and I have an elderly neighbor who needs my help with things around the homestead.”
She smiled just a bit. “Always gotta be playing the hero.”
I shook my head. “Look, I’m no hero, Jasmine. I simply try to do the right thing when the situation calls for it.”
Jasmine stepped over and I pulled her into a hug. “You’ll always be my hero, Baker.”
I kissed Jasmine on the head, and after a minute she pulled away, said goodbye to Kayla, and headed toward the house. She was halfway there when she stopped and turned around.
“Baker’s still a silly name,” Jasmine called out. Then she waved, and a second later, she disappeared into the house.
“No sillier than Jasmine,” I whispered to myself.
“Come on, cowboy, let’s saddle up,” Kayla said, tugging me by the shirt as she headed to the motorcycle.
I nodded and let Kayla guide me to the bike. Once she settled into the sidecar and we had the gear stowed, I got on the bike and brought the beast to life. At first it coughed, but then kicked in. I put it into gear, and with a shudder, I turned it around and headed for the road.
I made my way through the small town, returning waves from the people we passed on the way to the interstate. Deep down, I was happy to leave, although I knew I’d miss the Sherman family. Before we even reached the highway, the motorcycle began to smoke, so I pulled into the gas station where I first met Jasmine and checked the oil. Sure enough, the dipstick told me the bike was already low. I showed Kayla how to get gas from the underground tank, and while she did that, I went into the station itself and rummaged around until I found an entire case of oil. Since I didn’t have the owner’s manual and didn’t know for certain which brand of bike it was, I didn’t exactly know which type of oil it was supposed to take. Not that it mattered, since I only had one choice. The case contained twelve quarts, and the motorcycle sucked up two. When we found a home for the other ten quarts in the sidecar, we got back on the road.
Although Reggie recommended that we stop every hundred miles to check the oil, we paused every thirty minutes, and each time the machine ate another quart. When we got a few miles east of Tuscaloosa, I pulled the bike off the highway, parked it under an overpass, and dismounted.
“What are we stopping for?” Kayla asked.
“Couple of things. First, I need to pee. Could you check the oil while I take care of business?”
Kayla nodded then exited the sidecar while I ventured off behind a concrete bridge support to be more discreet. When I returned, Kayla was emptying another quart into the bike. She put the lid back on the bottle and set the bottle on a guardrail.
“I’m going to take my turn, too,” Kayla said as she wandered off to take care of things.
While she was gone, I rummaged around in my backpack for the map of Alabama I had stored in there. Not wanting to repeat the encounter I had in Birmingham, I looked for an alternate route and decided to take the interstate bypass that would swing us southeast around the city.
“What are you doing?” Kayla asked when she caught me double-checking the route.
“Well, I had a little trouble when I came through Birmingham a few days ago,” I said, hoping to leave it at that. Kayla stared at me until I told the story of my encounter, holding nothing back from her.
Once I gave her the alternate route, she nodded, then climbed back into the sidecar. An hour later, we arrived at the bypass, and I took it and then stopped the bike, got off, and added another quart of oil.
“How many of these do we have left?” I asked, holding up the empty bottle.
“Two,” Kayla answered. “We’ll need to find more.”
I nodded. “Yeah. Let’s get to the far side of Birmingham first.”
I got back on the bike and fired it up. As usual, it sounded like a jet engine with a freight train horn attached.
“I wish we had a quieter bike!” I screamed through the noise.
“Then find us a Honda next time,” Kayla screamed back.
I grinned, put it into gear, and continued the journey. After almost an hour, we cleared the city, and I spotted the sign for I-59, which was only a mile ahead when I noticed the engine started smoking again. I pulled over and shut off the engine.
“Damn,” I said as Kayla handed me the last two quarts of oil. “This thing is becoming more trouble than it’s worth.”
“There’s a gas station over there,” Kayla said, pointing off to our right. “Next exit. We can find more oil, or hopefully a new vehicle.”
“Good idea,” I said. I topped off the oil, tossed the empty bottles, and fired up the machine.
I headed toward the exit ramp and was most of the way down it when I spotted the obstruction. Across the road was what appeared to be a home-made version of police stop sticks. Although I was going only fifty miles an hour and tried to stop as soon as I spotted them, I hit them almost at full speed. All three tires popped almost at once, and the bike shook violently. Without the sidecar, I know I would have flipped the bike at once, and I hoped the extra mass would keep us grounded until I could stop us. As I tried to stop, I noticed piles of bricks placed randomly on the road, and when I swerved to avoid one pile, the sidecar tire struck a random brick and I lost control of the bike. I sensed us go airborne, Kayla screamed, then darkness fell.
*
“BAKER? COME ON BAKER. Wake up.”
I opened my eyes and saw Kayla crouched down beside me.
“What happened?” I asked.
“We crashed. I think there are people coming. We need to get out of here.”
I tried to move, but couldn’t. “Kayla, I can’t move. I think my back got busted.”
“No. You’re underneath the bike. Hold on.”
Kayla stood and pushed at the machine. When she did, all my joints exploded in pain, but I was happy to experience it. At least I wasn’t paralyzed as I originally thought.
“Can you help me?” Kayla asked.
I was lying face down and I tried to get my arms under me to push up, but I had zero leverage. I tried to roll over, but couldn’t do that, either.
“Come on, Baker, they’re getting closer.”
“It’s no use,” I said. “Take my backpack. You still have the rifle?”
“It’s in the road. I dropped it when we flipped,”
I worked to slip out of the backpack, then pushed it out at her. “Take this, grab the rifle, and go hide in the trees. I’ll play dead until they leave.”
“Baker, I can’t leave—”
“GO!” I screamed.
Kayla hesitated for a moment, then picked up my pack. Although she stepped out of my sight line, I heard the rifle scrape on the concrete when she picked it up, and she came back into my view as she ran across the road, climbed over the guardrail, and headed into a small copse of trees next to the road. I tried again to push the bike off of me, but I couldn’t. Next, I attempted to slide out from underneath it, but that didn’t work either. I stopped struggling when I overheard voices.
“Look here,” a man said. “We got one.”
Although I closed my eyes and tried to play dead, my ruse stopped when I got slapped on the side of my head, and my eyes instinctively opened, and I twitched. Above me were three men who looked to be in their early twenties staring at me.
“He got anything good on him?” A fourth voice said.
“Can’t tell. He’s under the bike,” the man closest to me said. He wore a dirty trucker’s hat and from the green on his teeth and the wafted odor I got when he spoke, I doubted he owned a toothbrush.
“Well, jeez, Earl, why don’t you idiots get him out of there and check what he has on him?”
The three men disappeared from my view and a moment later, the bike’s weight left my body. I stretched my legs and wiggled my toes, happy to do both. A second later, Earl came back and started patting me down.
“Shit, he ain’t got nothing on him,” Earl said.
“Get him up.”
Earl grabbed me under one armpit, another man grabbed me by the other, and hoisted me up with ease.
“Where you got the stuff?” the leader said, stepping into view. This one wore scuffed cowboy boots, dirty jeans, and denim jacket, even though the temperature hovered in the high eighties.
“What stuff?” I asked.
Rather than answer, the man hit me directly in the stomach with full force. The men holding me let go, and I fell to the ground, gasping for air. As I tried to catch my breath, the leader stepped forward, lined me up like a soccer ball, and kicked me in the head. I flew backwards and watched stars explode when the back of my head hit the concrete. I rolled onto my side, and the man kicked me twice more in the stomach. Rather than protect those areas, I put my arms by my head in a feeble attempt to protect my face. He kicked me a third time, and I wheezed, then threw up.
“He done puked on your boots!” Earl said.
“I know that, you idiot. Get him up again.”
Earl and his friend grabbed me by the arms. This time, they had to support my full weight. My legs felt like overcooked noodles, and I couldn’t support myself.
“Hey,”
I looked forward at the leader just in time to spot his fist headed my way. He wanted to hit me in the nose, but I dropped my head in time and took the shot right between the eyes instead. The force of the blow made me stumble a few steps backward, but the men held on and moved me forward again. I heard a click and lifted my head and saw the switchblade the leader waved in front of my face.
“Time to say goodbye,” he said.
“Hey!” Kayla shouted from the trees.
“See, I told you there was another one,” Earl said.
“Let him go!” Kayla shouted again.
“Okay. We will,” the leader said.
I saw him thrust once with the knife, then he backed away from me.
“You heard her. Let him go and go get that woman,” the leader said.
Earl and his friend released me, and to my surprise, I stayed on my feet. Something didn’t feel right, so I touched my abdomen and looked at my hands. It was all wrong. Instead of two hands, there were four, and all of them seemed covered in blood. Kayla yelled something else I didn’t make out. Then a gunshot pierced my ears, and the ricochet skipped on the concrete nearby. I attempted to turn, staggered twice, and dropped to the ground.
*
SOMETHING WAS SQUEAKING. An annoying squeak. Not like a mouse, more like that one shopping cart wheel that never worked quite right and when it wasn’t squeaking, froze up or turned sideways. I opened my eyes and saw fuzzy starlight above me. At first, I thought the stars were moving, then realized it was me. I tried to move, but couldn’t. Instead, I groaned.
I stopped. So did the squeaking. A moment later, Kayla stood above me.
“Hey, there,” she said.
“I thought you got shot,” I mumbled.
“That was me doing the shooting. Hold tight, we’re almost there.”
She left, and a moment later, I started moving again. I watched the stars and waited. What seemed an eternity later, I saw we were under a building. Then Kayla opened the door and pulled me inside, closing and locking the door behind us. I looked around and discovered we were inside an abandoned Mexican restaurant that smelled like old shoes. Kayle bent over me, did something, and I suddenly seemed free.
“Can you stand?” she asked.
“Let’s find out.”
It was a struggle, but she helped me to my feet and got me into a chair. I looked at the floor and there I saw a mechanic’s creeper and several bungee cords. Attached to the front of the creeper was a rope, and I put the pieces together. Kayla had gone to the gas station, found the creeper, tied me to it, and used it to transport me. Clever girl.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“Bad. How do I look?”
“Worse.”
“Is there anything to drink?”
“Don’t know. I’ll be right back,” Kayla said. She rose and headed into the kitchen.
I looked around and saw the restroom door not far away. I stood, swayed, and caught my balance. Unsteady, I tried to walk unassisted, but my legs seemed weak, and my motor function seemed off. I needed to move slowly from booth to booth until I reached the men’s room door. I pulled it open and lunged for the sink. There, I glanced in the mirror. I resembled a raccoon with not one, but two, black eyes. I turned my head and saw a knot at the back of my skull large enough to wear its own hat. Almost too afraid to look, I took a step back and lifted my shirt. My entire torso looked like one giant bruise, and on my left side, I saw a four-inch strip of dirty tape. I assumed Kayla had stitched me up, but I didn’t mess with it any further.
The urge to use the facilities struck me, so I hobbled to the toilet, undid my pants, shoved them down, and sat to urinate. As I did, I got an intense stinging sensation. When I finished my business, I stood and pulled up in my pants. When I looked into the toilet, I noticed I had filled it with blood. Somehow, it didn’t surprise me.
When I opened the door, Kayla was outside waiting for me.
“Everything okay?” she asked as she reached for my arm to steady me.
“Fine. I just had to pee.”
Kayla led me back to my chair, and I sat down, glad to be off my feet. She unscrewed the top off of the bottle of soda and held it out for me. I reached for it and missed.
“Oh, no,” she said.
“What?”
“Do you have double vision, or blurriness, Baker?”
I nodded. “A little bit of both, actually.”
“What else?”
I rattled off the rest of my symptoms. Headache. Nausea. Couldn’t walk much. I held nothing back except the bloody urine, since there was nothing we could do about that.
“I think you have a concussion,” she said.
“Yeah, I think you’re right.”
She shook her head and moved the bottle to my lips and held it while I drank. It was orange and delicious, whatever it was.
“Well, now what?” she said.
“Good question,” I said.
