Chapter 6 Motorcycle Man

— 6 —

MOTORCYCLE MAN

Gemma

THE TIME AND distance we've traveled into the unforgiving desert is indiscernible. The only thing on my mind is moving forward, finding something resembling shelter, anything that will shade us from the overwhelming light and heat.

My skin bakes under the glaring sun. I'd be burned from head to toe if they hadn't provided a single travel size bottle of sunscreen in my backpack.

Would it have killed them to throw in a hat and sunglasses?

My eyes are so dry they beg to be shut, so I close them every once in a while and walk blindly for as many steps as I can manage before feeling the overwhelming urge to lay down, fall asleep, and wait for death to take me.

We haven't encountered another attack in the amount of time that's passed. The unexpected connection with Quinn and Katie, and the way they worked together to defeat our attackers, naturally fostered some kind of unspoken alliance that's granted us strength in numbers.

Of the hundreds Evicted today, I'd estimate that maybe fifty of them were female. At least half of those women move with us in a loose cluster, like stars orbiting an unseen body in the night sky—gravity from a black hole dragging us all toward an infinite, unknowable fate.

We move in silence.

We keep moving forward through the miles of misery.

Miles of barren land, no trees to grant us shade.

Just when I begin to feel as though I may give into exhaustion, right here and now, I see something in the distance.

There's a rock formation up ahead.

The end of a long plateau curving toward us.

The wide expanse of it stretching infinitely into the horizon.

Just beyond the edge of the plateau, I spot another formation that's just as tall, but not nearly as long—a mesa. I think the formations must have been connected once before, separated from erosion, which carved a space between them.

A crevice.

A passage.

A small canyon.

Quite possibly some shade.

A reprieve from the sun.

At the head of the pack, unintentionally leading this group, I turn toward the landform and pick up my pace. The hope of shade is worth every ounce of energy I have left.

It feels like another decade has passed by the time I'm close enough to confirm it with my own eyes—there are pockets of shade within the passage between the plateau and the mesa. I hear sighs of relief from the women all around me, utterances of approval for a respite from the sunlight.

Each step brings us closer to comfort, but it also brings us closer to something else…

Shit.

To my right, there's a gray line stretching out along the horizon, drawing parallel to the passage. It's an old, paved highway, one of many routes through the desert that were cut off from civilization when the wall was built around the Territory.

"Avoid major roads and highways. If you hear an engine, hide—"

Cruz warned me to stay away from the roads.

Though what did he mean, exactly?

Stay far enough away that you can't see them?

Don't cross them?

Don't walk along the paths they carve through the desert?

Are we too close to this road or far enough away to be safe?

The questions exhaust my dried-up, shriveling brain cells. There's only one decision I can make in this hell on earth, and that decision is comfort at all costs—I keep moving toward the passage. I have never been so desperate to crawl into the shadows.

But then I hear a low rumble in the distance.

A rumble that gradually stretches into a roar.

Two vehicles appear from the end of the road where it fades into the sky, racing down the highway, heading in our direction. The road is farther from us than the passage that promises shade and concealment, but we're not close enough to hide before we're spotted.

Voices rise, expressing confusion, making plans, trying to make sense of how there are vehicles on this road and who the fuck would be driving them. A few women break off and make a run for it toward the passage, while some stand still in silence. I can sense others backing away.

I feel like I'm internally screaming at myself to run. To get to that passage between vertical mountains, find a place to hide, and hope that whoever is driving those vehicles just keeps going.

But I don't run.

I don't even stand still.

Inexplicably, I move toward the road, one small step at a time until they're close enough for me to make out the shape of them.

A white pickup truck leads.

A man on a motorcycle follows.

I stop and watch this stupid man without a helmet race down the highway, weaving around vegetation that has worked its way through the cracks in the pavement.

"Hey," Katie calls for my attention. "Let's go."

"Yeah," I mutter, but take another step in the direction of the road.

"What are you doing?" Quinn's tone is tinged with frustration. "Come on. Let's get away from the road, try to hide."

The man on the motorcycle turns his head, and appears to be looking right at me. He slows, turns his machine to face me, and eases to a stop at the very edge of the road where pavement meets dry, cracked earth.

My breath catches.

My eyes are wide—I can't seem to drag them away.

Heat causes the air to ripple, like a curtain of invisible waves that distorts the sight of him. You could almost convince me this is a fever dream, that he's not really there.

Someone's hand is on my arm, gently pulling, and a voice is frenzied in telling me that we have to go, that we need to run.

She's right.

I should run.

But I can't seem to connect my legs with good sense.

It's the heat… I'm delirious.

Motorcycle Man subtly inclines his head, and I swear, he's watching me the way I'm watching him—with some mix of curiosity and fear. I can almost feel the air vibrating between us from the rumble of his engine.

I think he's wearing sunglasses… His eyes look like giant black pits from this distance, and I can't quite make out his face. His mouth and nose are covered by a small piece of black fabric, a bandana that he must have tied around the back of his head. It has some white image printed on the front of it that I can't quite make out.

His hair is charcoal brown, cut closer on the sides, gradually thickening into a tuft at the top of his head. It's windblown, a few longer strands falling toward his face. His arms are covered, but not by sleeves. Tattoos blanket every visible inch of skin from the backs of his hands all the way up his arms, disappearing beneath the short sleeves of his black T-shirt. They appear again at the collar, creeping up the sides of his neck, finally stopping beneath his jaw.

What kind of maniac wears black in this heat?

That maniac right there.

And I must be a maniac for standing here, watching him stare at me when I should be running for cover. I attempt to refocus, draw in a deep breath, but only choke on the dry heat. I'm trapped with curiosity for his next move until suddenly, he turns his head, his chin rising as he looks in the direction of the mesa.

I take a step backward.

"What the fuck?" Katie's tone is wary. "Look…" She grabs my arm and tugs.

"Who are they?" Quinn wonders.

They're both looking up at the top of the mesa, the same place that drew Motorcycle Man's attention away from me.

I lift my chin skyward and look up.

Atop the mesa, standing at the edge and looking out at all of us, are three women, all dressed in black.

The sight of them is consuming…

They form a triangle, one woman standing at the precipice, the other two a step back on either side of her. Their flowing black skirts catch the arid breeze, fluttering in light waves. The two women behind wear dark sunglasses, hiding their faces beneath the rims of black sunhats. They each hold a black umbrella, reaching forward to shade the woman in the center.

She smiles, holding out her arms with her palms toward the sky. "There's nothing to fear," she calls out, her long black hair flowing in time with her skirt.

Everyone on the ground stops moving.

Everyone falls silent.

The only sounds are the empty breeze and the woman's echoing voice as she speaks. "Come with us, Daughters of Darkness. All are welcome here. We have shelter from the wretched sunlight. Food and water. Friendship and camaraderie. Join us, and we'll take care of you."

There's a long pause, a shared hesitation, and the silence stretches through it.

She waves her hand toward the canyon. "Come through the passage. You'll be safe with us."

A dash of bright orange moves in my peripheral as one of the female outlaws who walked with us rushes toward the passage.

Another outlaw moves, then another…

More and more women make their way toward the promise of shelter and care.

"More maniacs wearing black in this heat," I mutter.

Quinn looks at me. "What?"

"Let's go," Katie demands. "I'll trust those maniacs up there any day before those men out on the road."

The women in black look like fallen angels atop the mesa, ethereal in their darkness, bewitching, beguiling…

"This isn't right…" I take a step back.

I turn my head toward the highway.

Motorcycle Man is still there, staring right at me, half-risen from the seat of his bike and leaning forward as though he's compelled to leap off the thing and run after me.

"Siren?" a voice calls out to me from the top of the mesa.

"Is that her?" Another from above.

"It is!" They speak as though they've spotted their favorite celebrity. "Our Siren! She's here . He told us she would be here, and she is!"

"How do they know who you are?" Quinn asks, exactly what I wondered.

How could they know about things happening outside the Territory?

Motorcycle Man glances up at them, then fixes his stare on me once again. He seems to make the connection that I'm the one they're talking about—that I'm the Siren.

He drops onto the seat again as three men appear at his side, presumably from the pickup truck I saw with him before. He must be saying something to them from beneath his bandana because they nod and turn away, step off the highway and into the desert, and begin to walk toward us.

Motorcycle Man revs the engine.

"Fuck!" I step back, reaching out to my side without taking my eyes off the man. My fingers brush Quinn's shoulder, and I start to push her toward the passage. "Go. Move ."

Though my instincts warn me against the women in black, they also warn me against these men. I have to choose between two dangers, and the passage feels like the best option.

With Katie and Quinn, I make a run for it.

"Yes, come join us, Siren!" They continue to call for me from above. "We'll keep you safe."

"Be reborn with us, Siren!"

I slam to a stop.

Reborn?

There was a warning from Cruz…

"Stay away from the Reborn. Don't let them convince you that they'll take care of you. They won't…"

Suddenly, I'm captured by indecision.

I'm stuck in place as Quinn and Katie continue running.

And then I hear the engine roar to life.

My head whips toward the highway. He's racing toward me, kicking up a cloud of dust in his wake. Adrenaline punches through my veins and instinct takes over. I turn and sprint away without direction.

I push so hard, it hurts.

I'm overcome with a rush of fear I haven't felt since… Fuck. Since the night Seb chased me to the lake. I blink, and I travel through time, back to that dark night, to the terror I felt. Air catches in my lungs, but I keep moving.

He's close…

He's too close.

The roar of his engine resembles the triumphant growl of a lion about to pounce on his prey.

Is he going to crash into me?

He could be some nasty sicko who gets off on mangling women with his machine. He could run me over. I nearly scream when I feel the heat from the engine at my back, closing in, skimming my side so close it nearly knocks me off my feet. He speeds ahead, turns just before he would slam into the edge of the plateau, and skids to a stop.

He's off the bike in a flash.

I'll collide with him if I don't stop. My shoes slip over sand, and I almost stumble as I twist to change direction, nearly turning all the way around to backtrack toward the passage, which I somehow blew right past in my hurry to get away.

I hear his boots plodding behind me as he chases me on foot, following me into the passage. Ignoring exhaustion, I dig deep, tap into my reserves, and run faster.

Sunlight dims as we chase deeper into the canyon. It's still bright, but less abrasive between the vertical walls of rock. There are pockets of shade found beneath ridges at various heights.

I touch darkness as I pass beneath a ridge, find a moment of relief within its shadow. But the relief is gone a second later when I feel him grab my backpack and pull. I shrug it off my shoulders in a rush, but he slowed me enough with the pull to catch up, and his large hand encircles my arm.

"No… " The word whispers out with a sigh of disbelief.

He grabs me with both hands.

My momentum is lost. I can't get away from him.

I've been caught.