Page 15 of Road Rash

“You go. I’ll be fine.”

“I can’t—”

“Listen, Old Man,” –Yes, I use that name on purpose— “Go take care of your business. I’ll be here when you get back.”

“I don’t…”

“Go!” I order him again. “I’ll be fine.”

He looks between me and his phone a few more times, then nods. Dane leans in, cupping the back of my head gently to draw me in for a kiss. “Take it easy today. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

Answering him will only keep him here longer, so I smack his ass to get him going instead. What’s going to happen here on his farm, of all places? Although he still appears torn, he kisses me one more time, just a quick peck, and gets the hell out of the bedroom. I don’t completely let my guard down until I hear the truck start up.

Finally.

I’m glad to know he cares but I hate feeling… I don’t remember the word but the feeling is clear. Like I’m keeping him down, holding him back. Head injuries suck. Although, the room seems colder without him in it with me.

Since we started watching this series together, I switch to something else that way Dane doesn’t fall behind in his viewing. That leaves me without much to keep my interest until I hit on a true-crime series. I laugh at myself as I settle back to watch. This has to be considered some strange form of gallows humor, right? The victim of a crime watching true crime shows?

Eventually, I must have drifted off. I know this because my eyes pop open from the sound of a bike rumbling up the drive. The sound grows louder not drifting off which means they have to be stopping by for a visit. But Dane left in his truck and I can’t think of anybody aside from Drake and Brandi, who aren’t remotely up to riding anytime soon, who’d come to visit me alone.

It’s off. The whole situation. Maybe I’m paranoid. Though, I’ll argue being the victim of a crime allows one to be a bit paranoid for a while. I slip out of bed and walk to the kitchen, peeling back the curtain on the back door. A loud crash makes me jump, then duck. Not that anyone could see me. I’m not stupid enough to show my face in the window. The crash comes from the trailer on the property.

My heart rate kicks up. Shit… shit, shit, shit. The figure of a man appears coming out of the trailer. It’s definitely a man. A man heading toward the backdoor. I make sure it’s locked and take off running.

Burk growls, then barks. But then… but then I hear a canine squeal and nothing else. Oh god! Did he hurt Burk? Please, please no. He can’t have hurt our dog.

It only takes a minute for him to reach the backdoor. He pounds on it, probably kicking at it, trying to break the lock. While he’s busy, I slip out the front door and run into the woods on the property barefoot and in my sleepshirt. Only my sleepshirt. The rocks, roots, and other ground cover cut into my feet but it’s better than dying. Or being violated. But the way that guy went after the trailer, my guess, the first would’ve been my fate. Who is it, though? I wish I could remember. My stupid brain. There’s an image of a person locked inside my head. There just has to be.

More crashing. This time from inside the house. He’s trashing the place. He has to be. Oh no… The shotgun. I forgot it in the room.Dammit, Jonesie… Fear and head injury don’t lead to the best decision-making.

While I wait it out, I try so hard to think of anything but dying here. It’s not working. After about ten minutes, the bike peels out of the long drive. I still can’t get a clear picture of the person. It’s too dark in the trees to even tell if they’re wearing a cut.

I wait it out in the woods for probably another half hour by attempting to count to sixty thirty times, but I might have rushed it a bit. The one thing I know for certain is that I can’t go back inside that house. Not now. Not without Dane.

Still hidden in the tree line, I turn to head toward town. It’s a few miles out and will take me a while to get there, but it’s better than staying in the woods for god knows how long until Dane gets home.

Walking takes forever and I get to the point where I’m just done. It’s not like I have no survival instinct. I do. I have one. But I also have a bad concussion and guess which one is winning? Finally, I can’t take another step and plop down in the sodden dirt. If or when someone comes by, I’ll see them. Hopefully they’ll stop for a woman clad only in pajamas. If they don’t then I’m here until Dane’s truck rolls down the road toward the farm.

As more time passes, I find myself dozing off and springing awake several times. The sky begins to dim with the oncoming night. That’s perfect. Just perfect. Alone in the woods in the dark. Animals—nocturnal animals that stalk prey in the night—live in these woods. Uncharacteristically, the tears begin to fall, because why not? How much lower can I sink at this point? Crying sucks. It makes me feel weak. But I shut right the hell up when I hear a set of Harleys. Yeah, there are definitely two. I’ve been working this rally long enough to determine with relative accuracy the number of bikes coming my way.

They pass without even noticing me in the background. I certainly notice them, or more importantly, the woman riding on the back of one of the bikes. This makes me comfortable enough to flag them down. If I wait too long, they’ll be out of earshot.

Count of one… two… three… I step out into the middle of the old, bumpy road to begin jumping like a maniac and yelling for them to stop and help. It clearly works as the bikes slow, stop, then back up to come my way. Part of me is terrified. But I know I need to get to Dane and I can’t go back in there by myself. The headlights from the bikes are blinding. I lift my hand up to block my eyes.

Finally, I hear a man’s voice say, “Jonesie?”

I could cry—but I won’t. I’m just so relieved. I know that voice. Mad Man, president of the Devil’s Outcasts.

“Woman,” his woman Steph says. “What’re you doing out here like that?”

“Dane—er—Old Man got called away in an emergency. Someone broke into the house. I escaped out the front door and ran into the woods.”

“They gone?” Specter, Mad Man’s second in command, asks.

“Yeah. Peeled out of here on a bike. But I don’t know if they have any affiliations.”

“Thank god we were riding back to camp,” Steph says, thinking my exact thoughts. “We’ve been out enjoying the mountains.”

“Baby,” Mad Man says to his wife, “Call up to The Rash. Tell Old Man we’re bringing her in.”

Specter takes off his beanie helmet holding it out to me. “Best I got,” he says. “Climb on back. We’ll get you to Old Man safe.”

Even without shoes, I climb on the back knowing where to place my feet. He doesn’t take off until I’ve got the helmet secured. Then I hold on for dear life as they finish the drive into town.

Dane stands outside the bar waiting on us and I feel safe again. He makes me feel safe. At least I feel that way until we pass by the scene of the crime and I’m hit with this flash of something—an image—a memory of the assault.

Oh shit.

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