Sudden Independents

Hunter reached out for the smooth walls of the hallway to make sure he hadn’t just plunged into a murky cave. He bumped into Scout, but neither of them fussed about it. Hunter’s night vision finally readjusted itself.

They tiptoed into a larger room where musty smells, like neglected piles of wet laundry, attacked their noses; Hunter fought the urge to sneeze. Snores from the sofas indicated potential danger should the noise suddenly cease. Scout inspected the room while Hunter made his way across to another one. Their bags and stuff sat on the kitchen table.

Hunter waved Scout over. Scout smiled, grabbed his backpack and promptly unzipped it, making an inventory check. He scooped out his Boy Scout Handbook, kissed it, and returned it inside along with the rope from his pockets. Hunter motioned his head towards the way out and they escaped into the night with the cold air biting at their cheeks, ears and hands.

The motorbikes were lined in front of the pickup. Hunter inspected the other bikes and instantly fell in love with an orange and black KTM. He ran his hands all over the fuel tank and the padded seat like it was their fourth date. The KTM was big and badass and Hunter wanted it. He saw no problem making the switch. As many times as he laid his Kawasaki down, the bike was probably too hazardous to ride anyways.

“Want a new bike?” he asked Scout.

“Are you kidding? I would never give up my Suzuki. The bike doesn’t make the rider, Hunter.”

“Whatever.” Hunter retrieved his own knife out of his bag and got busy slicing the wires and hoses on all the other bikes and under the hood of the pickup.

They rolled their bikes a hundred yards before kick starting them up and smiled at each other, happy to hear the sound of that roar and to be on their way. Hunter absolutely loved his new bike; he knew getting acquainted with the size would require some serious practice, but didn’t mind at all. Riding the KTM was like riding a beast determined to keep its monstrosity hidden in case it scared the townsfolk. Now Hunter could leave Scout’s sorry-ass Suzuki in the dust from third gear.

They quickly found the familiar dirt road leading to Independents and settled into a relaxed cruise. They left their headlights off, searching the darkness for signs of Jolanda. Soon the single light from another bike bounced towards them and they stopped, waiting patiently to ambush her on the other side of a small rise in the road.

“Get ready with the lights,” Hunter said. Scout nodded grimfaced. Their fingers hovered over the switches.

The light of the oncoming bike swept down on them and they flared their own lights in return, washing over Jolanda on a red Honda. She wobbled with her concentration broken and Hunter smiled because he guessed right-Jolanda was not an accomplished rider. She traveled off-road, miscalculating the sudden change in terrain and fell off the bike. The Honda rolled another ten yards without her and crashed.

Hunter steered over to where Jolanda lay sprawled on the grassy ground. He silenced his engine and laughed. Scout rode up beside him, cutting his engine also, but without sharing in the laughter.

“Hey, Scout, do you know this chick from somewhere?”

“I thought I did,” Scout said, ignoring the humor.

“So how did your little meeting go?” Hunter asked her. “Does Chase have the place mapped out yet? Did he find the hidden treasure chest?”

“No, but the way I hear it, you boys are going to have a nice little homecoming when you get back. Apparently somebody’s girlfriend is unhappy.”

Hunter looked at Scout and they both groaned. The images of the various scenarios that Molly was capable of flittered through Hunter’s mind. The one good thing-he was still alive, so whatever she did couldn’t be that bad.

“I hope she didn’t touch my stuff,” Scout said.

“Oh, she touched it,” Jolanda said. “Wait and see.”

“Whatever,” Scout said. “How ’bout you tell us what your crew has planned and maybe I won’t drag you back to town behind my bike, Jolanda.”

Jolanda sprang from the grass like a lipstick crazed Tasmanian she-devil, knocking Scout from his bike and raking her fingernails across his face.

Her scream filled the surrounding prairie. “My name is Raven!”

Scout grabbed her arms, holding her tight until she bit his wrist and then head-butted him between the eyes. Wrestling with her on the ground, he defended himself from a flurry of punches and kicks.

“Hit her back!” Hunter yelled from his bike. “She’s beating the crap out of you.”

“She’s a girl! Come get her off me!”

Hunter dropped his kickstand and struggled swinging his leg over and off the big bike. He glided up to where the scuffle was rolling around in full swing. “Hey, Jolanda!”

Full of rage, Jolanda tilted her face toward Hunter, who popped her in the nose. When she staggered but didn’t fall, he followed with a punch to the jaw that sent her to the ground.

Scout looked up with blood seeping from three separate claw marks, his displeasure with Hunter’s actions clearly evident.