Ryder

 

Ryder thrashed and moaned in the backseat of the car. A jolt of pain shot through his body and his hand shot out towards the nearest window, leaving a trail of blood from each of his fingertips. He was holding onto consciousness with every last bit of strength he had, but he knew that it was only a matter of time before he slipped into darkness yet again.

 

He lifted his body up slightly, pain shooting through him as he did. Looking out of the window, he tried to catch a glimpse of Kara to see just what the hell she was doing. To his surprise, they’d come to a stop at what looked to be an abandoned cabin. Ryder spotted the slender outline of Kara flitting around near the front door, looking as though she was attempting to find a way in. He wasn’t crazy about the idea of breaking into someone’s home, and had a mental picture of some old man in a rocking chair with a shotgun cradled in his lap, waiting to greet them with a pair of gunshots. But they didn’t have any other choice.

 

His strength giving out, Ryder fell back onto the seat, a fresh wave of pain howling through his body. Through the agony, Ryder closed his eyes and found that the pain had knocked something loose in his mind, that he could now remember bits and pieces of what had happened before he took his spill on the side of the road.

 

Ryder kept his eyes shut and bit his bottom lip in focus. He remembered driving down the highway, the snow picking up around him as he thought about what a goddamn stupid idea it’d been to take his bike out in weather like this. He was a veteran rider, one of the best in his motorcycle club, but inclement weather like an oncoming blizzard was an easy way to end up half-buried in a snow drift and frozen to death.

 

He remembered more, that there wasn’t a soul on the roads with him, that the sky above had been boiling with fearsome-looking clouds that looked about ready to dump everything they had. If it had been spring, it would’ve been the thunderstorm of the year, but the cold weather ensured that it’d instead been a blizzard that’d likely have the city paralyzed for days.

 

Gotta hurry, he remembered thinking. Gotta get there before the snow picks up. Not a goddamn second to waste.

 

But try as he might, Ryder couldn’t remember just where he had felt it so necessary to get to in such a hurry. All he remembered was the feeling of concentration, almost desperation as he tore down the interstate.

 

Then he remembered a pair of high beams behind him that cut through the whipping snow in front of him. He’d looked back over his shoulder and spotted a trio of single headlights that he recognized as motorcycles right away. His heart pounded—it was either some bikers just as dumb as he was, or just the men that he didn’t want to see.

 

As they cut the distance and approached him hard on both sides, he realized, to his horror, that it was the latter. Things started to get blurry around there as Ryder struggled to remember. He recalled the bikes flanking him, getting close enough that he could read the patches on the leather jackets of the riders. He remembered hands reaching out for him, one holding a tire iron that swiped through the air, just barely missing his head. He remembered the bike on his right grinding up against him, a small show of sparks brilliant against the white of the snow. He remembered gunning the engine, peeling away and putting some distance between him and the attackers.

 

Ryder recalled a feeling of relief washing over him as he realized that he just might be able to get away, to get to the next exit and lose these assholes. But then a dull crack sounded out through the wind and he felt something against his bike not unlike being struck by a big rock. The bike swerved out of control, and he made the rookie mistake of overcompensating, pulling the handlebars hard to the left. The bike toppled over and slammed hard onto the road, the sound of the metal against the pavement about the most awful thing he could imagine.

 

Now things were really blurry. He remembered the cool of the snow against his body, the pain flooding through him, and the sight of the three men parking their bikes nearby and encircling him.

 

“What you think, boss?” asked one of the men. “Shot to the head? Make it quick and painless?”

 

“‘Quick and painless ain’t what I got in mind for this fuck,” said another man.

 

Then Ryder felt the impact of a heavy, steel-toed boot against his chest. He’d cried out in pain in a wild howl. Then there was another kick, then another, and all Ryder could do was curl up and take it. After some more abuse, he’d rolled over and looked up, the three figures dark and blurry against the slate-gray sky above.

 

“Let this asshole spend the last few hours of his life freezing to death. ’Bout what he deserves.”

 

Dry laughs sounded, and the men all got in one more kick before heading off to their bikes and leaving Ryder alone in the cold. Then, there was nothing but pain.

 

“Hey! Hey!”

 

The voice of Kara brought him back to reality. All Ryder could do was groan.

 

“I found a key for the door. Can you make it the rest of the way?”

 

Through the pain, Ryder glanced one more time at the cabin, this time figuring the distance.

 

“I … I think. Need … a little help.”

 

“Sure, sure,” said Kara. “Gonna open the door; don’t lean against it.”

 

Ryder sat up a bit, more pain flashing through him. Kara pulled the door open, a fresh burst of bitter cold flooding the interior of the car. Kara slipped her arm under Ryder and helped him out of the car. He winced through the pain and the cold as Kara led him to the front door of the cabin. Then, with one last heave, the two of them crossed the threshold. Ryder looked around through blurred eyes at the interior.

 

“Hmm. Not bad,” were his last thoughts before falling once again into unconsciousness.