However, I also know you’d be a damn fool to bet your life on anything in Landslide.It’s the sort of place where life is cheap—and that’s just the way I like it.
The needle on the tachometer falls back down into the white zone as the road plateaus out.Using the moon as my only light source, I scan the road ahead.I don’t expect any surprises, though.All the homesteaders and preppers around here know to keep their farm animals inside at night.
But I’m restless… uneasy.My eyes move from one side of the road to the other as I search for some sign.This is not the same impatient feeling I get when it’s time for the crew to ride out.There’s a definite air of expectancy emanating around me.
The scent on the wind is almost enticing.Closing my eyes, I inhale.
Something is coming…
I see the white shape in the middle of the road just in time.Muohta doesn’t bark or move.No headlights to reflect off the dog’s black eyes.
Stubborn fucking Samoyed.
I know what’s happening as my right hand tightens on the handlebar grip and my right foot presses down on the brake—the back wheel locks.It comes as second nature for me to lean towards the road as gravity pulls me down to the tarmac.
Falling, I allow myself to roll and flip.If Muohta is here, there might be someone watching.It’s so hard to suppress my resilient instincts, but I do.
My denim jeans rip as the thick fabric grates over the gravel.My leather jacket does the job it was designed to do by protecting my torso, but it’s going to have scars as a memento of this fall.As for my helmet, it’s locked to the back of my bike.Nothing I can do about that right now.
Many years of motorcycling life has taught me what to do after the momentum of the fall finally stops.I lie still for a beat as I collect my thoughts before slowly starting to sit up.
Time for me to go through the motions.
Groan with pain.
Feel limbs for breaks and sprains.
Pick myself up, dust myself down, and then stagger around a bit.
Wipe that cocky grin off your face, too—if you can.
Muohta is watching me patiently, his long pink tongue lolling out of one side of his mouth.
“What did you have to go and do that for, hey?”Cracking the kinks out of my neck by flexing my shoulders and moving my head, my heavy boots make me stumble as I go pick up my bike.All Muohta does is pant at me.That fur makes it harder for him to regulate his body’s temperature.
By this time, the other four riders have caught up to me.
“Take a tumble, Prez?”The club’s veep, Rundas, always finds it hilarious when one of us rides and slides.
They don’t waste time asking me unnecessary questions about what caused the accident.Muohta is standing in the middle of the road with his furry white tail wagging up a storm, so the story kind of tells itself.
“I’m-a go and see what’s got Mu’s tail in a twist.Ride on to the clubhouse without me.”
“Do you think Tempest is back?”
“Go on to the clubhouse.”I’m not about to launch into a speculative discussion in the middle of the goddamn road in the middle of the goddamn night!
Okay, I guess I’m pissed that I came off the bike.Kind of like those medieval knights competing in tournaments; no one likes to be knocked down from their horse.
Pushing the heavy motorbike to the verge and kicking the stand down, I don’t bother watching as the riders depart.Muohta gives a soft bark.Hurry up.
“Keep your hair on, Mu.I’m getting there.”
The land bridge should have disappeared by now.No one will be following me unless they’re wearing scuba gear.It’s safe for me to leave the bike here.
I give the dog permission to walk on.Muohta doesn’t need me to tell him more than once.The hound scoots ahead like a silver bullet, not bothering to check if I’m coming along.
The terrain on Ben Magoo’s property is treacherous.The stubborn asshole should have been forced to parcel up this land into smaller plots long ago, but he hasn’t been the same since his wife died.Being alone had made old Ben real ornery when it comes to trespassers.
