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Mountain had a quick glance and saw a mom passing snacks to a couple of kids in the backseats.
When she glanced to the side and saw the fifty plus bikes and her hands clutched the wheel in front of her and she slowed her sparkling, bright eyes showing a bit of fear as they sped past her. No other vehicles were ahead so they were able to drive on.
Cinnamon squeezed his waist and he turned slightly. “You doing okay?” he yelled over the wind rushing past them at seventy miles an hour.
“Yeah!” she called back.
Mountain rarely rode with a passenger, but when he did, he took full ownership of their safety.
“Look at that asshole?” Cinnamon cried out and Mountain scanned the road ahead.
Nothing on their side of the highway, but on the other a pick-up truck was tailgating and cutting around the few cars in his way. Riding the bumper of a car that was trying to get far enough ahead of a semi to move over.
Mountain slowed for a moment then jumped to the left and sped up, waving over to the men he was passing to have them see what was going on. Cinnamon clung to him. Montana was known for long stretches of flat highway. More importantly, less than six feet of median between the east and west lanes. He didn’t know why every part of him feared the sight in front of him. It was on the other side of the road and a few of the men gave him a questioning look. It was the fact that when the impatient SOB in the pick-up suddenly decided he had enough room and cut to the right, he clipped his bumper on the semi who couldn’t be slowed.
The time less than twenty seconds dragging out in slow motion when the pick-up spun around on the road, landing in a ditch as the semi slammed on its brakes. The man in the cab’s arms spinning the wheel and cutting left, causing the eighteen wheeler to jackknife as the sound of screeching rubber echoed in the ears louder than the roar of bikes.
The rows of two were splitting like the Red Sea attempting to save themselves and others as the ass end of the trailer crossed the median into their side of the road.
Mountain’s heart thudded in his chest as the world tunneled in front of him. He slowed, angling around swerving bikes to come to a stop the best he could. His belly forcing up his breakfast as fear had his skin on fire.
Red, on the ditch side of the road, swerved onto the shoulder and around the trailer with Onyx, and Cass disappearing around the now stilled semi blocking the interstate completely. It was Baldy that made his heart stop.
The man was leaning down and taking the skid, lighting up the underside of the truck with sparks then disappearing. Baldy was gone.
Hollywood had cut hard left and slammed into the side of the trailer, taking the brunt of the force like the man used to on the football field.
Hack, behind him cut to the side crashing into the grass of the median.
Mountain prayed it was soft as Hack and his wife were thrown from the bike. Ahead, he saw total destruction. Several bikes were on their sides and people were on the road with smoke billowing from every direction.
He parked his bike on the side of the road and signaled to Cinnamon to get off. Dismounting quickly, he made his way toward the wreck. Running to find out where Baldy and Lil’ Bit were. Voices on the other side of the trailer had him crouching to see the pair had skidded completely underneath and neither were moving.
“Oh my God.”
Crawling under the trailer, he made his way to them. Both were pinned under the motorcycle, Lil’ Bit by her leg, Baldy most of his body.
Lil’ Bit was half on top of Baldy and he wondered if the man had pulled her when he went into the skid. Reaching down, he went for Baldy’s pulse. The man, not wearing a helmet had left a trail of blood and hair on the pavement. Mountain’s fingers went for Baldy’s neck, the bounding beat under the pads gave him hope. Moving on over to Lil’ Bit, he repeated the action and was relieved once again.
“Baldy?” Mountain spoke in more of a hushed whisper than a cry.
Lil’ Bit moaned.
“Don’t move just lay there,” Mountain ordered.
Red, Onyx, Roadkill and Cass were double timing it over to them.
“Kristy,” Cass called to his sister.
Mountain stood to stop them. “Look, they’re both trapped, but have a pulse. I’ll get the bike, you guys do that lifesaving shit you do.”
Red gave him a nod. Red, a trained trauma surgeon, and Roadkill his nurse wife moved around and were stabilizing Baldy’s neck.
“What the fuck you mean you’ve got the bike?” Cass bit out.
“Baldy,” Kristy cried out trying to move and maneuver to somehow help her husband as if any and all pain she was in could be pushed aside.
“Ready?” Mountain asked.
