ACT ONE/SCENE #3 WE MEET KATE
IN ACT ONE/SCENE #2 Lorenzo Lamas and Branscombe Richmond have finally made it to Spanky’s Café. Nearly frozen by the sudden drop in temperature after the sun sets, they’re rescued by Kate when she throws them a lit highway flare giving them an illuminated path to the café’s door.
Since leaving Talbot (Talbot left them at noon to drive a tanker truck filled with diesel fuel back to Hanover’s facility) they’ve spent the rest of the day riding northwest at top speed towards a location west of Bridgeport California near the entrance to the Hoover Wilderness. It’s where Hanover, by triangulating the AM signal, was able to find the location of Spanky’s Café and where KWOP Kate was broadcasting.
Lorenzo and Branscombe have also learned that while daytime’s shadows are normal; nighttime’s shadows have another layer of shadow that piggybacks itself on top of the normal shadow. This layer of shadow is far below freezing in temperature but when subjected to light it retreats, flowing back off the normal shadow.
It was literally a photo finish as to whether they’d survive the ordeal and it cost them their bikes, but they’ve made it to Spanky’s. Kate has helped them into the café and has seated them in front of a fireplace with a warm fire. Branscombe and Lorenzo immediately fall into an exhausted sleep. It won’t be until late the next morning they’ll awaken thawed enough to say thank you.
“We are no other than a moving row
Of Magic Shadow-shapes that come and go
Round with the Sun-illumined Lantern held
In Midnight by the Master of the Show…”
By: Omar Khayyam…RUBAIYAT
FADE IN: We’d made it thanks to Branscombe’s drill sergeant training and the fire we made by burning the Indian Chief and the Dyna Wide Glide. Both motorcycles had served us well but had to be sacrificed, ultimately burned for the light to fight the freezing darkness. They deserved a better fate then becoming just burnt offerings.
At the end of our ride our rescuer had been Kate, the woman broadcasting the KWOP signal from Spanky’s Café. Tall with blond hair turning to a salt n’ pepper gray; she looked to be in her late forties, the quintessential Frederick Remington painting of the pioneer woman. After being seated in a pair of soft leather chairs in front of a warm fireplace, Branscombe and I fell into an exhausted sleep. It was now near noon of the next day and we were just awakening. Kate was quietly sitting in another chair just off to our side. Had she been there all night? My guess was she had more than her folded hands under the raggedy wool blanket that was covering her lap.
“Sorry to cut it so close but I was down to my last highway flare,” Kate sounded the same as she did on the radio and her raggedy wool blanket had somehow shifted to where it was pointing at us, “otherwise I would’ve have thrown it sooner. Having said that, I’d appreciate you two keeping your hands where I can see them, making no sudden moves and staying in your chairs until we get to know one another a little better. Coffee’s going to take awhile anyway.”
“Coffee sounds good;” I made a point of stretching slowly at the same time keeping my hands in full view; sudden moves weren’t on my agenda.
Branscombe made a point of stretching so slowly I thought he was doing Tai Ch, “Coffee can never be rushed and besides it’ll take the rest of the morning for us thaw out; my name’s Branscombe.”
“Name’s Kate,” Kate said, at the same time she stood up to the whistle of boiling water, “and I wish the coffee were fresh. I sold my last sack and I haven’t ground any more.”
When the blue porcelain pot behind the counter whistled Kate was deliberate in her walk across the floor to take it off the burner. She was also quite deliberate about holding something next to her and on the side away from us. It wasn’t until she turned the corner at the end and went behind the counter that she laid it on top and I could see it was a .44 magnum Ruger Redhawk.
“Your stuff’s on the couch in the corner. Last night you boys went out like lights as soon as your butts hit those chairs. I went through your stuff when you were asleep. Interestingly neither one of you had any identification, no driver’s license or credit cards; so who are you?”
“We’re federal investigators from…”
I interrupted Branscombe, “We’re federal prisoners that were released from a minimum security facility north of Las Vegas to find you. We heard your broadcast a few nights ago and were able to triangulate its location by…”
“I know,” interrupted Kate, “I was just talking with Hanover. He told me what’s happened across the country; he said if you were honest in your answers I should trust you.”
“Hey, we’re called trusties for a reason,” Branscombe’s attempt at humor seemed unappreciated by Kate who’d just moved her hand a little closer to the Ruger.
“Before you shoot us at least hear what we’ve got to say,” I’d gotten up from the chair, careful to keep my hands in sight, and walked to the end of the counter opposite the end where Kate was standing.
It took awhile but I told her everything that had happened at Hanover’s solar energy facility including them finding one of their staff dead looking like a Slim Jim piece of jerky. Branscombe then told her what had happened when he’d touched the edge of nighttime’s shadow and how we raced to get here before the sun set.
“Hanover also said you were armed; I didn’t find any weapons,” Kate had taken her eyes off Branscombe and was looking directly at me.
“Mine’s behind my back,” I said being careful to keep my hands on the counter, “tucked in my belt.”
“Mine’s in my hand, but is going back behind my back,” said Branscombe as he tucked his recently drawn Colt Delta behind his back.
Before Kate could respond I countered, “Coffee’s getting cold and I figure if we were all going to shoot each other we would’ve done it by now.”
Branscombe had gotten up and had walked over to where Kate was standing, “Got any sugar to go with that coffee?”
Kate put the Ruger behind the counter like it was a misplaced menu and came back holding a large crock pot full of honey.
“God, do you know how long,” Branscombe was drooling, “it’s been since I’ve tasted honey?”
“I’ve a theory,” said Kate, “about what’s happened since the EMP attack, but first I’ve something to show you. It’s out back.”
“…that’ll wait until we’ve had breakfast, admittedly a late breakfast,” Branscombe said, having already gone behind the counter, rolled up his sleeves and put on an apron. “How do you want your eggs?”
Branscombe was breaking eggs before anyone could answer and from the looks of it everyone was going to have scrambled.
“Make mine scrambled,” said Kate trying not to grin.
“Mine too,” I laughed, and then asked seriously. “Did Hanover when he was talking with you happen to mention if Bishop and Murphy made it back; did Talbot make it back with the diesel tanker?”
“Talbot did make it back with the tanker;” Kate was equally serious, “but Bishop and Murphy haven’t been heard from since their last transmission. Hanover also said he and Doc Niven have a theory about what may have happened when the EMPs went off.” Kate paused to pour us more coffee, then continued, “I’ve a theory too.”
“What’s your theory based on;” I asked, “no offence intended, but you’re a disk jockey, a restaurant owner?”
“My theory’s based upon over twenty years of heading up a top secret government laboratory studying what the effects of Earth’s magnetic lines of force and gravity have on time…and no offense taken.”
“Kate, you’re saying you were actually the head of a top secret laboratory studying what the effects of the Earth’s magnetic lines of force have on time?”
“Yes; the laboratory’s about fifty miles from here and located over the largest quartz deposit ever found on this planet, and that’s Doctor Kate to you…just kidding. I gave up titles five years ago when I bought this place and moved away from research that had to be filtered through bureaucracy.”
Branscombe had just dished us up a generous portion of scrambled eggs when he said, “You’re a bit young for early retirement; how’d you manage it? Government pensions are meager on their best days.”
“They are meager, but supplemented by the royalties from my father’s patents it was enough to buy this combination café and radio station.
“So what is,” I was careful to not again get egg, pun intended, on my face when I asked, “your theory?”
“The Sierra Nevada mountain range is,” answered Kate, “home to the world’s largest vein of quartz. Quartz can under the right circumstances make the perfect capacitor.”
“And the EMPs,” Branscombe interjected, “would’ve been the perfect source of electrical energy.”
“Monstrously perfect sources, so much so the EMPs changed the molecular alignment of a large section of the quartz; that section could now not only store electrical charges but induce them in the atmosphere.”
“That would explain,” I said, “the sudden lightning storms in and around the Sierras. Hanover said there was one the night his staff member died; he said it came on suddenly and without warning and lasted only a few minutes.”
“That would also explain,” Branscombe added, “why your broadcast was suddenly cut off.”
“This huge vein of quartz, once the polarity of its molecules were aligned by the EMPs,” continued Kate, “became in essence a three hundred mile long crystal acting as a gigantic capacitor.
“By using electrical storms as a source of energy this three hundred mile capacitor could when it was fully charged be triggered to discharge by the next electrical storm. In essence, once this three hundred mile long crystal reached its storage limit it could be discharged by the next lightning strike. By inducing or creating an environment for electrical storms the crystal was able to replenish its charge. In essence it defines the term perpetual motion.”
“So what’s the problem? So we have a few more storms,” I interjected, “in the mountains; the farmers could use the snow pack.”
“Probably no problem, except that…”
“Except what;” Branscombe interrupted, “what’s the punch line?”
“…except that,” continued Kate, “the crystal’s discharges, while they’re incredibly powerful, have yet to reach their full potential.”
“…and when they do,” It was my turn to interrupt, “what happens?”
“As of now these discharges are only for a short time and at a resonant frequency sympathetic to the magnetic lines of force surrounding Earth. Gravitational waves are also sympathetic to Earth’s magnetic lines of force so when the discharges occur they’re both temporarily knocked out of phase. It’s when the two are discordant and in the process of harmonizing that rifts or pathways into alternate realities are opened. So far these rifts are open only for a few minutes, but I’ve been measuring them and they’re staying open longer as more of the three hundred mile long crystal is aligned. As the capacitor grows, the rifts stay open longer.”
“How long before the crystal is completely aligned?”
Branscombe may have been a sergeant in the Marine Corp but it was by choice and not because he hadn’t gone to college. He’d earned a full scholarship to the University of Hawaii in physics and was a month from graduating with honors when he was activated to go to Bosnia. He could’ve accepted a commission, stayed in school and gotten his degree but chose instead to go with his unit. I wasn’t surprised he was able to not only follow Kate’s theory but ask questions about it.
“To appreciate what I’m about to tell you,” Kate had turned to look out the window, “you must accept as fact the Universe not only believes in, practices, but is the embodiment of Feng Shui and it will do whatever it must to maintain equilibrium. To put it bluntly, the Universe will never allow discordant, inharmonious conditions to exist.”
“Are you saying it’s conscious?”
Kate looked at me as if I’d spoken the obvious, “so much so it created…”
Before Kate could finish we were interrupted by the kettledrum booming of something pounding on metal.
“And that my honored guests,” Kate was already walking out the backdoor of the café, “is the surprise I wanted to show you. Follow me; oh, and someone hand me that pot of coffee.”
I was closest someone so I grabbed the pot, handed it to Kate and then followed the two of them outside. Late morning sunlight had traced silhouettes of Sugar Pine branches on our path using their shadows for paint. These were daytime shadows and of no threat.
The path led down a small incline then up the other side, ending at an archway leading into the ruins of what was left of a stone building. Attached to the archway was a large metal door still on its hinges and shut. Amend that to almost shut; whatever was doing the pounding was on the other side and had already pushed it open a couple of inches.
Kate was reading our minds, “Put away your guns; stand near me and stay clear of the door.”
Kate had trapped someone’s shadow behind the door
“Kate honey,” it was my grandmother’s voice coming from behind the door promising freshly baked chocolate chip cookies if I’d just let her out, “is that you? Honey, I could’ve caught my death in here last night. If you and your two friends could just give me a hand…”
“Don’t!”
I’d already walked over and grabbed the edge of the door and was in the process of letting my grandmother out when Kate yelled her warning.
“Ah, my favorite grandson, now if you could just…” came from behind the door and I could even smell freshly baked cookies mixed with the universal smell all grandmothers have, “…give me your hand, together we could open…”
Kate’s pot of hot coffee hit the door the same time my grandmother’s hand reached out to touch mine. Except my grandmother’s hand was about size of a small shovel and had fingers that looked like spider legs. Something big enough to match the size of the suddenly withdrawn hand moved swiftly back from the other side of the door at the same time Kate’s coffee splattered against and through its opening. I was splashed a little but not burned.
“Ouch! That hurt,” came from the side the hand was on, but from the voice of a woman teacher I didn’t like in high school. “Kate, you know I wouldn’t have hurt him.”
“You promised,” answered Kate, “you were going to behave yourself. Trying to grab strangers doesn’t seem like good behavior to me; I thought we had a deal?”
“We do; it’s just that I haven’t hugged anyone for awhile and,” and it was my grandmother’s voice again mixed with the smell of chocolate chip cookies, “I just wanted to give my favorite grandson a hug.”
“Who’s,” I asked, “in there; or should I say…?”
“You mean what’s in there?” Branscombe interjected.
“It’s someone’s shadow; last night you two inadvertently became the bait that captured him,” Kate answered as if she’d just told us it was a local PTA member.
A mental image of Hanover’s staff member being found looking like beef jerky made me wonder if maybe he’d gotten a big hug from his granny and what about Kate’s judgment in making deals with shadows. And why was it so afraid of Kate’s coffee; it recoiled from it like it was acid? What coffee splashed on me was relatively cool. The fact that Branscombe and I had inadvertently become the bait that trapped it behind this metal door demanded answers, at least to what kind of deal Kate had made with it.
“What kind of deal,” Branscombe asked the question before I could, “did you make with this thing?”
“He’s agreed to quit giving people hugs; he’s also agreed to return to the world he came from if in return I agree to allow him to…”
“…if you agree to do what for him in return?”
“…if I agree to let him become my shadow after we get to his world; his host, the person that cast him, was lost trying to get here. After the EMPs opened a portal to our world his host discovered he could get here by following a road that parallels the portal and ends behind this metal door.”
Behind the metal door were the ruins of a stone building; behind the ruins were hills. There was no road or even a path, nothing but the beginnings of a steep slope.
“That’s impossible;” I felt I should point out what was obvious, “there’s nothing behind this door but ruins, and nothing behind these ruins but hills.”
Kate continued as if I’d simply not looked carefully enough, “The portal follows a road four miles long and it stays open for two minutes. The shadow’s host didn’t make it through in time before it closed, his shadow did. When he arrived here he changed into the creature you saw behind the door. He wants only to return to his own world.”
“Can’t he wait for a storm then follow the road back?”
“Because he’ll need a host once he gets there; everyone in his world, as in ours, has a shadow. Without a host he’ll become what he is now, only there.”
Remembering back to when the shovel size hand reached for me, “Does this shadow thing look anything like what would’ve belonged to the hand that reached for me from behind the door?”
“Only in our world which ends ten feet into the ruins; after that we’re in the portal and he’ll simply become my shadow.”
Branscombe looked first at me then towards Kate, “You use the word ‘we’re’ as if somehow Lorenzo and I are part of this deal. But pretend for a moment we do agree to go with you; out of curiosity, how were you planning to travel four miles in two minutes. Assuming there really is a road behind this door, the door’s too narrow for a car and our bikes are ashes. Neither of them would’ve been fast enough. Lorenzo’s Wide Glide might’ve squeaked out the required speed but that would’ve been on its best day and not with you as a passenger. My Indian was only good for about 110 mph.”
Kate laughed, “You’ll go because you’re as curious as I am to visit an alternate reality. Neither of you would’ve agreed to Hanover’s offer for just the erasing of your records; you agreed because you wanted to know what’d happened. Well now’s your chance. In answer to your second question, two motorcycles were left in my barn about a month ago. Both riders arrived at dusk right after the sun set. I didn’t hear them coming until they were only about a hundred yards from the café. It wasn’t until the next morning I found out why I hadn’t been able to hear them until they were nearly here.”
“Maybe,” I said, “they were trying to conserve gas and coasted the last mile?”
“Kate looked at me as if I were her worst student, “Good guess but no cigar. The next morning I discovered that their tire tracks came from the other side of the metal door and ended in front of the café. Somehow the two of them, without the benefit of an electrical storm, were able to ride through the portal, open the door and arrive here right after sunset.”
“So what,” I wanted to be Kate’s best student, “happened after they arrived; what did they look like?”
If I had to describe them I’d say the tall lanky one looked like a rough around the edges version of the actor Randolph Scott. The other one, the one called Larry, looked like the actor Jackie Earle Haley. They were met a few minutes later by a man driving a ’40 Ford sedan; he came by way of the road you two came on. The two riders then asked me if they could store their motorcycles; I didn’t see any harm so I took them out to the barn to show them where.
“When we returned to the café they had a bowl of my stew. They were polite but in a hurry and stayed only long enough after they’d eaten to buy a bag of my blended coffee. One of them, the one called Larry, said it was just for my special blend they’d traveled here. I don’t know if it’s all that special; all I know is that my customers like it and that I’ve been mixing it for myself long before I bought this café. My stew’s good, if I do say so, but they acted as if they’d discovered the Holy Grail when they found I had one more bag. The ingredients to make more of it are stored in the kitchen; I just need to make time to mix them together.”
“Did the driver,” it was Branscombe’s turn to ask a question, “of the ’40 Ford go with the three of you to the barn; did he ever get out of his car?”
“No; he just sat in the driver’s seat with this big smile on his face waiting for the two to finish their stew. Speaking of big, this guy was huge. His head had to have touched the roof of the car…and…and I know this sounds impossible, but when he smiled at me with his ‘it’s all going to be ok smile’ I could’ve sworn bubbles floated out of his mouth.
“Like the bubbles,” it was Branscombe’s turn again, “coming out of someone who’s underwater?”
“Like,” and I could tell Kate didn’t want to believe what she’d seen, “the front seat area of the Ford had been sealed to hold in water like an aquarium. When they left Larry and the one that looked like Randolph Scott made a point of opening only the back doors getting into the car; I never saw anyone open the front doors.”
“Did the two riders,” Branscombe wasn’t taking turns any longer, “say anything else?”
“Not that much, just that they liked the stew and wished they didn’t have to rush off. Oh, and the one called Larry commented on the dreamcatcher hanging behind the counter and asked if I’d made it. When I told him it was a design my grandmother had taught me and that she’d also taught me the recipe for the coffee blend, he just smiled like my answer to his question answered another question he’d been wondering about for a long time. The other one, the tall one, seemed to be in more of a hurry and said the driver was on a tight schedule and that if they were to get over Sonora Pass before it got too cold they needed to leave now.”
“Did they say,” I was going to ask my question before Branscombe could ask another, “where they had to be and why they were in such a hurry?”
“They said they had to be in Mariposa before dawn, the chocolate factory near Mariposa, which didn’t make sense. The only chocolate factory in that area is the old 1800s Ghirardelli chocolate factory in the tiny gold rush town of Hornitos and it’s nothing but a collapsed stone building similar to the one here; the place has been in ruins for over a hundred years. As to why they were in such a hurry; they just said the driver was on the clock.”
Kate was right about curiosity being the real reason Branscombe and I had agreed to Hanover’s offer. Speaking of curiosity, I was curious to see what kind of motorcycles had been left in Kate’s garage. They’d have to be ones that could, if my math was correct, reach speeds that would cover four miles in two minutes. Not only that, they’d have to be able to do it with two aboard.
Kate continued our walk which led us to a large barn. Weathered in color and right out of a Kansas prairie painting, it was surrounded by dozens of old farm trucks dating back to the 1920s. Adjoining the barn in the rear and covered with an extended roof was an equally large patio.
Both bikes were on the patio parked next to old trucks that in turn had been parked next to small trees in cement containers. The bikes were a model I’d never seen before on the street or in the shops.
“Lorenzo, these were the bikes I was telling you about. When they first came out in ’08 they were critiqued in cycle magazines for being more ‘Go’ than ‘Show’. In fact more than a few of the magazines called them ugly; one magazine editor even used the word grotesque.”
“Hey, I can live with ugly if they’ll get us up to speeds high enough, amend that to high enough for the three of us, to travel four miles in two minutes. I’ll take a built for ‘Go’ bike over a built for ‘Show’ bike anytime. What’s it called?”
“The Raider,” answered Branscombe, “and like the Yamaha Road Warrior it ‘never’, if you read the technical reviews, was designed to be a Harley wannabe. In fact Tatsuya Watanabe, the man who designed the Warrior, was a key advisor in its design. With dual front brakes, an aluminum frame, radial tires, and a monstrously modern 113ci V-twin engine with four valves per cylinder; the Raider is by definition anti-Harley. It’s definitely not, and may they rest in peace, your Wide Glide or my Indian. I’ve no way of telling but except for their SuperTrapps they both appear stock.”
“Will stock be fast enough?”
In prison Branscombe was known as the ‘man’ not to mess with; ironically he was also known as the ‘man’ to see if you had a technical question…sort of like a geeky godfather. He seemed pretty sure when he answered, “Stock statistics put the Raider at near 125 mph; with these SuperTrapps my guess is their top speed will be an easy 130 mph, probably higher.”
“But can they do that with two aboard and can they get up to those speeds quickly enough?”
“Yes, but we’ll need an edge; I’ll disconnect their rev limiters. Like I said, the reviews, even the ones that said the Raider was ugly, gave it an A+ in power; we can’t risk any of that power being choked off by the EPA.”
IN ACT 1/SCENE #3 Lorenzo and Branscombe have agreed to help Kate in her search for answers. Shadows of lost people looking to find other people to attach themselves to, a three hundred mile long crystal turned capacitor that can when discharged punch passageways into alternate realities; what could be better mysteries. Their first problem, a mystery in its own right, is can the two bikes Kate’s given them to use get to the speeds required to travel four miles in two minutes? It’s the time needed to cross the passageway.
Cool won’t cut it and as much as Lorenzo and Branscombe miss their Harley Wide Glide and Indian Chief they now need something monstrously metric with power up the kazoo. Kate’s given them two Yamaha Raiders, bikes Lorenzo has never seen or heard of before. Branscombe swears they have more than enough if unleashed and will work on remapping their computer chips so they can run at maximum without being choked off by a rev limiter. At the same time Branscombe’s working on the remaps, Lorenzo will be checking to see each bike is fueled and as mechanically perfect as it can be. Kate’s headed back to the café to gather the things she says will be essential once they get to the alternate reality, the world the shadow behind the door has agreed to take them to if Kate agrees to let him be her shadow once she gets there.
There was the Door to which I found no Key:
There was the Veil through which I could not see:
Some little talk awhile of ME and THEE
There was…and then no more of ME and THEE
By: Omar Khayyam…RUBAIYAT
FADE IN: Branscombe and I have agreed to accompany Kate on her adventure. Probably not the most prudent decision but one in retrospect we’d make again. The question before us was would the motorcycles Kate’s given us be fast enough to travel the four mile passageway in two minutes. Two minutes would be all the time the passageway between the alternate realities, our two worlds, would remain open.
“So when,” I asked, “is the crystal going to discharge; what’s your forecast?”
“Based on the time between past discharges and by the look of the growing cloud formations west of here,” answered Kate, “I’d say we’ve two hours.”
“That’ll give me more than enough time to see if the chips have been remapped and if not I’ll do the remap myself providing you’ve the right tools.”
Kate grabbed Branscombe’s arm at the same time she pointed down the hill towards the café, “The instruments you’ll need to download and read the data are in the studio adjoining the café. When you’re ready let me know if you want my help; in the mean time I’m going to go put together the stuff we’ll need for our journey.”
Branscombe had done his home work and without any trouble unplugged the chip assembly from each bike. He then took it to the workroom adjoining the café. Fueling, adjusting drive belts and making sure tire pressures were correct was my job and I was able to finish at almost the same time Branscombe and Kate returned; Kate was carrying a fully stuffed backpack. The two hours were nearly gone and the approaching storm was on schedule and overhead.
“You two go get the bikes and meet me at the metal door; I need to, unfortunately, get ready to do one more necessary thing.”
Branscombe and I watched Kate walk down the path then stop a few feet from the metal door.
“Kate’s got the lead on this;” I said, “let’s just hope she knows what she’s doing and has all her bases covered.”
With the chips installed the bikes started without hesitation. Seconds later we’d ridden them the short distance down the path to where Kate was standing.
“Don’t bother getting off.” Kate was now our leader. “I’ll open the door and follow you inside. Once inside it’ll appear we’re in a tunnel that ends ten feet in front of us; it’s in fact the beginning of a four mile stretch of road that parallels the passageway and will lead us to the alternate reality. Don’t confront the shadow; he’ll try to make eye contact, resist the temptation. Oh, I almost forgot; all ships, your motorcycles in our case, must be christened before they’re launched and so with the authority vested in me…I do…”
Kate had brought with her a gallon milk carton filled with her special blend of coffee and without hesitation poured it over the three of us soaking us to our skins. Thankfully it was at room temperature. Immediately after the christening we heard the thunder.
“That lightning,” Kate had already pried open the metal door and was ushering Branscombe and I to ride our bikes through the opening, “will be the straw that breaks the camel’s back and induce the crystal to discharge; we’ve seconds to get inside and get ready before the passageway opens and our two minute window begins.”
Raiders are enigmas, longer and with more rake than either my Softail or the Wide Glide, mine oddly seemed lighter and more balanced; maybe it was because of its aluminum frame? There was no question it had more power, whether it would be enough was another question.
From daylight to near blackness, we passed through the doorway; it was hard not to look for the shadow. A glimpse of it grinning at us made me wish I’d followed Kate’s advice.
“Get ready;” Kate was standing behind Branscombe, “you’ll know the crystal’s discharged when the road appears before you. And if you haven’t already guessed the shadow hates the taste of my coffee.”
“Does his friend, the one in the corner, hate it too?”
Kate answered, “I wondered when your better half would make his grand entrance,” and then blew a hole through the bottom of her backpack with her .44 magnum. Had we been the bait to lure that thing out of hiding; she’d been pointing her backpack at the corner since she’d closed the door behind us. Almost as deafening as the noise of the pistol was the noise that followed. What followed was the sound of the crystal discharging. At the same time the crystal discharged a road appeared at the end of tunnel. It was incredible, like someone had turned on some type of holographic or 3-D movie and was projecting it against the tunnel wall. Nearly as incredible was Kate’s Annie Oakley shot in near darkness. Behind us was what Kate had called the better half slumped in the corner; it had a hole through the center of its forehead that matched the hole in her packpack and it didn’t look the better for it.
The shadow was fading away like smoke, “How… did you know my host was here, in here with me…how?
Kate’s answer was to jump on the back of Branscombe’s bike, grab him around the waist and shout, “Punch it!”
To fifty, and I’m being generous, my Wide Glide might’ve held its own with the Raider; from fifty onward the Raider was, except for the Road Warrior, like no other V-twin I’d ever ridden. Top speed became a relative term when we began to encountered dips and rises in the otherwise perfectly straight road. Branscombe, just ahead of me and to my left with Kate clinging tightly to him, would become airborne on some of them; only the severest dips were slowing him down.
Fourth and fifth gears are the Raider’s trump cards with fifth being as high as sixth in other bikes. My speedometer at one time read over 130 mph and I had no doubt there was more. Whether that speed was accurate, I couldn’t be sure; the stock 210mm rear tires had been exchanged for 240mm. Squeezing the 240mm onto the stock rims had made them taller and gave them a guesstimate width of around 225mm; it had also given them a more rounded less flat profile. In corners that meant a bit more lean angle and contact with the road.
Once or twice I glanced at the gray land paralleling us then no more; it was too depressing. It reminded me of a picture I once saw of Hiroshima taken right after the atom bomb had been dropped; this was a panoramic print of that picture but with more devastation. Caught in the whirlpools of dust devils were clouds of ash that swirled around the skeletons of buildings that extended out as far as the horizon. Was this one of our alternate realities? For a moment I felt like Charles Dickens’ Ebenezer Scrooge being shown the future by the third Christmas ghost.
More than ninety seconds through our two minute ride the undulations disappeared and our road leveled. Suddenly things were less gray, less desolate then suddenly we were surrounded by grassland; we’d crossed some type of border so fast we didn’t even know it. Speaking of fast, Kate’s added weight wasn’t slowing Branscombe; his speed was increasing. Could he have programmed vitamins into his remap?
Would the Raiders have come close to 140 mph? We’d never find out; looming ahead was an elevated highway. To reach it the end our road had become a sweeping on-ramp. Down to our final fifteen seconds, Branscombe wasn’t slowing. Maybe it was to compensate for the 100 foot rise in elevation to reach the highway or maybe it was because we were nearly out of time. Whatever the reason, we’d be testing the limits of the Raider’s radial tires in fifth gear and full out. There’d be no room for mistakes…no prisoners…
Our bikes were leaned so far over their pegs were dragging the blacktop pretending they were my brother running around our backyard with a Fourth of July sparkler. At the inside of the curve I looked back; I could’ve been looking at farmland in Anywhere U.S.A. Looking forward again I was able to see Branscombe’s Raider thread the needle between a truck and the guardrail. Had the truck an extra coat of paint it would’ve hit them; it was coming straight for us. Our on-ramp was an off-ramp and our two minutes ended just as we entered the freeway at 120 mph …the wrong way.
