Chopper Babe Gets Up


She was burning.


Marisa flapped her hands weakly, trying to put out the flames, and hit only ice-encrusted dirt. How could snow be so hot?


She spat out mud and blood and shoved herself shakily to hands and knees. Her abraded skin felt like it was on fire. Pushing her tangled hair out of her eyes, she looked around for the source of the noise.


The Harley was on its side fifty yards down the road, still running, wheels spinning uselessly, steaming in the cold air. With a groan, Marisa staggered over to kill the engine and the lights. In the darkness, she ran her hands over the chopper’s body, like a doctor feeling for broken bones.

It wouldn’t make Summerhaven. Not tonight.


Whipping around at the new noise, she saw headlights approaching. Marisa drew back against the boulder. They might be looking for her. They might help her. Either way, they’d have gasoline for sure.

She fingered her shotgun uncertainly, and waited.

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