“Armed?”
Lily hesitated.
Mason answered in a small voice.
“I heard metal when they got out. And one of them said nobody fires unless the bikers turn around.”
The riders went still.
The snow fell harder.
Lily wiped her nose on her sleeve and looked at Bear with desperate urgency.
“You can’t go that way. Please. I know people probably think we’re just street kids making up stories, but we’re not lying. I swear we’re not lying.”
Bear studied her for a long moment.
Most people would have dismissed Lily and Mason Reed.
A homeless teenage girl in a torn coat.
A little boy with a broken flashlight.
Two runaway-looking kids shouting about traps and powerful men.
Frightened children with no proof in their hands.
But Bear had lived long enough to know the difference between drama and warning. Lily’s eyes were not asking for attention. They were begging not to be responsible for ten men dying because no one believed her.
Bear turned to Bishop.
“Lights off. Bikes into the old service pullout.”
Diesel looked at him.
“You believe them?”
Bear did not take his eyes off Lily and Mason.
“I believe their fear.”
Within minutes, the ten motorcycles were rolled silently off the highway and hidden behind a line of bare winter trees near an abandoned service road. The riders worked without unnecessary noise, their big bodies moving with surprising discipline.
Lily watched them with wide eyes, as if she had expected them to argue, laugh, or leave her and Mason behind.
Bear came back to her.
“Show us where you heard them.”
Lily shook her head.
“No bikes. Engines carry under the concrete.”
“We walk.”
Mason looked at the ten men.