Alone Beneath the Awning
The rain had been falling for three hours when seventeen-year-old Noah Carter realized that he was completely alone.
Not lonely.
Alone.
There was a difference.
Loneliness was a feeling. Noah had known that feeling for years. It came with an empty refrigerator, unpaid bills on the kitchen counter, and the sound of his mother coughing behind a bedroom door.
Being alone was different.
Being alone meant nobody was coming.
That night, Noah stood beneath the rusted awning of a closed gas station on the outskirts of Millhaven, Oregon, watching rainwater race along the gutters like silver snakes.
His backpack was soaked.
His shoes were soaked.
His hoodie was soaked.
And the old bicycle beside him had a broken chain.
Again.
Noah stared at the chain hanging uselessly from the rear wheel.
"Perfect."
He checked his phone.
9:47 p.m.
His shift at Carter's Market had ended almost an hour earlier. He should have been home by now.
His mother would be worried.
She always worried.
Noah picked up the bicycle and pushed it farther beneath the awning.
He could walk the remaining four miles.
He had walked farther.
He had walked through worse.
Millhaven wasn't large enough to be called a city, but it was too spread out to feel like a village. Old factories surrounded the northern edge. A highway cut through the center. Beyond that were forests, farms, and long stretches of empty road.
It was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone.
Except Noah.
At least, that was how it felt.
He had moved there two years earlier with his mother after his father disappeared from their lives.
Noah had never asked where his father went.
His mother had never volunteered the answer.
So Noah learned to keep his questions to himself.
He learned to work.
He learned to study.
He learned to stretch ten dollars into twenty.
He learned that being useful was safer than being noticed.
And, most importantly, he learned not to get involved in other people's problems.
That rule had kept him out of trouble.
Until that night.
A sound came through the rain.
At first Noah thought it was thunder.
Then he heard the engine.
It was deep.
Heavy.
Slow.
A motorcycle appeared at the far end of the road, its single headlight cutting through the curtain of rain.
The machine swerved once.
Then twice.
Noah straightened.
Something was wrong.
The motorcycle crossed the center line.
The rider tried to correct it.
Instead, the bike slid sideways.
Metal scraped against asphalt.
The rider hit the ground.
The motorcycle continued another twenty feet before falling onto its side.
Noah froze.
Every sensible thought in his head told him to stay where he was.
Call the police.
Call an ambulance.
Do not approach a stranger at night.
But the rider wasn't moving.
Noah grabbed his backpack and ran.
Rain struck his face as he crossed the road.
The motorcycle was large, black, and heavily modified. The rider lay several feet away.
He was enormous.
Even lying on the pavement, the man looked intimidating.
He wore a black riding jacket with patches sewn across the back and shoulders.
His helmet had rolled away.
Noah crouched beside him.
"Sir?"
Nothing.
"Sir, can you hear me?"
The man's eyes opened.
Barely.
"Don't..."
His voice was weak.
Noah leaned closer.
"Don't what?"
The man's breathing became shallow.
"Don't... let them..."
Noah looked around.
"Let who?"
Headlights appeared behind them.
Three vehicles.
Noah's stomach tightened.
Two pickup trucks and an old sedan slowed and pulled onto the shoulder.
Doors opened.
Four men stepped out.
Noah stood.
The largest of the four looked at the fallen biker.
Then he looked at Noah.
"Move."
Noah didn't.
The man took another step.
"I said move."
Noah's heart began pounding.
He was seventeen.
The man approaching him looked thirty-five.
There were three others behind him.
Noah looked down at the biker.
The stranger was trying to sit up.
He couldn't.
"Is he your friend?" Noah asked.
The large man smiled.
"No."
Something about that answer frightened Noah more than anything else.
The man continued walking.
Noah stepped backward.
"Then why are you here?"
"That's none of your business."
Noah looked at the road.
There was no traffic.
No houses nearby.
No open businesses.
No one coming.
He reached into his pocket.
His phone.
The man noticed.
"Put it away."
Noah's fingers tightened around it.
"I'm calling for help."
The man laughed.
"You don't understand."
Maybe he didn't.
Maybe he should have run.
Maybe he should have listened.
But then Noah heard something behind him.
A weak voice.
"Kid..."
Noah looked down.
The biker was staring at him.
There was fear in the man's eyes.
Not fear for himself.
Fear for Noah.
That changed everything.
Noah stepped between the biker and the approaching men.
His knees were shaking.
His voice wasn't.
"You're going to have to get through me."
The men stopped.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then the largest man laughed.
"You?"
Noah swallowed.
"Yeah."
"You think you're some kind of hero?"
"No."
Noah raised his phone.
"I'm just calling 911."
The man's smile disappeared.
"Hand me the phone."
"No."
One of the other men stepped forward.