One Helluva Ride

"Hey, dude, did I ever tell you about the time I met probably the raddest chick I've ever met? No? What do you mean no?! Ahh hell, well, dude, like, legit; you want to hear this story. It'll only take a minute, jeeze, undo that pinched panty and grab me a beer, will you? Well, it was a few months ago, while you and Lina were off only doing only God knows what, ehh, ehh~...Ow! Anyway, I was sent by the GOA to Nevada to investigate some weird shit. Like, I didn't believe them at first, but, man, it was bananas. So..."

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The moon was high that summer night, cold swept through the dusty plains like a wave, crashing and kicking up dust to certainly rattle the bones of anyone currently within. The stretch of Highway was empty, quiet, only until the silence was broken by the howl of the swift motorcycle that ran swiftly along the concrete. A matte-yellow Kawasaki Ninja ZX-14R zoomed along the dead stretch of road, its passenger dawned in a form-fitting leather jacket with thick, dark denim jeans, boots rode up his ankles to prevent any accidental burns should the limbs connect with the hot engine. The black-standard helmet covered features of the rider, faint music of rock n' roll drummed out from within. The rider seemed to be scanning the area, head occasionally swiveling to have a look around, all before a vibration broke his concentration and saw him come to a stop at the side of the road.

Once the vehicle had come to a full stop, he kicked down the stand, and made sure it was balanced before taking his helmet off of his head with black, matching gloves, shaking short blonde locks free from the coils of helmet hair. A small smile on his face, hissing in air through his teeth with a soft shiver as he pulled out the small, peculiar device from his hip, seeming almost like a cell-phone, yet lacking any features such as a touchscreen and earphone jacks, just a simple flat surface with a place to speak, and a place to hear, as well as a button in the middle, and brought it up to his ear.

"This is Mason...Yeah, I'm here, nothing yet...relax, if something happens, I'll notify you...Yeah, of course...Alright, alright."

And he let out a small grumble, hushed words of discontent towards the other on the opposite line as he took a glance around, "She needs to chill, I swear to..." he paused before finishing, letting out a small chuckle as he tossed the helmet lightly between his hands, looking at it. He thought about buying gifts for a moment, time of year was coming up, and he couldn't help but think upon previous years. Of smiles on peoples faces as they opened gifts. He went all out last year, and he was planning on doing it again this year. Something special. Still, he seemed to have work, and soon enough he was sitting upon his bike again. "Rogue Biker Gang? I don't know why they sent me, but..." he shrugged and pulled the earbuds back up from the center of his jacket to his ears. An actual phone was produced from a zipper pocket, and the music app was opened. After a few presses of the skip button, he nodded and grinned wide. After it started, his helmet was put back on, and strapped before speeding off. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nhPaWIeULKk)

It seemed like hours the Blonde drove, keeping his eyes sharp as the roads winded along, among the mesa and desert foliage. The occasional billboard made him chuckle with their hilarious ads (perhaps only to him) and for a moment, he wondered if this rumor was going nowhere. The report of a particular stretch of the highway being 'haunted' by something that threatened the livelihood of its potential travelers seemed off the wall. Just how many? Survivors never said that number. But it was a B Class mission, easy peasy.

And so he continued on, the openness of the road narrowing as he started to pass along the highway, becoming enclosed by the surrounding Mesa for quite a lovely backdrop, yet the area darkened as the tall, craggy structures blocked rays from the moon from entering. It was dark, save for the headlight of the motorcycle, and he kept a tight grip upon the handlebars. But, it seemed like another driver was taking the route with him, as lights from behind approached. His head turned slightly, only able to the see the signs of a headlight, and the approaching speed. Blinkers flipped on, and soon enough, he moved to the other lane to let this person pass, their hour was probably on fire or something. But, he took note; firstly of the singular bulb that illuminated this other rider...then the multitude that came after, lighting up the road like the sun.

"What the..." Mason has to react, swerving out of the way as a sudden object came hurtling towards him, teetering into the other side of the road, his headlight illuminating the rusted pipe for a moment before it bounces violently backwards and back into the darkness. The lights moved out, spreading apart, and soon started to gain in speed. He had to move out of the way, bikes speeding in front of him, leaving a trail of black smoke from decrepit exhaust pipes. They were rusted, damaged seemingly beyond repair, ranging from bullet holes to horrific dents that seemed lock the legs of their riders to their seats, not that they were any better looking. One of the bikers rode up next to Mason, in rags that were once a uniform of one of the local gangs, ripped to shreds by what seemed to be an accident, and he was sure when he saw the rotten, dented in face of the rider. Hey, at least he had his helmet on, but he wasn't concerned about that, more so by the rear back of an arm, with another pipe being swung his way.

"Shit!" he swerved again to the side, colliding and bumping back against another to his flank, who now attempted to thrust a blade into the sunshine child's side. Of course, the general unbalance saw that difficult, and with Mason's own leg lifting up and delivering a hard kick to the gas-tank of the ruined Harley, it only served to see that one veer right into the rocky wall, and disappear in a matter of seconds into the darkness. So, this is what they were talking about, his head looking back to make sure it was gone, only to be blinded by the lights of the box this ghoulish gang had him in. Two in the back to force him forward, two in the front to keep him from speeding up, and at the moment, one to his right that started to move towards him for round two. The pipe came down, but Mason wasn't about to become the next roadkill for these goons. A shimmering aura surrounded him arm, like fireflies, swirling quickly and with his arm leaving the handlebars to block the pipe, metal met a golden shield, opaque for him to see through. It couldn't tell if the damn thing hissed at him, but he swung his arm to parry to pipe away, then tilted his bike towards him to push him to the road, and flying back into the wall of bikers behind him. But it seemed like there was just no end to them.

When one fell, it seemed almost like two would replace that one. Shield was replaced for the golden construct of his own pipe, dragging it along the asphalt, particles sparking behind him. And so he fought, along this dark and twisting road, bashing bikers, and taking a few hits himself, even losing his helmet to the darkness. Eyes teared up from the speed of the wind, and his hair flailed frantically from the same effect. And eventually, he made a miscalculation. He swung and missed, the new replacement coiling a chain around his arm, and pulling violently, causing him to shout into the air, being lost behind him, and as he tried to get his arm back, his opposite was gripped and pulled from the handlebar, gripped by the leather-clad hand of another biker, the speed of the bikes now forcing his movement. The front was parted, moving towards the back of the pack as it revealed that the road was opening up, to a turn along the canyon ahead. They were going to throw him off, another number to join the ranks of these fiends. He tugged desperately, blue eyes looking towards imminent doom, and he gritted his teeth, shutting his eyes and bracing.

But a new noise caused him to open them. An engine roaring, much like his own, and his head pulling up to the rocky wall as it seemed his time was not yet up. Another motorcycle flew overhead, from jumping off one of the overhead Mesas, falling down on the biker to his left. His arm was freed, this rogue biker seemingly clad in all black; bike, tightly leather jacket, gloves, helmet, the whole nine. And now brandishing what seemed to be a machete. He thought this was just another of this gang, and got ready to fight them off, but to his surprise, the rider killed speed only to maneuver to the chain holding him from freedom, and sliced through it with remarkable strength. But he didn't have time to gawk, for as the moonlit drop to his doom approached, and he had very little time to react. He gripped the handlebars and twisted hard to the left to follow the road, himself and this mysterious ally of his skidding along the road with just enough time to avoid it, as soon enough, the legion of bikers didn't follow, simply plummeting through the guardrail and over the cliff. His head was tilted back to watch, only to look at the rider to his right, eyes widening at the sight. It was a female, if only told by the tight clothing that curved around her legs, and black hair that waved behind her in the wind. The helmet blocked her face, the head turning slightly to look at him, features unseen within behind the visor. It seemed like Mason was about to mouth thank you, smiling despite bruises, but her reaction made him pause.

Her head turned back, herself suddenly swerving towards the edge of the road, while he did the same; as one biker seemed to hold a grudge for his lost prize. It pulled up between the two, trying to knock Mason off it seemed with a wood bat, adorned in barbed wire and nails, rusted over by years of blood that stained the wood and metal. He was large, muscles exposed from torn flesh, and white bearded face held tattoos that showed that this was clearly not a mindless ghoul. The festering hate off of this biker could be felt, even to Mason, who narrowed his eyes at the hollow cavities that stared back at him. The bat reared back, aiming to swing again, but before Mason could react, the other did. The machete caught the bat, holding it to grind against the ground, causing the head of the biker to turn towards her with a roar, and with brute force, he rammed into her, causing her to swivel backwards to keep balance. "Hey!" Mason shouted, not realizing the track on his music had kept going, one earbud still in (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jwWmGzxQDY4), and he conjured up another construct, a golden bat to match his foe, head staring with anger, but a grin on his face, "Come on, big boy!"

They rushed towards each other, the only thing preventing collision was the strength of the two men pushing against each other via connected bats, Mason trying to keep and eye on both the road and his foe. They pushed apart, and he bent backwards under a swing of the grotesques bat, only to retaliate with a quick swat of his own bat to the ghoul's side. It seemed unphased, getting ready for another swing, but the roar of another engine, followed by pops of an exhaust as it compensated for the speed-up caused its head to turn only to see the machete's blade slash into its side. It let out its own horrific noise, now swinging at her, who moved to the side to avoid the swing now aimed her way. This allowed Mason to veer towards him, and deliver a blow to the back of the head, but it seemed almost ineffective, simply angering the beast, who was now stuck in a battle on two fronts. It was tough, seeming to shrug off the magic bat and blade with ease, madly flailing its bat in an attempt to stop them. But it seemed that this winding road was just as dangerous to battle on. The female looked forward, pointing her machete forward, and Mason's gut dropped. Another sharp turn, with a sloped rock angled into the abyss below. The road was going to curve into a U, but the mindless speed that they were all going at was going to spell certain doom.

He growled softly, not noticing as the bat made contact with his arm, rusted metal and points penetrating his jacket and into his arm. He cried out, looking at it as this ghoul was going to win its prey, letting out a gurgling laugh. It sped up, and Mason did as well to avoid getting his arm torn, but rather than leave him to fate, the black rider pulled back behind them, and rushed forward. Her blade came up, and slashed down upon the ghoul's arm, time going slow for a moment as he saw a glimpse into the visor. Grey eyes. The arm was severed, laughing turned into a shriek, and rather than let the biker catch speed, Mason sped up and put his construct into the spokes of the bike. Live or die. The woman was first into the air, followed by Mason, but when the ghoul managed to get to the rock, it had already lost control, spiraling and flipping into the ground below while screaming into the darkness. They seemed to be airborne for some time, despite the danger, Mason was now laughing, a huge grin on his face. She landed, and twisted to slow herself down. Mason was not so fortunate, landing at the end of the U-turn, but swerving and toppling over. His arms protectively rose up to protect his beautiful, beautiful head, rolling along the dirt a few feet before coming to a stop.

He laid motionless in a curled position, before coughing and finding the strength to push himself up. He seemed disoriented, but he tried to shake it off as he approached the opposite side of the road, leaning over the railing and looking down it, as if expecting the ghoul to find them. But all was quiet, save for the sputtering engine of his poor bike. Slowly, he turned around, spitting blood from his mouth and grinning, "Hey, than-!" he stopped, mid-wave as there was no one there. He was alone, his eyes going soft, and his grin fading. But that's when his eyes caught something. A memorial. He tried to limp towards it, but collapsed onto the ground, gripping his arm and groaning out. Sonuvabitch. "Ahh, fuck!" he shouted at nothing, sitting up and growled, but, he chuckled to himself. "Man, mom's going to be pissed..." he muttered to himself as he fumbled for his phone, thankful intact, and made a call. "...Hi, yeah. My name's Mason and it seems I had a bit of a spill...No, no I'm fine, but I might need an ambulance...I'm located at..."

In pain and bloody, and Mason always had time to crack a joke.

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Lucky for him, there was town close enough, and after getting stitched and a bill of 'stop being stupid on a bike' alongside side the good health, he was off. Of course, he had to wait for a shop to fix up his bike. It looked like shit, his baby, nearly in tears at her sight, but the mechanic assured him that it'd be up and running soon. So he took the time to find himself something to eat, and came back to the mechanic's shop later that night. He'd need to get the dents out elsewhere, but the bike could ride again. Mason was ecstatic, huge grins and generous hand-shakes to the aged man, but not before he caught a glimpse at a photo on the wall.

"Just lemme do a few more tweaks, and I'll get ya' back on the road," the aged voice of the mechanic broke his train of thought again, the mindless staring at the picture as Mason looked at him and nodded.

While he worked, the young blonde approached it, taking a moment to look it over. The mechanic stood alongside as gorgeous woman. Pale-skinned, jet-black hair, grey eyes... He stared at it for a moment, before upnodding the picture, then looking back at the blue-collar man, "You got a daughter?"

That made him stop, the tool in hand going silent as he kept his gaze upon the engine, a thousand yard stare, before continuing, "Had one."

"Oh..." Mason turned back to look at the picture, "...Was she cool?"

"Why you askin'?" It seemed to had slightly struck a nerve, due to the tone and Mason turned with hands up to his chest. "Hey man, just a question!"

The Mechanic stopped again, putting his tool down and getting up. He wasn't mad with the young man, but his already hard look seemed to dim just a bit.

"Hey, look, I'm sorry, I-" the old man waved his hand with a shake of his head, dismissing the apology outright as he dug around in his pocket, to which a pack of cigarettes was retrieved, and soon enough it was sparked to life.

He raised his hand to ask a stupid question, as if to ask smoking around a garage was a smart idea, but it was clear this man was an expert at his craft, and he put his hand down and shut his mouth.

"Melody was her name. You remind me a lot about her."

"Oh yeah? Why's that?"

A slow drag, smoke billowing from his nose, "You ask too many God damn questions," he and Mason chuckled, the latter a bit more nervously, but he approached calmly, and the two stood to look at the picture.

"She was a bright kid. Athletic, smile that could light up a room, but as she got older, got more rebellious. Got in with a bad crowd, we had a falling out," He kept it brief, with a somber, straight tone as he lifted his hand up to pull the picture off the wall to look at it, "Ran away from home, couple years later, she called me. She was crying from here to Albuquerque. Said she was sorry. She did a lot of bad things, but never meant to hurt us. She wanted to come home, to visit and reconnect, and I couldn't tell her no."

A soft sigh left him, smoke following the air as he slowly handed the picture to Mason, who took it and let his eyes gaze upon her and him in the photo. "I didn't hear back from her on her way here, wasn't till a few days later the local sheriff came up and told me. They found her body. Took a bad spill on the turnpike. She...didn't make it."

The Blonde frowned, a rarity for him, and his head turned to look up at him, "Oh, I'm sorry."

A shrug left the man, "My only regret, was never getting the chance to tell her I was never mad at her. We're all dumb teenagers, its just humanity. The Lord can forgive you, you're allowed to make mistakes. Its not a matter of what you do in your life, or the choices you make. So long as you remember...don't regret a damn thing." He stopped himself short of becoming a lecture, lifting the hand with the cigarette up to his eye to rub at it, and let out a low rumble from his throat. "Gettin' late. Best get you out of here,"

"Hey..." Mason stopped him and handed the picture back, his smile back, genuine as always as he reached in his pocket for his wallet, "Thanks. I think Melody would've been a rad person. I'm sure she just wanted to protect you."

"You're probably right. I just hope that when I get to see her again, that she'll be smilin', just like you, boy."

That made Mason grin wider.

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A headlight illuminated the memorial on the guardrail. Melody Alanson. Loved by many, a life cut too short. The engine came to a halt and he lifted himself from the motorcycle, taking off the new helmet and dusting his pants off. Around his wrist was a bag, walking over to the memorial and pulling out a single rose, and a bottle of beer. "Mind if I bug you a minute?"

There was no answer, quite clearly as he took his own bottle and cracked the top off to take a swig, leaving the second bottle on the rail next to the memorial. "You know, it's crazy. You look almost like if my friend Van was a girl. You've probably liked him. Tall, built, a total hardass. His usual hello is a grunt, or like a," he put on a serious face for a moment, before giving a slow nod, before laughing softly. The lean turned into a squat, and soon enough, a seat. He seemed to go on and on, talking like someone was listening, the sun setting as he talked about his life, the occasional car passing by giving him a funny look, but that didn't seem to stop him.

He took a swig, the last one, looking at the bottle and huffing, "They never last long. But..." the bottle was set down, hands grasped together between fingers and his eyes cast to the dirt, his smile quivering, "Thanks. I could guess it was you that saved me last night. I would've been another possum on the road were it not for you. I'm guessing your stuck, by some guilt or reason. But..." his hand lifted now to scratch the back of his hand, "I talked to your dad for a minute, tough guy. Reminds me of my pops. When he wants to be. I got lucky. Loving parents, well off, not a care in the world. And then I get reminded that not everyone is me. That the world is a much scarier place than we make it out to be. I mean hell, Zombie Bikers?! Awesome, but, no thanks."

His head lifted up to the memorial, as if expecting Melody to be standing there. But he sighed when no one was, "Either way, you won't be here forever. And you'll pass. A day where the bike will get to stay in the garage, and you'll be in a better place. I wish I could take you there, but, you know...complications," his hands spun around his wrist for a moment, before bouncing up to his feet, "But, get there sometime, and when I see you, lets go out. Nothing serious, and I'm sure I'll be lost in Heaven, but, you'll have been there before me. And if not, give me a week, I'll know all the cool bars and restaurants in a heartbeat. Of course, I'll ask your dad, alright?" He winked at it, before walking up to the memorial and dusting it off a bit, "A Revee never breaks a promise. I've got one to keep right now. But maybe I'll swing by so we can chat. I can only imagine it gets super boring around here."

And once it looked nice, he backed away, and started to walk towards the bike, before stopping and snapping his finger, "Oh, right!" he flipped his phone out, and raised it up. A respectable selfie. Nothing goofy, completely genuine and sincere as he snapped it. A humble reminder. But as he looked at the screen, next to the railing sat a woman, black leather jacket, tight denim jeans, and her helmet off. She had a smile, a peace sign up, black hair over her shoulder, showing the line across her neck of scarred skin. Mason turned quickly, but saw no one yet again and sighed happily, "Take care, Melody." And with that, he sat upon his bike, lifting his phone up to send a text to Van, minding him he'll be back soon, just has to finish some things up at the GOA, but he put his hand to his cheek to a chill coldness, and grinned like the idiot he was.

He drove down the road, engine fading to nothing, as a gloved hand gripped the beer bottle and disappeared.

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His time at the GOA was short, and before he could head to Isabella's he had one more thing to do. In their dorm, he sat at the desk, a printer having printed out the picture he took, and among various scraps of paper and materials, he carefully cut it out, and set it into a scrapbook, his hidden project, something to leave behind. With a sharpie, he wrote, 'Thank you Melody. Good to know I've got a date in the afterlife. Can't wait!', and titled it, 'Raddest Gal I've met.' It was shut, and looked at the front cover. A preserved picture of Van, Mason and Lina as kids, smiles on their faces, the first picture together. His hand glided across it, before he stood up and put the book in his hiding spot, a spot in the wall just for it, and got his coat before heading out.

"...And that's the story of how I met the raddes-...Of course I met her, dude, did you not hear me about the whole bike fight scene! Come on, Lina, don't do me like that!...Do I think she'll remember me? Probably not. Or maybe she will. Either way, doesn't matter. No one deserves to feel alone and scared. Even if she made mistakes, she wanted to do the right thing. Goodness makes goodness. And we can't ever forget that...Fine, I won't get sappy! Geeze. Get me another beer, and let Papa Mason tell you another story...What, like you got a better one?!"