Chapter 14 Chapter fourteen
The climb up the Devil’s Backbone felt different tonight. Usually, the mountain was my sanctuary, a place where I could lose myself in the rhythm of the turns, but now it felt like a vertical trap. The three sets of LED headlights behind me were closing the distance, their beams cutting through the darkness like searchlights. These weren't the heavy, lumbering cruisers of the Iron Wolves; these were high-performance tactical SUVs with enough horsepower to flatten my Norton if I let them get close enough to touch my rear tire.
I gripped the handlebars, my knuckles white under my leather gloves. My chest was pressed so tight against the fuel tank that I could feel the vibration of the engine deep in my bones. Every time I glanced at the ruggedized tablet mounted to my dash, the red progress bar mocked me: 12% uploaded. The signal in the quarry was garbage; I needed the line-of-sight to the valley tower that only the summit could provide.
The first SUV lunged forward, the driver oversteering as he tried to pit-maneuver me on a narrow straightaway. I tapped my rear brake, a sharp, surgical jab that sent my tail sliding just enough to miss his bumper. He roared past me, the blacked-out window rolling down to reveal the muzzle of a submachine gun.
Pop-pop-pop.
The sound was lost to the wind, but I felt the impact as a bullet grazed the metal of my exhaust pipe, sending a jarring vibration up my leg. I didn't panic. Panic was for people who didn't understand the physics of a 400-pound machine. I shifted down into third and leaned the bike so far into the next hairpin that my elbow brushed the rock wall. I took the inside line, regaining my lead as the heavy SUV had to brake to avoid overshooting the cliff.
"Come on, Dad," I whispered, the wind whipping my words away. "Tell me this engine has one more gear."
The Norton screamed as I pushed the RPMs into the red. I was riding on the edge of a knife, the tires screaming for grip on the cold, dew-slicked asphalt. The second SUV tried to box me in from the left, its tires grinding against the guardrail, sending a shower of sparks into the night. I saw the driver’s eyes through his tactical mask cold, professional, and entirely focused on my destruction. He didn't want the drive; he wanted the girl dead so the drive would be lost to the abyss.
I looked at the tablet. 42%. Still too slow.
I approached the "Widowmaker," the sharpest turn on the Backbone. Usually, I’d take it wide to carry speed, but tonight I needed to be a ghost. I saw the silhouette of a fallen pine tree ahead, its branches partially obstructing the road. I didn't brake. I accelerated, aiming for the narrow gap between the trunk and the drop-off.
The SUV behind me didn't have the clearance. I heard the sickening crunch of metal on wood as the lead vehicle slammed into the tree, its airbags deploying in a white cloud. One down. Two to go.
The road flattened out as I reached the high ridge, the wind here becoming a physical wall that tried to push me toward the thousand-foot drop. I could see the lights of Coldwater far below, a shimmering grid of a world that had no idea it was being fought over. Behind me, the remaining two SUVs were relentless, their engines roaring in a synchronized hunt.
78%.
"Almost there," I grunted, my thighs burning from the effort of gripping the bike.
Suddenly, a third light appeared, but it wasn't behind me. It was above. The rhythmic thud-thud-thud of a helicopter's blades drowned out the sound of my own engine. A powerful spotlight swept over the road, blinding me for a split second.
"Attention, Norton rider!" a voice boomed from the sky, amplified by a megaphone. "This is Silas Thorne. You are carrying property that belongs to the future of this industry. Pull over now, or we will be forced to terminate the chase."
I looked up, the wind from the rotors buffeting my helmet. I didn't pull over. I flipped the helicopter off and twisted the throttle to the stop. I wasn't property, and neither was my father’s mind.
The summit was less than a mile away. I could see the red blinking light of the transmission tower through the haze. My fingers were numb, the cold mountain air seeping through my gear, but I didn't care. I could feel Dax’s ring through my glove, a silent promise that I wasn't doing this for nothing.
94%.
The lead SUV was so close now I could hear the gravel hitting its undercarriage. The driver rammed my rear tire, a heavy, jarring impact that nearly sent me into a high-side. I fought the bars, my muscles screaming as I forced the bike to stay upright. The Norton wobbled, the rear end fishtailing wildly, but I refused to let go.
99%.
I crested the final rise, the transmission tower looming over me like a steel giant. I slammed on the brakes, the bike skidding in a perfect 180-degree turn as I came to a halt right beneath the transmitter.
Upload Complete. Data Distributed.
A surge of triumph washed over me, a heat that defied the mountain’s chill. I pulled my helmet off, my hair sticking to my face, and looked up at the helicopter as it hovered directly overhead. The two SUVs pulled into the clearing, their doors flying open as armed men stepped out, their rifles leveled at my chest.
"You're too late!" I screamed over the roar of the rotors, holding the tablet up so the camera in the helicopter could see the confirmation screen. "It’s gone! Every federal agency in the country just got the blueprints!"
Silas Thorne leaned out of the helicopter’s open door. He wasn't wearing a mask. He was a middle-aged man in a charcoal suit, looking more like a CEO than a killer. He looked at the tablet, his face going from a calm mask of superiority to a pale, shaking rage.
He looked at his men on the ground and made a sharp, horizontal motion across his throat.
"Kill her," he mouthed.
I reached for the Norton's ignition, but before the men could pull their triggers, the night was split by a different sound. The deep, guttural roar of thirty Harleys.
Out of the darkness of the trail behind the tower, the Iron Wolves emerged. And at the front, his face streaked with soot and blood but his eyes burning like twin suns, was Dax Steele.