The Nightworld - Jack Blaine [50]
“Don’t never give up.” I see Gus, raising his hand good-bye. “It’s always darkest before the dawn.”
I rip open my backpack and dig through it, and there they are. The set of keys Gus gave me. The locker with the bicycle in it. If it’s big enough to hold a bike, it’s probably big enough for the three of us to hole up in, at least for the night. I unroll the paper with the locker’s address written on it and show it to Lara.
“Do you know where this is?”
She takes it. “Yeah. It’s a self-storage place off Madison. It’s not far from here. What is it?”
“I think for tonight it’s home.”
We make our way to the storage facility address. The front door is wide open. I scope out the hallway. There are metal rollup doors lining both sides of the hall, and ours is all the way at the end. The place looks surprisingly undisturbed; I guess the locks must be pretty good.
“It looks clear,” I whisper. Lara nods. We scoot to the door with the number twelve on it. The key fits the lock and we’re inside in no time. It’s pitch black. Lara finds her flashlight and turns it on.
It’s a pretty large unit. There’s nothing in it except a large, lumpy shape at the back, covered with a canvas tarp.
“Shine it here?” I point at the door. Lara directs the light to me, and I see that there’s a manual latch on the inside of the unit. I shove it hard into place and hope it will keep us safe tonight. I walk toward the back.
“Let’s check it out—maybe we can make that tarp our mattress for the night.”
I tug it and it slips off, sliding to the floor with a scratchy sound. Lara whistles.
“That,” says Lara, “is our ride to Detroit.”
What I assumed must be a ten-speed bike when Gus talked about it has turned out to be a huge, powerful-looking motorcycle. I don’t know what kind it is, but it looks vintage. There’s room for both of us on the double saddle of the seat. And the best part? It has a sidecar.
“Looks like you’re in luck, buddy.” I scratch Tank’s ear. “Your chariot awaits.”
The gas tank is empty, but there’s a can of gas that smells fresh enough. I wonder when the last time Gus rode this was—it looks polished and ready to go.
“If this thing starts, we’re heading out tomorrow morning.” I look at Lara to see what she will say. She nods.
“Look.” She reaches into the sidecar and fishes out a brown envelope. Inside are some newspaper clippings. Lara unfolds one, and there’s a photograph of this bike, with a man on the seat and a lady sitting in the sidecar, wearing an old-fashioned hat. The caption reads “Agustus Gannon, with his wife, Irene.” There’s an article that goes with the photo.
A RIDE TO REMEMBER
Agustus Gannon, who is riding with his lady love across our entire United States, stopped today in Mettle Falls. Mr. Gannon’s motorbike, a BMW R71 with sidecar, was imported after the war. Mrs. Gannon says it is a smooth-riding vehicle. The couple will stay at the River Inn in town and leave in the morning to continue their travels.
“Wow.” Lara is smiling. I realize I am too. I wonder where Gus is now. I hope he’s still alive. I hope he found his family. If nothing else, I hope he managed to scavenge himself another six-pack.
Lara and I make a bed out of the tarp, and we’re so tired that we’re asleep before we can do so much as curl up into each other. I know Tank will warn us if anybody tries the door. Even though it’s only been a matter of hours since we woke up to find Zeke gone, so much has happened that our brains just need to shut down.
I dream about sunlight. It’s coming down from the sky through tree branches, dappling everything with a beautiful warm glow. I feel a breeze, and the light plays on the ground, changing as the branches move. There’s green grass; I think I’m in a park not far from my house. When I look ahead, I can see Lara, and Charlie. They’re sitting on a park bench, laughing about something. There’s a man sitting with them, facing away from me—when he turns, I can see it’s Dad. He