otorcycles cut through

It was the sound of an appro

it in m

d lived this

g down the treacherous logging trail to fetch my h

d

fter the attack, his hands around my throat, bla

lly, and listened to the thunder getting closer. I w

ntic old man named Hende

he bikers are coming!

n' t

he patrol truck, everything! He drove Amber

kn

n time! You have to ride! Take the old loggin

m, my expressi

thout hesitation. I had trusted my

w duty: to my unborn

No

ut it hung in the air

e, his mouth hanging open.

' t come back. Not for me. Not for