That part crumbled like sand. "We just want to see our grandson," he heard himself say. Tears were streaming down his face now, freezing in his beard. "That's all. We just want to see our boy's boy before she before she" He couldn't finish.
The words dissolved into sobs that racked his entire body. He bent over Dorothy, sheltering her from the wind with his own body, knowing it wouldn't be enough. Knowing that in a few minutes or maybe a few hours, someone would find them frozen together in the parking lot of a biker bar died trying to reach a son who might not even want to see them. Jesus Christ. The voice came from inside the clubhouse, different from the first man, younger rougher around the edges.
Walter looked up through his tears to see a massive figure pushing through the crowd at the door. 6'4 at least maybe 250 lbs with a beard that hung halfway down his chest and arms covered in tattoos. His vest had different patches Captain Grizzly the man grizzly stepped out into the snow. He moved with surprising grace for someone his size dropping to one knee beside Walter and Dorothy. His hands scarred and enormous reached for Dorothy's throat, fingers seeking her pulse.
How long she been out? Grizzly demanded. Few minutes, maybe more. I don't I can't How far do you walk? 3 hours, maybe four.
The truck broke down on Route 47 and there was nobody, no cars, nothing. And I knew there was a building out here because I saw the sign and shut up. Grizzly's fingers were still on Dorothy's throat. His face was a mask of concentration. Pulse is thready, respiration shallow, skin cold and waxy.
He looked up at the crowd in the doorway. Somebody get me every blanket we've got now. The crowd exploded into motion. The first man, the sergeant-at-arms, disappeared inside. Others followed shouting orders.
Walter couldn't make out over the wind. Grizzly scooped Dorothy out of Walter's arms like she weighed nothing. "Can you stand, old man? " Walter tried. Failed. His legs had turned to rubber.
Without hesitation, Grizzly jerked his head toward the clubhouse. Axel Tiny, get out here and help this guy inside. Two more bikers emerged. They grabbed Walter under the arms, hauling him to his feet. His legs dragged uselessly as they carried him through the door into a blast of warmth that felt like walking into another dimension.
The clubhouse interior was exactly what Walter had expected, and nothing like it at all. Pool table in the corner bar along one wall, Confederate and American flags hanging from exposed beams. But it was warm. Gloriously, impossibly warm. And the men and women who'd stood frozen in the doorway moments ago were moving with the precision of a military unit.
"Clear the pool table," Grizzly barked. "Get those balls out of the way. " Hands swept the table clean. Grizzly laid Dorothy down on the green felt with surprising gentleness. Someone thrust blankets at him, quilt sleeping bags, even what looked like someone's leather jacket. Grizzly began wrapping Dorothy like she was made of glass.
Space heater. Somebody get a space heater over here. A woman with purple hair in sleeve tattoos dragged a heater across the floor, plugging it in near the pool table. Not too close. We warm her up gradually or we'll shock her system.
Grizzly was shouting orders like a field commander. Cheryl, get on the phone to Doc Matthews. I don't care if he's off the clock. Tell him we need him here now. Axel will boil water.
Lots of it. We're going to need hot water bottles. The woman Cheryl was already on a cell phone pacing near the bar. Doc. Yeah, it's Cheryl from Devil's Backbone.
We got a situation. Hypothermia severe. Yeah. Yeah, I know. But Doc, just get your ass out here.
Walter stood swaying on his feet, supported by the two bikers who'd carried him inside. His brain couldn't process what was happening. These were Hell's Angels, or whatever they called themselves, devil's backbone. These were the people the news warned you about. The ones you crossed the street to avoid.
But they were saving Dorothy's life. You grizzly pointed at Walter without looking up from Dorothy. What's your name? Walter. Walter Callahan.
Walter. When's the last time you ate? Walter tried to remember. Breakfast. Maybe.
I don't. Tiny. Get this man some food. Soup if we got it. Something hot.
Grizzly's hands were moving constantly adjusting blankets. Checking Dorothy's pulse, monitoring her breathing, and get his boots off. Check for frostbite. The biker called Tiny, who was anything but tiny, easily 300 lb, guided Walter to a chair near the space heater. Within seconds, someone thrust a bowl of soup into his hands.
Chicken noodle steam rising from the surface. Walter's stomach lurched at the smell. "Drink," Tiny ordered. It wasn't a suggestion. Walter drank.
The soup burned his throat, going down, but he barely noticed. His eyes were locked on Dorothy across the room. She looked so small on that pool table swallowed by blankets, her face still that terrible waxy color. "Is she going to make it? " Walter whispered. Tiny didn't answer.
He was unlacing Walter's boots with hands that seemed too big for the delicate task. When the boots came off, Walter heard Tiny sucking a breath. "Grizzly, we got frostbite over here. " Walter looked down. His toes were white and purple, the skin tight and shiny. He couldn't feel them at all.
Grizzly glanced over his face grim. How bad? Second degree, maybe worse. Couple of the toes looked like third. Can't do anything about it right now.
Keep him warm. Get circulation going. We'll worry about his feet after the wife's stable. Grizzly turned back to Dorothy. Talk to me, Cheryl.
Where's Doc? 10 minutes out. He's bringing his full kit. Good. Tell him we're going to need IV fluids warmed if possible.
And tell him to bring his O2 tank. Walter watched this stranger, this biker with a face like weathered granite and hands like steel traps work on his wife with the efficiency of a trained medic. How do you know how to do this? The question escaped before Walter could stop it. Grizzly's eyes flicked to him for a second.
Army, two tours in Afghanistan. I was a combat medic before I was a mechanic. He went back to adjusting Dorothy's blankets. Now shut up and let me work. The front door banged open.
A man in his 60s rushed in carrying a large medical bag and trailing snow. Gray hair, wire rimmed glasses wearing a parker over what looked like pajamas. Where is she? Here, Doc. Grizzly stepped back, giving the doctor room to work.
Doc Matthews moved to the pool table, his hands already reaching for Dorothy's wrist. He pressed his stethoscope to her chest, listened, frowned, pulled out a thermometer, and slipped it under her tongue. The clubhouse had gone silent. Every person in the room was watching the doctor work. The only sounds were the hum of the space heater and Dorothy's shallow breathing.
Doc Matthews pulled the thermometer out. His face went pale. 87°. She's in severe hypothermia. He looked at Grizzly.
How long? Don't know exactly. Husband says they were walking for three, maybe 4 hours. Jesus. Doc was pulling supplies from his bag.
IV kit bags of fluid portable oxygen tank. We need to get her to a hospital. She needs controlled rewarming cardiac monitoring. No hospitals. Grizzly's voice was flat.
Doc Matthews froze. Excuse me. The nearest hospital is Copper Ridge, 30 mi in a blizzard with roads that aren't plowed. She wouldn't make it 10 miles. She might not make it here, grizzly.
This woman needs She needs to not die in the next hour. Can you keep her alive or not? The two men stared at each other. The temperature in the room seemed to drop despite the heater. Walter felt his heart hammering in his chest.
Finally, Doc Matthews looked away. I'll do what I can, but if she codes if her heart stops, then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Grizzly stepped aside. Do your work, doc. The doctor got to work inserting an IV with hands that shook slightly.
The bag of fluids hung from a coat hook someone had hammered into the beam above the pool table. Oxygen tubing went under Dorothy's nose. Walter watched it all from his chair. Tiny still working on his feet, wrapping them in warm towels and massaging gently to restore circulation. The pain when it came was excruciating, like thousands of needles stabbing into his flesh simultaneously.