Your boy telling the truth. Every word. Grizzly said. Reaper studied them for another long moment. Then he turned and looked at the suburban.
At Dorothy's face, visible through the window, pale and watching. Cancer, you said. Stage four, Walter replied. Maybe a month left. Maybe less.
And you drove into a blizzard to see your grandson. We did. That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Reaper's face was unreadable. Or the bravest.
Haven't decided which. He looked back at Grizzly. You're really doing this, risking your people, your vehicles for two strangers. Yeah. Why Grizzly's answer was simple.
Because it's the right thing to do. Reaper's laugh was short and sharp. The right thing? Jesus Christ. He shook his head, then turned to his own people.
You hear that devil's backbone found religion? They're doing the right thing. The mocking tone vanished as quickly as it had appeared. You finish clearing that tree. Then you get your civilians and you get the hell out of my territory.
You've got Iron Cross escort to the county line. After that, you're on your own. Grizzlies eyes narrowed. Escort? You want to get to Silver Falls?
Fine, but you're doing it on our terms. My boys will ride ahead, clear any obstacles, make sure you don't hit trouble. Reaper scarred face twisted into something that might have been a smile. Consider it professional courtesy, veteran to veteran. He walked back to his motorcycle without waiting for a response.
Within seconds, the Iron Cross bikes roared to life. Four of them moved ahead up the highway. The other four positioned themselves behind the convoy. Grizzly stood frozen, clearly, not trusting what had just happened. Neither did Walter, but Dorothy's voice came from the suburban, weak, but clear through the open door.
Are we moving or not? I've got a grandson waiting. That broke the spell. Grizzly's people went back to work on the tree with renewed energy. The final sections were cleared in 15 minutes.
The convoy reformed now with an escort of iron cross bikes flanking them on both sides. As Walter climbed back into the suburban grizzly caught his arm. That was either the bravest thing I've ever seen or the stupidest. Still haven't decided which. Makes two of us, Walter said.
They rolled out at 8:43 a.m. The Iron Cross bikes led the way the riders communicating with Grizzly via radio to warn of obstacles ahead. The tension in the Suburban was thick enough to cut. "I don't trust this," Axel muttered from the driver's seat. "Iron Cross doesn't help anyone, especially not us. " "Doesn't matter if we trust them? " Grizzly replied.
"Matters that they're getting us through their territory faster than we could manage alone. " Doc Matthews was checking Dorothy's pulse again. Heart rate's elevated. She needs rest. She can rest in Silver Falls, Dorothy said. How much further?
120 mi, maybe 5 hours. Then let's stop talking and start driving. The convoy pushed forward into the white wilderness. The landscape was brutal pine forest weighed down with snow, frozen rivers cutting through valleys, mountains looming in the distance like sleeping giants. The highway was a ribbon of white cutting through it all, and they were the only vehicles on it.
At mile marker 73, the Iron Cross lead bike pulled over. Its rider dismounted and walked back to Grizzly's window. It was Reaper again. Grizzly rolled down the window. Problem.
County lines 2 miles ahead. After that, you're out of Iron Cross territory. You're on your own. Reaper paused. There's something you should know.
Weather report says another storm's coming in this afternoon. Bigger than the last one. If you're not in Silver Falls by 2 p.m., you're not making it at all. Grizzly checked his watch. 11:47 a.m.
We'll make it. Maybe. Reaper looked past him at Walter and Dorothy. Hey, old man. You get to that grandson, you tell him his great grander would have been proud.
Anyone who fights that hard for family deserves to win. Before Walter could respond, Reaper was back on his bike. The Iron Cross escort pulled away at engines fading into the distance, leaving Devil's Backbone alone on the highway. "Well," Axel said, "that was unexpected. "Keep driving," Grizzly ordered.
"We've got 2 hours to cover 80 mi. It's going to be tight. " At 12:34 p.m., disaster struck. The lead truck radioed back with panic in the driver's voice. "Rock slide ahead. The whole damn mountain side came down.
The roads completely blocked. Grizzlies fist slammed against the dashboard. How bad? A bad real bad rocks the size of cars. Grizz.
Hundreds of them. There's no way through. Walter felt Dorothy sag against him. They'd come so far. Fought through so much.
And now this. Is there another route? He asked desperately. Axel was already pulling up a map on his phone. There's a logging road that connects back to the highway about 30 mi north, but it's probably not plowed.
Might not even be passable. How long would it take? In good conditions, 40 minutes. Today, could be 3 hours. Could be never.
Grizzly's radio crackled. It was the lead truck again. Grizz, we've got maybe 90 minutes before that next storm hits. If we're going to make a call, we need to make it now. Dorothy's voice was barely a whisper.
We're not going to make it, are we? Walter couldn't answer because he didn't know. He looked at Grizzly at this man who'd risked everything for strangers and saw the same uncertainty in his eyes. Then Grizzly's expression changed, hardened. "Everybody out," he ordered into the radio.
"We're moving these rocks by hand. " Doc Matthews head snapped around. "Are you insane? Those rocks weigh hundreds of pounds. Some of them weigh tons. You'll kill yourselves.
Then we die trying. " Grizzly was already opening his door. But we don't quit. Not when we're this close. He stepped out into the snow and one by one, every member of Devil's Backbone MC followed him. Walter watched through the Suburban's windshield as 12 bikers stood before a mountain of rock that should have required heavy equipment in a week's worth of work.
Grizzly was already rolling up his sleeves, his breath visible in the frigid air. "This is suicide," Doc Matthews said. "One of those rocks shifts wrong, someone's getting crushed. " "Then we better not let them shift wrong. " Dorothy's hand was on the door handle. I'm helping the hell you are. Walter grabbed her arm.
You can barely stand. Then I'll sit and move the small ones. Her eyes met his and Walter saw the same fire that had convinced him to marry her 56 years ago. I'm not sitting in this truck while people risk their lives for me. Before Walter could argue, Dorothy was out the door.
She stumbled in the snow, caught herself on the vehicle's frame, and started forward. Walter swore and went after her. Doc Matthews right behind him. The rock slide was worse up close. Boulders ranging from basketball size to small cars had tumbled down the mountainside, creating a wall 15 ft high and twice as wide.
Some rocks were still settling, sending small cascades of gravel skittering down the pile. Grizzly was organizing his people with military precision. Cheryl Tiny, you two start on the southside on work the smaller rocks first. Create a path. Axel, get the chains from the trucks.
We'll use the vehicles to pull the big ones. Everyone else, pair up. Nobody lifts alone. If a rock's too big, you call for help. Pride gets you killed.
Walter reached Dorothy as she bent to pick up a rock the size of a bowling ball. Dot, please. I need to do this, Walter. Her voice was firm despite the tremor in her hands. These people are dying out here for us.
The least I can do is move some rocks. She lifted the boulder. Her arms shook with the effort, but she carried it 10 ft and set it down beside the road. Then she went back for another. Walter felt something crack in his chest.
His wife was dying. She could barely walk. And she was moving rocks because she refused to let others sacrifice without contributing. He picked up a rock himself. It was heavier than it looked and his back screamed in protest, but he carried it to the edge of the road and dropped it.