The sun coated Atlanta in an orange, sticky heat. Vehicles and bicycles the like had clogged the city streets. Frustrated drivers honked their horns, humoring themselves that it would make any car budge, a typical evening rush hour.
The traffic had come to a stand still. Police stepped in to try and direct traffic, but they had their work cut out for them. Ray sat motionless, his Kawasaki Ninja purring gently. The city was noisy, he'd had enough of Atlanta for a day.
Ray worked at a motorcycle shop downtown. He loved his job, but he hated the daily commute. Summer was right around the corner, and he was looking forward to a good two months of sleeping in until noon.
Suddenly, a blaring horn snapped him out of his day dream. The light ahead was green. Ray shifted into first, losing his patience with the slow city streets.
"An intersection every block, and it's always a red light!" He thought to himself. He couldn't help but fantasize about running each red light and looking back at all the suckers that hadn't. Instead, he obediently waited for the next light to turn green, staring at the row of cars in front of him.
After a few minutes of waiting, he caught a few girls at a picnic table gazing at him and giggling to themselves.
Ray shifted into seventh gear, held the brakes, and twisted the throttle. The engine roared and echoed down the sides of the sky scrapers. They girls laughed again.
The light burned a deep green, and Ray shifted back to first, and waited for the cars in front of him to get some distance. Then, he pulled the throttle, shooting ahead well over the posted limits.
At last, he'd made it to the interstate. Feeling as if a load had been taken off his shoulders, he sped to 90 miles per hour, and bolted ahead of the rest of traffic. He began closing in on another biker. Ray reduced his speed and pulled into the lane next to him. It was an older man with a frosty white beard, wearing a back helmet with a spike and riding an intimidating chopper. Ray gave him the standard devil horns hand signal, and the man flashed it back. Satisfied, Ray drove side by side until it was his exit.
He nodded to the man, and then pulled off the exit ramp, slowly coasting to a stop. The sun had set, and the temperature had decreased. Ray had pulled onto a country road, surrounded by pastures. During the day, "country riders" are quite a common site. But not now. The night was lonely and intimidating. Ray pulled to the side of the road, and gently applied his brakes to a stop. He turned off the engine, and gave a sigh.
Ray glanced around, and then dismounted his bike, opening the seat compartment and slipping on a jacket. In the jacket pocket, a pack of cigarettes awaited him. He grabbed a lighter out of the glove compartment, withdrew a cigarette from the pack, and leaned up against the seat, removing his helmet as he did so.
He shook the sweat out of his brown hair, trickles of a healthy blonde intersected his natural brown. The blonde highlights were a constant reminder of his now ex-girlfriend, who insisted he get them when he took her to her favorite salon. Ray put the cigarette to his mouth, and gave it a light. He inhaled deeply through the filter, savoring the nicotine that calmed him down. After a long day of school, and then work, with midterms that very week, it was enough to make him think of becoming a hermit in the woods.
Suddenly, Ray heard the sound of a car approaching. Casually, he turned the ignition on, so as to turn on the brake light to alert the driver of his presence. He turned his head to face the car, and then he went numb.
"I thought I smelled bacon," Ray muttered. Frantically, he glanced around, debating what he should do. The blue lights on top of the cop car and a siren had confirmed his worst fear. The officer turned on his blinker and began pulling to the side of the road.
Panicking, Ray put out his cigarette and slid it back in the box, and then chucked it over the fence to the pasture.
"Oh man," Ray mumbled. "He's gonna smell it on me, I'm sure."
The officer parked several car lengths down from Ray, turning on a spot light and aiming it at him. "Put your hands on the vehicle and do not make any sudden movements," a strong, southern accent rasped through the loudspeaker.
Struck with fear, Ray did as he was told. He could beat this, he just needed to be calm. If he was caught, he'd have his license taken away, and in the process lose his job.
Slowly, the car door opened, the officer clutching his taser. Ray's heart rate began to rise. "License and registration," The officer commanded. Ray took his hands off the seat and opened the glovebox, withdrawing his insurance papers. He shook the dust off and handed it to the officer. He looked the strip of paper up and down, and then started to sniff.
The officer glanced up at Ray. "You smell like you've been smoking there, bud." He said. "Mind your own business, pig!" Ray wanted to yell.
"No sir, I don't smoke," Ray uttered, straightening his jacket.
"How old are you, son?" The officer put his hands on his hips.
"Sixteen, sir," Ray replied quickly.
"Mmmhmm," The officer glanced at his feet and straightened his belt. "Then do you mind tellin' me why you smell like cigarettes?"
"Well, I work at a motorcycle shop," Ray stuttered. "A lot of the guys that work there and that come in smoke, so that could be the smell."
The officer glared at him for a moment. "Yeah, we'll just let a breathalyzer test see if you're telling me the truth." The officer shuffled back to his patrol car, stopping midway and clasping his radio. "Go ahead." Curiously, Ray looked on, trying to listen in. "But I'm in the middle of a stop. I-" The officer scratched his head. "Understood, 10-4."
The officer turned around. "You lucked out, son. Don't let me catch you again." He got back in his patrol car and turned on the lights and siren, stirring up dirt from the side of the road as he spun the car around. The patrol car drove off until it was no more than a speck in the distance.
Ray gave a sigh of relief. This was definitely the only good thing that's happened to him in a while. "Damn, my cigs!" Ray cursed. He marched across the grass to the chain link fence closing in the pasture. It was a full moon, casting an eery glow on everything it touched. Ray pulled himself over the fence and landed on the ground. The chain link fence jingled and clinked behind him. He rooted around for his pack. After fumbling around in the dim light for a good ten minutes, he gave up.
Ray looked up at the moon, cursing his luck. The cigarettes he liked were not cheap, and that was a full box. He was lucky that at the local gas station, the clerk didn't check I.D. "Damn pigs," He growled. Suddenly, he caught movement in the corner of his eye.
"It was probably just a bat or something," Ray shrugged. He scanned the sky. Ray spotted a winged figure struggling to fly, maybe a few hundred feet above him. Did it have wings, though? It's so far off he could barely tell.
It was a large silhouette, and more of it's features were subtly shown as it flew closer to the moon. It was animal, and it had two large bat-like wings.
It definitely wasn't a plane. It's movements were too erratic. It wasn't a bat, it was just too big. It was moving just above the road now, heading in the opposite direction of Ray.
He didn't know what made him do it, but he was so curious. Ray broke into a run, hurdled the fence and hopped on his bike, slipping on the helmet in one swift movement. He turned the key and pinned the throttle, catching up with the mystery in the sky, which seemed to be losing altitude by the second.