With his hat pulled tightly over his head, Logan was walking alongside the highway. In his mind, he couldn't go back home. Kitty laying in bed, bandaged and with the IV in her hand and that thing in her nose...it was frozen in his head like a picture carved into stone. He walked and walked, hoping he would feel better. Instead he felt something eating away at his gut more and more.
The sky was lighter, almost dawn, when Logan was startled by a voice. "Where you headin', stranger?" Logan turned to see a man in a van pulled over next to him. "Anywhere but here, bub." The man smiled. "Sounds like a plan to me! Get in!" Without a second thought, Logan climbed in and they were off. He took one whiff of the air inside the van and looked to the back. There, laying down and looking a hole through him, was a huge pit bull.
"Don't worry about Champ," the driver said, "He'll ignore ya before he starts trouble with ya."
Logan nodded. "As long as I respect his turf."
"That's the idea. You had any experience with animals?"
"Somethin' like that."
"Hey, what's your name, anyway?"
"Logan."
"The name's Casey. Good to meet ya. So, you been walkin' out here for long?" Casey looked over at Logan. He had already fallen asleep where he sat. He woke up some time later and his neck tensed up as the sun blared into his eyes. "Mornin'," Casey said cheerily. Logan grunted as Casey handed him a thermos. He grunted louder when he took a swig of coffee. "What is this stuff, mud and shit?" Casey chuckled. "It's strong, but it does the trick out on the road."
After they had driven a few more miles, Casey broke out breakfast: Beef jerky. "So Logan, what're you runnin' from?" He asked casually as they broke beef together. Logan looked at him strangely. "I can see it in your eyes, you're on the road 'cause you're runnin' from somethin'." Logan shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. "What do you do for a livin', Case?"
"Big rig deliveries, only smaller," he said, motioning to the back of the van. "Mostly the wrong kinds of stuff, but it pays for food and gas." Logan sniffed the air again out of curiosity. He was no K-9 drug dog, but besides Champ in the back the van reeked of cocaine. "Wrong kinds of stuff," he agreed. "What's your line o' work?" Casey asked.
Logan cleared his throat, instantly giving away what he was, as Casey put it, running from. "I guess you could say I worked at this school for gifted kids...wasn't really work, though, I volunteered. But it was a place to hang my hat." Casey was impressed. "School for the gifted, huh? No offense, but you don't strike me as a scholar, Logan." He shook his head. "Not smart gifted. Maybe I'll explain it to ya later."
A few road stops and many hours later, Logan found himself dozing off again. "Well if I didn't know better, I'd say this good ol' boy is followin' us, Logan," Casey said, stirring him. Logan checked out the side mirror. He'd know the motorcycle anywhere. Sabretooth. "Next stop pull over," Logan quickly said. "This guy is bad news, Case."
The sky was lighter, almost dawn, when Logan was startled by a voice. "Where you headin', stranger?" Logan turned to see a man in a van pulled over next to him. "Anywhere but here, bub." The man smiled. "Sounds like a plan to me! Get in!" Without a second thought, Logan climbed in and they were off. He took one whiff of the air inside the van and looked to the back. There, laying down and looking a hole through him, was a huge pit bull.
"Don't worry about Champ," the driver said, "He'll ignore ya before he starts trouble with ya."
Logan nodded. "As long as I respect his turf."
"That's the idea. You had any experience with animals?"
"Somethin' like that."
"Hey, what's your name, anyway?"
"Logan."
"The name's Casey. Good to meet ya. So, you been walkin' out here for long?" Casey looked over at Logan. He had already fallen asleep where he sat. He woke up some time later and his neck tensed up as the sun blared into his eyes. "Mornin'," Casey said cheerily. Logan grunted as Casey handed him a thermos. He grunted louder when he took a swig of coffee. "What is this stuff, mud and shit?" Casey chuckled. "It's strong, but it does the trick out on the road."
After they had driven a few more miles, Casey broke out breakfast: Beef jerky. "So Logan, what're you runnin' from?" He asked casually as they broke beef together. Logan looked at him strangely. "I can see it in your eyes, you're on the road 'cause you're runnin' from somethin'." Logan shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. "What do you do for a livin', Case?"
"Big rig deliveries, only smaller," he said, motioning to the back of the van. "Mostly the wrong kinds of stuff, but it pays for food and gas." Logan sniffed the air again out of curiosity. He was no K-9 drug dog, but besides Champ in the back the van reeked of cocaine. "Wrong kinds of stuff," he agreed. "What's your line o' work?" Casey asked.
Logan cleared his throat, instantly giving away what he was, as Casey put it, running from. "I guess you could say I worked at this school for gifted kids...wasn't really work, though, I volunteered. But it was a place to hang my hat." Casey was impressed. "School for the gifted, huh? No offense, but you don't strike me as a scholar, Logan." He shook his head. "Not smart gifted. Maybe I'll explain it to ya later."
A few road stops and many hours later, Logan found himself dozing off again. "Well if I didn't know better, I'd say this good ol' boy is followin' us, Logan," Casey said, stirring him. Logan checked out the side mirror. He'd know the motorcycle anywhere. Sabretooth. "Next stop pull over," Logan quickly said. "This guy is bad news, Case."