The Biker Named Wade
His name was Wade Callahan.
He told her that after she helped him drink from her bottle and wrapped his scraped wrists with cloth from her backpack.
Wade belonged to a local riding club. He had made the wrong people angry by refusing to share information that could have put innocent people at risk. Elsie didn’t understand the full picture, and she didn’t need to.
She only understood one thing.
The people who left him there might return.
Then the distant rumble of engines drifted through the trees.
Wade’s face changed.
Elsie heard it too.
“Can you walk?” she asked.
“Not well.”
“Then walk badly. We have to move.”
He looked at her.
“You’re bossy.”
Elsie pulled her backpack onto one shoulder.
“Grandpa said bossy is what people call you when you know what to do.”
For the first time, Wade almost smiled.
