Rise of a Queen

Chapter 32

Vast, dry desert stretched as far as the eye could see with cracked dirt and dried plants growing between where the earth split. Animals sought shade beneath any bush or tree still standing, to hide from the beating and unobstructed sun. Bright white puffy clouds scattered sparsely throughout the sky but not enough to dull the endless blue that glowed almost neon.

    It was a typical, hot, southern California day, and the wind that wandered in through the windows was muggy and warm. The air tasted of dust and heat, of sun and open spaces, of long roads and barren landscapes.

    I never would have realized how different it was here compared to the rest of the country had we not gone on this excursion.

    Saving Dustin was first and foremost a rescue and recovery mission. But it was far more informative than I would have thought, in so many ways, for so many reasons. I learned about the land and the people, but most importantly I learned about the ways of a biker. We traveled with minimal supplies, slept on the side of roads, dealt with shady characters, raced the sun and the moon on the back of a motorcycle with nothing guaranteeing my safety except for the competence of the one sitting in front of me.

    I saw and experienced more during this trip than I have in my entire life and I learned what it is expected of me, as a rider and as a member of the Tribe.

    Because official or not, I am a member.

    I belong with the Tribe.

    I denied it once, I used it as an excuse to be spared when the Count wanted to carve his mark into my skin, but now I have embraced my new future. I am a member of the Tribe and as soon as I am able, I plan on making it official.

    If I live that long, that is.

    A small town came into view, sunken between dunes of surrounding desert, practically forgotten by the rest of the world but maintained in secrecy by those who enjoy the seclusion this small settlement provided. As we drove through the streets, I was pleasantly surprised to find that not much has changed and the lazy bustle of people combating mid-afternoon heat had not been affected by our departure. The old ice cream parlor still catered to overheated patrons seeking a creamy and frozen escape from the heat, the grocery store still bartered half priced foods and fresh fruits, masses of bicycles still crowded around trees and fire hydrants at the park where kids yelled and chased each other around the playground.

    Everything looked the same, the entire town. The only things that were different, were us.

    Beyond the town lay several small hills where the grass had not been entirely siphoned of sustenance and retained its lush shade despite the baking sun above. Adversely, the trees could not withhold their nutrition and empty branches jutted toward the sky from where their leaves had been lost long ago. Polished stone scattered throughout these hills, some made of granite or marble or chiseled rock. Even as we traveled, unseen occupants darted from grave to grave, following us as we passed, carrying with them charged excitement that hummed through the air and dyed the landscape in vibrancy.

    This place was coming alive, reacting to the return of the one that made it worth existing.

    As the road curved, the hills bowed before a large structure that had my heart racing. Barbed wire bordered a perfectly reconstructed warehouse comprised of clean brick and gleaming windows. The gate was open, abandoned of its usual guard who must be on a break, and beyond we saw a line of motorcycles parked along the fence in a military line, saluting us as we passed – metal handlebars and flawless paint glistening like diamonds – as if they have been waiting for us.

    For Dustin.

    His breath stalled, his eyes widened, and his lips parted but turned up in awe. Color pooled in his cheeks, the same defying shades of early spring rose petals, "It's just like I remember, better even." He couldn't look away from those massive structures but blinked hard to make sure what he saw was not an illusion, "Damn ... it's beautiful."