The ride passed in a blur, always sticking to back roads and rough highways. We conferred as we rode; he knew we would need to be out of sight for a while, and they were willing to do almost anything needed for us.

Soon enough we were in the woods, on a logging road which ran back and forth across the state borders here. We would be safe. We kept on until we got to a small cabin Chester and I had visited together as a boy, years and years back. Nobody had been here in a while, to judge by the forest debris around the building, and the road was so overgrown, it hadn't seen any vehicles in a couple years. So much for worries about Forest Rangers or Fire Patrol.

My little Rusty Blackbird about fell off the bike when we stopped; I understood the rough ride would have bothered her... my ass felt as though it were about to fall off. But she backed away from us about thirty feet. I could see a blind fear in her eyes I had never seen in her through the door glass, but had seen in others. She was terrified I would touch her or try to do something like hugging or such. Quietly, I told the others to help me get into the cabin.

We carefully checked the cabin for any signs of entry at all. The padlocks on the doors and windows were rusty and ancient; this place was untouched for many years. Marta was pretty good at jimmying the locks, and we were into the cabin in short minutes. The three of us grabbed anything handy and began to clear webs and dust, to try to make the place livable. Must have belonged to some elderly folks in later years; everything was covered in that hard plastic old folks seemed to love.

After an hour or so of cleaning, Rusty came into the door. Marta greeted her.

"Hi! I'm Marta, this is Chester, Cian you seem to know. What's your name?"