The Last Shadow Warrior

“D-D-Dad,” I sputtered, pawing at this shoulder while my brain froze like it had lost its Wi-Fi signal.
“Abby, what are you…? Can’t you see I’m trying to …?” Then the car swerved off course, and I knew he’d seen him too. He gripped the steering wheel so tightly I could hear the plastic creak in protest. “Hold on.”
We fishtailed as he punched the gas. The tires struggled to find a grip on the snow-covered freeway. Finally, they caught and we lurched forward, steadily picking up speed.
I watched the needle on the speedometer climb, but the motorcycle guy was right there with us the whole time. Pacing us. Snow flying from his enormous tires like he was cutting through water. He regarded me with chill malevolence, or what I guessed would have looked like something like that if he’d had any eyes. Was this the same guy who had been in our home last night? I had the sudden sensation that all the snow from outside had coalesced into an icy ball inside my gut.
“He’s still there!” I shouted.
“I know!” Dad’s voice was tight. “Give me a minute. I’m trying to lose him.”
“Who…what is he…it anyway?”
At first I thought Dad didn’t hear me. When he finally spoke his voice was almost too quiet to hear. Somehow the deathly clam in his voice freaked me out even more. “I’m not sure. But they warned me someone might try to stop us from reaching Vale.”
Stop us? Why would someone want to stop us? My quick, shallow breaths started to fog up the window. I wiped the glass with my coat sleeve, which seemed like a mistake as soon as I’d done it. Did I really want to see my own death in full high-def?
As if he’s heard our conversation, the corner of the biker’s mouth curled up in a wicked side grunt. I slowly reached down and locked my door. Not that it would do any good if he decided he wanted to come in. He looked like he could tear the door right off.
That’s when he started inching closer. I noticed nasty-looking spiky things protruding from the hubs of both his tires. Our little Honda was built for fuel economy, not demolition derbies. It was only marginally safer than a tin can on wheels. So I was pretty sure we were toast if he got anywhere near us with those.
“Spiky things! Spiky thinggggsss!” I whined. In my blind panic, my mental state had basically reverted to a kindergarten level.
Dad glanced away from the road briefly, then gritted his teeth.
“Grab on to something!” But I was already so tightly wedged into all our stuff that I wasn’t going anywhere.
A second before Big and Ugly turned us into a kebab, Dad jerked the wheel to the left, skidded through the snow spray tailing a big rig, and tucked in beside the rig’s trailer. He hugged the side of the trailer, trying to keep it between us and the giant motorcycle. From my vantage point, I could just make out the motorcycle’s tired from underneath the other side of the rig.
The giant rider leaned forward so his head was below the trailer and stared right at me, then wiggled his fingers at me with a terrifying grin. Then he slowed and disappeared behind the back of the truck.