The rain had stopped less than an hour earlier.

Water still covered the pavement outside Black Creek Diner, reflecting the yellow glow of the neon sign.

Inside, six motorcycle riders sat around the last table.

They had been on the road for nearly twelve hours.

Their leader, Marcus “Stone” Kane, looked at the clock.

2:07 a.m.

“We leave in twenty.”

One of the riders nodded.

Then came a sound from outside.

A faint knock.

Everyone looked toward the window.

Another knock.

Stone stood.

“Did you hear that?”

The others nodded.

He walked toward the entrance.

When he opened the door, cold air rushed inside.

Nobody was there.

Stone looked left.

Nothing.

Right.

Nothing.

Then he heard a tiny voice.

“Sir?”

He looked down.

A little girl stood behind a dumpster.

She was perhaps eight years old.

Her hair was wet.

Her clothes were dirty.

She was barefoot.

Stone froze.

“Where did you come from?”

The girl stared at him.

Then she whispered:

“I've been outside since yesterday.”

Stone's face changed.

“Yesterday?”

She nodded.