The bag moved.
Jim froze. He blinked behind his aviators, wondering if the heat waves were
playing tricks on his eyes. But then it happened again. A weak, desperate twitch
from inside the burlap. A collective gasp rippled through the bikers who were
standing close enough to see it. The angry honking of the delayed cars faded into the
background. All attention was locked onto the shifting, trembling sack in the middle
of the highway.
“Did that thing just move?” Jax whispered, his hand instinctively dropping
toward the utility knife clipped to his belt. The tough, battle-hardened bikers stood
in stunned silence. Whatever was inside was alive, and it was trapped in a baking,
suffocating oven on the surface of one of America’s busiest highways.
“Give me your knife, Jax,” Jim ordered, his voice dropping to a gravelly urgency.
Jax unclipped his blade and handed it over. Jim dropped to his knees, ignoring the
scorching heat of the asphalt soaking through his heavy denim jeans. He carefully
gripped the knot of the frayed rope, but it was pulled too tight, sealed by whatever
monster had tied it.
With precise, careful movements, Jim slid the blade under the thick rope. He