From the moment they roared into Pine Stump Junction is was obvious to both of them that they would find no help there. Indeed, besides a handful of schools and churches and a YMCA, there was scarcely a “there” there at all—no people, no police presence, not so much as a tumbleweed—or so it seemed until they rumbled past the Y and saw a girl of about 12 huddled near the bicycles, at which point Sammy geared down and brought the Harley to a complete stop.
“What’s going on? Why are we stopping?” asked Annie, suddenly alarmed.
Sammy indicated the girl with a nod of his head. “We seem to have a survivor,” he said, and pushed up his visor. “Hello there! Are you hurt in any way?”
The girl didn’t so much as look up—only curled tighter into a ball as the Harley idled.
“Put it in gear,” said An
