Flatten it.
The words echoed in my mind. They were going to bulldoze the spot where Robert proposed to me. They were going to tear down the kitchen where we danced to the radio on late nights. They were going to erase us.
I was reaching for the light switch to finally give in, to turn off the “Open” sign for the last time, when I felt it.
It wasn’t a sound, at first. It was a vibration. A low, thrumming tremor that came up through the floorboards and into the soles of my shoes.
Then came the noise. A rumble. Deep. Guttural.
I froze, my hand hovering over the switch. Was it a plow? No. Plows scraped and clanked. This was a roar. A rhythmic, thunderous heartbeat of machinery. It grew louder, cutting through the shrieking wind outside.
I rushed back to the window, pressing my face against the cold glass.
At first, I saw only the blinding white of the storm. Then, twin beams of light cut through the snow. Then another pair. And another.
Silhouettes emerged from the white void. Beasts of steel and chrome. Motorcycles.
My breath hitched. Who in their right mind was riding a motorcycle in this? The temperature was dropping towards zero. The roads were sheets of black ice hidden under drifts.
