Third and final part in a short story set in the same world (different time and location) as The Darkest Hour. Catch up on Part 1 and Part 2, if you need a refresher. As always, let me know what you think.
By the time the stranger stopped, Johnny’s arms ached from holding on, and his face felt like it’d been through another spinner. His eyes burned, open or shut, but he was so tired, he mostly kept them closed.
They pulled off the highway into a copse of trees. Johnny’d never been this far from home. Were they even in his micro-nation anymore? The stranger cut the motor and walked the cycle into a thicket before pulling Johnny off the back and setting him on the ground.
Johnny curled himself into a ball and sniffed.
The stranger folded his arms over his chest. “What’s your name, little guy?”
Johnny ducked his head into his knees and didn’t answer. No one called him little. Ever. Johnny’s mom used to say he was born weighing as much as a calf and hadn’t stopped growing since. Continue reading