The rumble of the Hayabusa’s engine told Echo Shen that his sister was up and away. This was his cue to finally put plan into action.
As he tiptoed into the tiny living room that doubled as storage, kitchen, laundry (etc, etc), he was met by a sight that had become all too familiar of late. Uncle Dave was sprawled over the edge of a moth-eaten sofa, bearded mouth agape and blissfully snoring, one hand still wrapped around a half-emptied bottle of soju.
Seeing him like this immediately called to mind vivid memories of late nights where Echo and his entire household had been kept awake by Dad’s and Uncle Dave’s boisterous drinking as they rehashed war tales of their glorious youth. Though Echo was old enough now to understand these were anything but happy memories, Dave Kwon had nevertheless seemed far more like an ‘uncle’ in those days, and that thought alone filled him with a twinge of yearning he hadn’t been prepared for. He hastily tried to shove the feeling away and focus on the task at hand.
Uncle Dave would be nigh on unrousable in his current state, but Echo still found himself growing agitated as he snuck around the room to gather supplies. He felt like a thief in his own home, fighting down the absurd notion that his own heartbeat was loud enough to wake his foster parent.
He found the keys easily enough (thrown haphazardly onto an overfilled ashtray) but then he hesitated on his choice of clothing. No one in the family knew that he’d taught himself to ride, and as such he lacked the privilege of owning his own gear. In the end, he settled on his usual jeans paired with Dave’s worn leather jacket that was at least two sizes too small, which left his bony wrists exposed to the elements. Finally, he stared down Dave’s helmet and gloves, grimacing as he imagined the sweat-soaked inner linings. After a few fraught moments, he decided that safety was paramount. If he was to sneak around without his sister’s knowledge, the least he could do for her was to minimize the risk to his person.
The night air was crisp and brisk, removing the last shred of sleep he might’ve held onto. Out of an abundant sense of caution, he wheeled Uncle Dave’s Honda CBR out past the sidewalk before starting the engine. Then he plugged in his phone, opened a homebrew app he’d codenamed ‘Gotham’ (he wasn’t yet old enough to appreciate the cringe), and waited.
The app first showed him a Google Maps rendition of his neighbourhood, which then zoomed out to draw a line between his current location and a green dot a few miles out. This dot now moved incrementally across the map at a steady pace.
A smile filled Echo’s face as he congratulated himself on the success of his latest DIY project. Then the smile quickly faded as he reminded himself that he was effectively spying on his sister. He’d be sure to apologize once this was all over.
As he turned the throttle and rode away from the house, however, he recanted the apology in his head, instead letting himself stew in his long-held indignation. If anything, Lotus ought to be the one to apologize to him.
For years, his sister had wanted nothing to do with Dad’s Suzuki Hayabusa, and had even sold it to Uncle Dave for far less than it was worth (and against Echo’s tearful protests). Then some months ago, she began to take it out with increasing frequency, seemingly with Uncle Dave’s blessing. Lotus hated their foster parent with a passion, Echo knew (with another twinge of sadness), yet now the two of them were often seen in Uncle Dave’s makeshift garage, putting their heads together to work on the Hayabusa, looking for all the world like partners in a serious start-up venture. Even then, Echo hadn’t become truly suspicious until Lotus had started sneaking out in the dead of night, rumbling away on a motorcycle she’d often claimed reminded her only of Dad’s failings and broken promises.
The sane healthy thing would’ve been to talk about it. But he and Lotus had never exactly been sane and healthy siblings. The one time Echo did bring it up, Lotus mumbled something about Uber Eats before shutting off completely. And he knew her well enough to know that pressing further would do neither of them any good…
So, despite his own misgivings about the moral greyness of it all, he’d taken it upon himself to extract the GPS receiver from an ancient Motorola he’d found buried at the bottom of a kitchen cabinet. He then paired this with his Gotham app before planting it under the rear fender of the Hayabusa. The green dot he presently tracked on his phone screen was therefore Lotus herself, and he was determined to find out exactly what she’d been up to on these secret outings.
And then what? That was the natural next question he’d yet to face. So what if he found out that, all this time, Lotus had been up to something shady, illegal, dangerous? Could he talk her out of it? Fat chance. The most likely outcome would be that he’d get an earful for his antics while his sister went right back to putting herself in danger, whether he liked it or not.
That had always been the way. Lotus, and only Lotus, knew what was best for them—for Echo—and of course she was also the only one that got to put herself on the line to fight for whatever that was. All Echo needed (and was allowed) to do was to keep himself on the straight and narrow, lest he repeat their father’s mistakes.
Yet despite the certain futility of the exercise, Echo pressed on. The green dot on the screen ticked steadily, increasing the distance between the siblings with every second that passed. The Honda was a less powerful machine than the Hayabusa, and Echo himself was a far less accomplished rider than his sister. Yet he pressed on, determined that, for once, he wouldn’t be content with being a passenger.
As he neared the centre of the city, an irregularity in Lotus’s movements caught his attention. The green dot that represented the Hayabusa came to a standstill just on the edge of downtown, allowing Echo to make up ground. But soon the green dot began to move again, now faster than ever. Indeed some quick maths in Echo’s head told him that Lotus now moved at an average velocity that was consistently over 100 mph. Whatever his sister was up to, legal or otherwise, it certainly couldn’t be safe!
Anxious, Echo opened the throttle wide, but quickly realized that he had no hope of catching up to Lotus simply by following her. He needed to predict her route and position himself somewhere he could intercept.
So, he willed his pounding heart to still and forced himself to calm. He watched the progress of the green dot intently, trying to anticipate its next move. After several turns (all taken at dangerous speeds), the Hayabusa appeared to be charting a course along the Inner Ring Road, and so, Echo too made toward it, aiming to ride it in the opposite direction (and banking on the hope that Lotus would stay the course until their paths met).
But just as he rounded onto the eastbound ramp for the Inner Ring Road, he was met by a disturbing sight. A large crowd had gathered at a dilapidated gas station at the foot of the ramp, an assortment of colourful characters in the midst of what looked to be a lively party. Loud bassy music, dancing and shouting, groups of people huddled around a large projection screen—but what drew Echo’s eyes were the motorcycles.
Sportbikes of all makes and colours dotted the place, accompanied by riders in varying degrees of agitation. Some of the machines lay in a dented heap, clearly out of commission, and their riders appeared to be the angriest and most overexcited among the crowd.
There’s no way whatever this is and whatever Lotus was doing aren’t related, Echo thought, his anxieties rising another notch. For a moment, he was distracted from his pursuit of Lotus, and he wasn’t fully aware that he’d rolled to a stop, better to take in the sights and sounds of this strange assembly. Yet as he did so, he caught the eyes of one particularly gaudily dressed gentleman among the crowd. Something akin to recognition lit up this man’s visage, before he flashed Echo a wide gold-toothed grin.
Echo couldn’t say exactly why, but something about the gilded grin scared him, as though he’d just walked into a trap. He quickly sped away, trying to forget what he’d seen and return his focus onto Lotus.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
As he’d hoped, the green dot had so far adhered to the Inner Ring Road, making impressively rapid progress through the beltway. It wouldn’t be long before he and Lotus’s respective routes collided.
Echo had just climbed the on-ramp when it happened. The air suddenly filled with the roar of engines other than his Honda’s. His head swiveled wildly toward the new presence, and he saw that four, perhaps five riders now surrounded him. They matched their speeds to his and positioned themselves just so to close off any avenues for escape. One of them turned a helmeted head toward Echo and waved a hand, indicating toward the shoulder of the road.
Should he obey and pull over? What was the worst that could happen? As far as Echo could tell, he himself had done nothing to aggrieve these strangers, but he also had no way of knowing just what Lotus had gotten herself into. All of his instincts told him to surrender, that he’d bitten off far more than he could chew, that the safest smartest thing was to nod meekly and let the grown-ups of the world decide what to do with him.
Echo braked and began to turn toward the shoulder. But as he did so, a gap opened where one of the riders hadn’t been quick enough to slow down. And as soon as he detected this gap, a new instinct—one hitherto entirely alien to Echo—took hold.
He drove the throttle, hard, and leaned toward the gap. The Honda bellowed appreciatively as it tore through the formation and back onto the open road. Several yells of alarm shot up from the would-be captors, but Echo ignored them and sped, hoping against hope that Uncle Dave’s Honda would hold its own in a bona fide race.
The hope was short-lived. Almost as soon as Echo had broken out, the pack was upon him again, the riders’ poise and experience making the difference where the machines were equal. But by then Echo had fully committed to the race, and he resolved to see it through to the bitter end. He gripped the throttle and kept the Honda pointed into the wind. All the thoughtful planning and clever gimmicks with which he’d armed himself for the night’s excursion had gone out the window. The only thing he could think to do now was ride, faster and faster.
Just then an enormous shadow emerged from the corner ahead of the riders. This shadow then resolved into a massive truck, which flashed its headlights and blared its booming horn.
In his haste, Echo had drifted close to the median, and several of his pursuers were now well across on the oncoming lanes. Echo swerved, nearly bumping into another rider as he did, and he felt the air around him suck onto the truck as it rushed past. Then, to his horror, he heard the screech of skidding tires and a mighty keening of something metal and gigantic twisting and contorting. He looked back over his shoulder as he slid to a halt. And he watched as though in slow motion as the fuel tanker collapsed onto its side, blocking nearly the entire width of the road as it did.
An eerie silence stilled the air for just a moment before something next to the cabin of the truck burst into flames, spewing black smoke into the night. Then Echo’s senses filled with the overwhelming smell of gasoline. Behind him, motors sped away as the riders that had gotten ahead of Echo now fled the scene. His owns hand held the throttle tight, itching to turn and follow suit. Yet his eyes stayed on the overturned fuel tanker, specifically on the door to its cabin that now faced up to the sky.
He waited. And waited. The smell of gasoline grew ever stronger. The smokes now rose from the entire length of the tank. Still there was no movement from inside the cabin.
Echo got off his bike and took tentative steps toward the cabin. His whole body shook, and he could barely feel the ground beneath his feet. The world itself had become a blurry haze.
He had no idea how he kept himself moving, but he managed not only to make his way over to the truck but also navigate the cables and machinery to clamber onto the side of the cabin. The door was locked. He peered into the window and made out a figure that was pushed against the far side. The driver’s head was slumped onto one shoulder and a trail of blood ran down his neck, but otherwise his expression was peaceful, like he’d only been sleeping.
Or he’s dead. Echo banged against the window several times, feeling the sting of the impact in his own hands. The driver didn’t stir.
Panic rising, Echo got up and looked around, as though help would materialize out of thin air. Then he remembered something. Lotus!
He jumped off the cabin and sprinted back to the Honda, where his phone was still switched onto the Gotham app and showed a green dot quickly approaching his position. Surely, if he could count on anyone, it would be his sister.
Almost right on cue, an engine zoomed into audible range, coming in from the same corner out of which the fuel tanker had earlier emerged. It was Dad’s jet-black Suzuki Hayabusa, carrying Lotus’s light and nimble frame.
Echo made himself as large as possible and waved. Lotus slowed but showed no sign that she’d recognized him. Then he remembered that he still had his helmet on, flung it off, and waved again.
“Stop, Lotus! I need your help!”
This time, Lotus did come to a complete stop. Then she lifted her visor to reveal a pair of round stricken eyes.
“Echo? What the hell are you doing here?”
“There’s no time to explain, but you need to help me! The driver’s still trapped in the cabin!”
“The driver? You mean the—”
“The door’s locked, and I think he’s been knocked unconscious! Come on, Lotus, help me think of a way to get him out!”
There was a pause, then Lotus’s eyes lost their initial uncertainty, now setting themselves into their trademark ice and steel. Without warning, she revved up the engine again and slid toward Echo, then grabbed him by the collar with a surprisingly strong hand.
“Ow! What’re you doing?”
“Get on!” she growled, pulling him into the Hayabusa. “I’m getting you out of here.”
“What? No, stop!” Echo flung himself free, with a touch more force than he’d intended. Lotus staggered for a moment, but then held firm and fixed him with a cold glare. Echo yelled, “I can’t just ride off with you! I came here on Uncle Dave’s Honda, can’t you see?”
“Forget the Honda,” her voice was as icy as her gaze, “I’m getting you out first.”
“What about the truck driver? We can’t just leave him in there. He needs our help!”
“I don’t give a fuck about the truck driver!”
Echo flinched. Lotus’s eyes had gone from ice to blazing fire in an instant, and when she was like this, there was no arguing with her. Echo fell silent, shoulders drooping. His meekness did seem to soften his sister just slightly, and when she spoke again, her voice had regained a measure of calm, “There’s nothing we can do about a locked door, and besides that, it’s not our job. Let’s get ourselves to safety first, then we’ll call 911. Let the professionals deal with this.”
Several words of protest rose in Echo’s chest and died at his throat. In the end, he gave a nod, barely perceptible. Lotus inched forward in her seat, offering up the space on the rear of the Hayabusa. Echo replaced his helmet and climbed on, and as soon as he did, his sister put the bike back into motion, turning and rolling away from the tanker.
And that was when their whole world erupted in flames.
There was no warning, not even an explosion. The extent of the tanker’s spill must’ve been far wider than Echo had anticipated, for the fire was everywhere: in front, to their sides, and at their feet.
But there was something strange about it too. Veritable pillars of flames rose into the night sky and filled Echo’s entire field of view. Then they twisted and churned and merged and split apart, transforming wildly as though whipped up by powerful gusts of wind. Was this how fire was supposed to behave?
“Lotus!”
Echo shouted with all his might, but he couldn’t even hear himself. His lungs instantly filled with burning air that singed and ravaged his insides. Coughing, reeling, melting, it was all he could do to hold himself upright on the back of the Hayabusa.
Through it all, his sister showed no outward sign that the world had come crashing down on them. She tucked low, twisted the throttle, and rode. Then the fire before them seemed to shift again, this time flying apart to form a seam—a path. And Lotus rode headfirst onto this flame-kissed path.
Sister, brother, and machine rode, into a swirling conflagration of wind and flame. They rode until the flames had burnt to cinder the world they knew. They rode until the wind carried them to a land unknown.