Stay where you are.

Climbing quickly out of the beetle, you stand up next to the car, and grab the binoculars off of the roof of the battered vehicle, where you had left them. With a steady urgency, you scan the road for any sign of other vehicles following the lone biker, and then the area to the sides of the road. After scamming back and forth once, and then twice, you feel fairly certain the rapidly approaching rider is alone.

As the figure nears, you can see that they are dressed in black leathers, and a helmet with a face shield that makes it impossible to identify their sex at that distance. However, they’ll be at your location in less than a minute, and just as you see a leather holster containing a shotgun mounted to the side of the roaring bike, you realize there’s no time to take hide. The biker has no doubt already seen you. You slip the pistol into the waistband of your jeans, opposite the small of your back, and hope for the best. You hate the fact that out of necessity, you can’t trust anyone anymore until they prove themselves.

Lowering the binoculars, and tossing them in the backseat of the car, you position yourself in such a way as to give you the most cover in case of some gunplay. Idly, you scratch your ear, and play with the small mounted blue stone that pierces your earlobe you smile to yourself, and shake your head slightly over your personal vanity. Earrings in this terrible new world. Moving your hands to the back over your head, your quickly pinned a loose strand of straw colored hair back to the bun on the back of your head, before dropping your arms back to your sides.

The motorcycle skids to a screeching stop less than thirty feet from the car. The ride heavy leathers must be incredible hot you think to yourself, as you nod smiling, and give the mysterious a friendly wave. They give no response, and loudly rev the engine of the bikes several times, as if they’re considering their next move.

The sunlight glints of the opaque visor of the helmet, and you squint. Then the rider shuts off the bike, and moves the parking stand in place. Slowly, and deliberately they move to the rear of the cycle, always keeping you in their line of sight, as the reach towards a faded army issue pack strapped to the back of the bike. You make no hostile moves, but you don’t move from behind the car either. Pulling a velcored flap open, the gloved hand of the rider reaches slowly inside the pack, and pulls out a bottle of water. Nodding towards you, as if to say “want one?” the biker reaches into the pack once more. Your right hand moves to your back, at the ready, and you hope the rider’s offer is genuine.