She was 9 years old, hauling firewood during a blizzard when she spotted him, a biker buried in snow, barely living. She hauled him to safety with hands that weren’t strong enough to hold that much weight. What she didn’t know, he’d been hunting for her for 5 years, holding her dead mother’s promise. And the men who tried to stop him were still hunting them both.
The wind howled like something was dying. Lily pushed her chin farther into the torn neck of the coat she got as a gift. It was three sizes too big, and the sleeves were rolled up so many times that they looked like fabric donuts at her wrists. As she pulled another fallen branch toward her improvised sled, her fingers were covered in mismatched socks that she had turned into gloves.
She was nine years old and had learnt that to stay alive, you had to be ready for the worst before it happened. Two days ago, the radio at the group home warned about the blizzard. Lily had been hiding behind the laundry room door in the corridor and listening to Mrs. Patterson tell the state inspector that all 12 beds were full and in good shape.
A lie. Lily had been sleeping in the unheated sun room for three weeks, and there were 15 youngsters in the house. So, when Mrs. Patterson loaded up her Mercedes yesterday and drove off to wait out the storm with her sisters in Denver, Lily had made her own plans. She had gotten away before the older kids could see her and eat all the food she had been hiding.
The empty bus terminal on Route 17 had been a safe place for her before. It would work again. The sky was purple, gray, and ominous, like old bruises. Now, snow was falling in heavy, angry sheets, not the soft flakes that fell this morning. Lily squinted through the white mess to see if she could find the red roof of the bus station. should be nearby. Had to be close.
That’s when she noticed it. A glitter of chrome could just be seen under a pile of snow that was getting bigger. Lily stopped, and her breath made clouds in the cold air. It was probably simply rubbish, broken automobile bits, or maybe even a shopping cart that blew off the highway. But something made her walk through the knee-deep snow to get to it. Not a shopping cart, but a motorcycle, a big one lying on its side. Her heart started to race as she approached closer.
There was a person next to it, partly buried. Hello. Lily’s voice broke. She fell forward and dropped her sled. Hey, sir. No answer. The man was lying on his stomach, and his leather jacket was frozen. One arm was extended out like he’d been crawling before the cold grabbed him.
Snow had drifted over his legs, his back, turning him into just another hill in the landscape. Lily’s first inclination was to run. Police were called when there were dead bodies. Police meant asking questions. Questions meant going back to the group home, or worse, to a new place where she would have to learn new hiding areas and find out which kids took and which ones shared.
But then she saw his fingers move. Oh my gosh. Lily fell to her knees next to him, her hands hovering uselessly. She had never touched someone who was dying before. What if she made things worse? There were patches stitched into the back of his garment. A skull with wings on it. Word she couldn’t fully read because of the snow. She wiped the ice from his face.
He was probably in his 40s, with a few days’ worth of beard growth, and a bad cut across his temple. Blood frozen and running toward his ear. Sir, you need to wake up. She shook him on the shoulder. Nothing. She shook even harder. Come on. His eyelids moved. He made a sound so quiet that she almost missed it because of the wind. Lily made up her mind. She wasn’t able to lift him.
He was at least 6 feet tall and had a lot of muscle under all that leather, but she could pull him. She dragged him by the armpits. He hardly moved at all. The snow was too deep, and her feet kept slipping. She changed how she held on, spread her feet apart, and pulled with all her might. One foot, two feet. Her arms screamed in pain.
It felt like her back was about to break, but she kept pushing, halting every few steps to gather her breath and her petite chest heaving with effort. It was only around 100 yards to the bus station. In normal circumstances, it’s a simple walk. It might as well have been 100 miles in this storm, which was dragging a big man. “You better not die,” she said between clenched teeth, tugging him a few more paces.
I’m not doing this for free. Lily finally dragged him through the damaged entrance of the bus station 20 minutes later. Her legs were shaking and the moisture on her forehead was chilly even though it was cold. The old building was like a skeleton of what it used to be.
The windows were broken, the walls were covered with graffiti, and the benches were ripped out and sold for scrap. But the roof was partly intact, and the back chamber still had a door that closed. She made a nest out of cardboard and old newspapers to keep herself safe during the storm. She pulled the man into her safe place and fell next to him, out of breath. She laid there for a while, listening to the wind hit the building. Then she made herself get up.
Fire. She needed fire, or they would both die of cold. Lily had learned how to create flames with only a few things. She took her pile of newspapers, added some of the smaller sticks she had found earlier, and took out the lighter she had taken from Mrs. Patterson’s kitchen drawer.
A small flame sprung to life in the place she had walled with bricks to keep it from spreading. Lily switched her focus back to the biker as the room started to warm up. He was still out cold, and his respiration was shallow and uneven. His skin didn’t appear right; it was too pale and had a grayish hue. She had watched enough medical shows on the old TV at the group home to know what hypothermia was. She had to get him out of those damp garments.
She was able to rapidly unzip his jacket and take it off. His flannel top was soaking through. She hesitated for a time before unbuttoning it and taking it off as well, trying not to look at the wounds that were all over his chest. She put every dry piece of cloth she had on him. The extra clothes she gave, the cardboard, and even the newspaper.
His jeans were soaked too, but that was as far as she would go. She put him as close to the fire as she could without getting too close and then sat back and watched his chest rise and fall. She muttered, “You’re going to be okay,” more to herself than to him. “You have to be.” Hours went by. The storm outside got worse and worse.
The little fire made the walls look like they were moving. Lily added a little bit, knowing she would have to make it last. She was getting sleepy because she was tired from the rescue when the biker’s eyes suddenly opened wide. His hand came out and grabbed her wrist with startling force. His eyes, bright and unfocused from the fever, locked upon hers.
Promise. His voice was barely a rasp, and his breath was shaking in his chest. Have to find her. Must find. Who do you want to find? Lily attempted to get away, but he held on tight. The girl. Lily has to. Promised eyes. His eyes rolled back, and his hand fell limp, letting her go. Lily ran back, her heart racing.
How could he know her name? Lily pushed herself against the cold wall and looked at the man who was sleeping by the fire. What is her name? He had said her name. No one knew her out here. She had made sure of it. She told the gas station clerk she was Emma when she ran away from the group home. She told the town librarian that her name was Sophie. Changing your name was easy when you weren’t anyone.
But this man, who was partly frozen and crazy, had whispered. “You just don’t understand,” she stated out loud, her voice shaking. “You don’t know me.” The biker didn’t say anything. His chest moved up and down in a way that worried her more than she wanted to confess. She had seen Mr. Chen breathe like that before he had a heart attack at the group home.
The ambulance had come, with sirens blaring, and he hadn’t come back. Lily scooted closer, but she was careful to stay out of reach of his arms in case he grabbed her again. His face was less gray now that he was closer to the fire, but he was still sweating on his forehead. Temperature. That was not good.
She dipped the edge of her sleeve into the melting snow water she had collected in a tin can and pressed it to his forehead. He jumped, but he didn’t wake up. Who are you? She spoke it softly. She noticed the patches on his jacket. She had thrown it near the door, but now she pulled it closer to look at it in the firelight. The primary patch on the back has a skull with wings spread wide and silver thread text underneath it.
Motorcycle Club for the Iron Brotherhood MC in Montana. She’d seen bikes like his go through town before, typically in groups, and their motors were so powerful that they shook the windows. Mrs. Patterson usually locked the doors when they went by and grumbled about those individuals. But this guy didn’t seem dangerous anymore. He looked like he was in pain. Lily’s fingertips moved over the coordinates of the other patches that she didn’t comprehend. A little American flag with a purple heart.
Army. The few veterans she met at the soup kitchen were nice to her and always made sure she had extra bread. Lily stopped moving when the man moved. His eyes opened, and they were clearer than before, yet they still hurt. She saw that they were blue, like the sky before a storm. “Water,” he said in a rough voice.
Lily took the tin can and put it to his lips. He was able to take a few swallows before he started to cough, and water ran down his chin. “Easy,” she murmured, startled at how solid her voice sounded. “Not too fast.” He squinted at her to attempt to focus. You’re only a kid. Lily said, “I’m nine.” Almost ten. You are too young to be out here by yourself. His words were a little garbled.
Where are your family? Don’t have one. It was easy to tell the automatic lie. I’m staying with my aunt who lives close by. I just went outside to get firewood before the storm. His eyes narrowed, and for a second she believed he could see right through her. But then he winced and put his hand on his ribcage. “What’s your name?”He asked, “What?” Lily thought for a moment.
He had uttered her real name previously, but that was just a dream. “Maybe if she lied, she could figure out how he knew her without giving anything away.” “Anna,” she murmured. “Anna is my name.” Something changed on his face. sadness. But he only nodded slowly. I’m a ghost. That’s not a name that exists. True enough.
He tried to sit up, but he gasped and fell back. Damn. Ribs. Something is wrong. What happened to you? Ghost’s jaw got tighter. The road was icy. He lost control, but his eyes moved away when he uttered it. and Lily had been lied to enough to recognize the signals. You’re lying. His gaze swung back to her, piercing despite the pain. “Smart kid. So, what really went down?”Don’t worry about anything, Anna.
He said her bogus name on purpose, and she wondered if he realized it was fake. “You got a phone? I need to call my brothers.” No signal out here. The storm took down the cell tower yesterday. Ghost closed his eyes and moved his jaw. How long will it take for the storm to pass? The radio said two or three days. Damn, he was quiet for a while.
You probably should have left me out there. Why would I want to do that? Because I’m a troublemaker, child. And misfortune finds me no matter what I do. Lily put another stick in the fire. Everyone has problems with someone. At least you’re being honest about it. For a long time, Ghost looked at her.
You’re not going to stay with any aunts, are you? Her shoulders got tense. Yes, I am. Kids with families don’t know how to cause fires in empty buildings. Their hands don’t have calluses like that. He pointed to her fingers. They don’t gaze at outsiders like they’re figuring out how to get away. Lily’s throat got constricted. “So what?” So nothing.
He moved around, attempting to get comfortable, but he couldn’t. “Your business is yours.” “But you did save my life tonight, so thank you.” “That means something.” They sat in silence, with the fire crackling between them. The wind howled like something was hunting outside. Ghost’s respiration began to slow down. Sleep or being unconscious took him again.
He whispered something so quietly just before he went under that Lily almost didn’t hear it. Like her mother. Same eyes. Lily’s blood froze. What did you mean? She grabbed his shoulder, but he was already gone, lost in fever dreams. She sat back, her mind whirling. Her mom. He had talked about her mom. Lily’s mom died when she was four. She didn’t remember her very well. Just fragments. Dark hair.
A laugh that sounded like music. The smell of vanilla. How could this stranger know anything about her mother? Lily’s gaze moved to Ghost’s jacket. He had maintained that his business was his own, but he had also said that problems followed him. It could be time to find out what kind of difficulty it was. She reached for the jacket and felt around in the pockets with her tiny fingers.
Deputy Marcus Hayes sat in his patrol cruiser and watched the snow build up on Route 17. The windshield wipers were getting less and less useful. Even though the coffee in his thermos had been cold for an hour, he kept drinking it. Anything to keep me awake on this awful road. The radio made a crackling sound. Unit 7, what’s going on? Marcus picked up the phone.
At the Route 17 checkpoint, “Sheriff, I haven’t seen anyone since yesterday.” Roads are totally covered. “Stay put for another hour, then come back,” Sheriff Warner said in a voice that was full of anger. “States are breathing down my neck about keeping an eye on the highways.” Copy that. Marcus put down the phone and was ready to pour himself another cup of awful coffee when something caught his eye.
There are tracks in the snow that are hard to see now, but they are there. Little footprints going off the highway toward the old bus terminal. His heart raced. The county had closed the bus station five years ago when they moved the major road, but it was also renowned as a safe place for runaways and others who were just passing through.
Last month, he got rid of three homeless persons from there. Marcus sent a message back. Sheriff, I see rails going toward the old bus terminal. Looks new. Maybe yesterday, before the snow became really bad. There was a break, and then Warner’s voice came back with interest. Small paths. Yes, sir. I’d say it’s the size of a child. Well, Warner’s tone altered. That quality it gained when he smelled a chance.
Maybe it’s the kid from our lost group home. Two days earlier, Patterson sent in a report. Before the hurricane, a 9-year-old girl called Lily Morgan ran away. States giving $1,500 to get better. Marcus frowned. 1,500 seems like a lot for a health check. Patterson knows people in the state foster program.
The kids also have a history of jogging. Warner’s chair creaked over the radio for the third time this year. Hayes, look at this. We bring in the Morgan girl if it’s her. The department fund gets the money from the reward. Marcus understood what the department fund was. Warner’s pocket, but he didn’t say anything. He had only been with the Morgan County Sheriff’s Department for eight months and was still on probation.
Warner also made it plain that deputies who asked him questions didn’t survive long. What if she doesn’t want to return? Nine years old. Hayes doesn’t care what she wants. We work for the public. We do things for the good of the public. Warner’s voice got harder. We also follow state rules for helping runaways. Check the station and let us know what you find. The radio stopped working.
Marcus watched the tracks fade away into the white plain. Warner gets $1,500. It was worth walking through a snowstorm. He took his torch and went outside into the howling wind. Warner hung up the radio and relaxed back in his chair at the sheriff’s station. A smile grew across his worn face.
Lily Morgan was a gift that kept on giving. He opened the file on his PC. 9 years old, no family left, and the state is in charge of him. She had to go to four different foster homes in three years, and each time it didn’t work out. The assessment claimed that the child had behavioral problems, didn’t trust adults, and was likely to run away. The papers didn’t say that Lily was brilliant. Too smart.
She had learned how to use the system, or at least how to get away when it didn’t work for her, which was often. This year, Warner had already taken her back to Mrs. Patterson’s group home twice. The state paid the recovery cost 700 times in March and 900 times in July. Now since the storm had made the recovery more dangerous, the charge had gone up to 1,500.
Money is easy. His phone rang. A text from a number you don’t know. I heard you would be interested in the Morgan girl. Buyer is interested if you can confirm the location. Warner’s smile went away. He quickly deleted the message and banned the number. He had gotten messages like this before.
There were bad people who paid attention to kids in the system who were weak. People who saw chances when others saw problems. He would never go that far. Warner was dishonest. He was fine with taking some reward money and ignoring it when it was convenient, but he wasn’t a monster. Kids like Lily went back to the homes they were told to go to. That’s all there is to it.
Still, the communications were coming more often and with more detail. Someone was really interested in Lily Morgan, and Warner didn’t like not knowing why. He opened a new window on his computer to get to the secure state database. Lily’s file was ordinary stuff. Birth certificate, medical records, educational transcripts from three separate elementary schools.
Mother is dead, and father is unknown. But there was a notation he’d never noticed previously, buried in the medical records. A flag from four years ago when Lily had been confined to County General with pneumonia. Blood type AB negative. Genetic markers highlighted for familial matching protocol per request #2847b.
Warner frowned at the music. family matching, which was only asked for when there were problems with custody or inheritance. But Lily didn’t have any family. He clicked on the link for request #2847b. [Music] You don’t have access. Record that is sealed. He frowned more. He had been sheriff for 12 years and had never seen a sealed record on a foster child. Those were only for cases involving witness protection or kids of government informants.
What the hell was Lily Morgan doing? His radio made a crackling sound. Sheriff, this is Hayes. I’m getting close to the bus station now. There are definitely evidence of recent activity. Fire and smoke coming from the vents. Warner picked up the phone. Is the girl there? Not sure yet. Wait a second. A break with noise from the wind and static. We have an issue, Sheriff. What kind of trouble? There is a motorcycle here.
A big touring bike is laying on its side around 50 yards from the station. Plates from Montana. It seems like it crashed. Warner’s instincts were on edge. Plates from Montana. Run the plates. I already did. Signed up for a Marcus Garrett. 42 years old. Address in Billings. But sheriff, the bikes are in Iron Brotherhood colors.
Warner’s blood ran cold. He had heard of the Iron Brotherhood. A motorcycle club that has been around for a long time, largely made up of former soldiers. They mostly stayed to themselves and staged charity rides for soldiers who had died, but they were also quite protective of their own and didn’t like it when the police got involved. Any indication of the rider? No.
But the tracks from previously go from the bike to the station. It looks like someone pulled something heavy through the snow. A little person pulling a big person. Warner did some math. This changed everything if Lily had somehow gotten acquainted with a biker. If there were problems, like possible kidnapping or adults becoming involved, the state wouldn’t pay a prize.
They would send state police, and maybe even the FBI if the brotherhood was involved. But if he could get the girl back without anyone knowing about the biker, he would still get the money. Hayes, be careful when you get there. Bring the girl in right away if you find her. Don’t talk to anyone else. Do you get it? What about the person on the bike? If he’s hurt, I’ll call the state emergency services. The Morgan girl is your top priority. That’s a command.
Marcus’ voice came back, but not easily. Got it, Sheriff. Warner stopped the transmission and sat back, thinking. Was Lily Morgan in danger, or was she merely in the wrong place at the wrong time? No matter what, she was worth $1,500, and Warner planned to get it. Lily’s hands shook as she looked through Ghost’s jacket pockets.
She told herself she was only looking for a phone, maybe some ID, anything that would help her understand why this stranger knew her name and had talked about her mother. The outer pockets had a wallet with cash and a driver’s ID that proved his name was Marcus Garrett. They also had receipts from gas stations in three states and a chewing of gum.
There was nothing strange about it, but the jacket was heavier than it should have been. She ran her fingers over the lining and found seams that were hidden and sewed with military precision. She felt a zipper hidden inside the left breast panel with her fingers. She looked at Ghost. He was still asleep, but his breathing was harsh and steady. Lily opened the secret pocket. There was a pouch inside that was waterproof.
She took it out, and her heart was beating so fast that she could hear it over the crackling fire. The sack was tightly sealed, like one that would keep critical papers safe. She opened it. The first thing she saw was a picture that had been laminated to keep it safe from the weather. She held it up to the light of the fire. A mother had a tiny daughter, who was about 2 or 3 years old, on her lap.
The woman was laughing and had dark hair. She turned her face to the camera. The small child looked up at her mother with love in her eyes and reached for her face with one tiny hand. Lily’s throat felt tight. She didn’t remember that picture exactly, but she had seen it in dreams, in the bits and pieces that came to her sometimes when she was between sleeping and waking.
The woman was her mother, and the girl was her. Lily muttered, “No.” No, no, no. Her hands shook as she reached deeper into the pouch. There was more. A dainty chain with a silver locket on it. Lily’s fingers had trouble grasping the clasp. There was another small picture inside, this time of the same woman in military gear, but by herself. Army by the patches.
There are sergeant stripes on her sleeve. is cursive writing on the reverse of the locket. Sarah Morgan, who is always brave. Her mother’s name is Sarah Morgan. When Lily was four, someone told her that her mother had died in a car crash. That there were no relatives, no family pictures, or anything else remaining. The authorities had alleged that all of the person’s things were lost or broken.
But they were here, locked away like secrets in a biker’s jacket. She reached into the sack again, and her breathing was quick and shallow. She held something metal and chilly in her hands. She took it out. A tag for a soldier’s dog. The stamped letters shone in the firelight. Morgan, Sarah J. SSG, US Army. Lily had seen enough war movies to know what dog tags were.
They wore them so that people could tell who they were if they died. Why did Ghost have the dog tag of her mother? She threw the rest of the pouch’s contents onto the cardboard floor. More pictures. Her mother, in war uniform, standing with other soldiers. Her mom is clutching a gun. Her mother smiled even though she looked tired.
In several of the pictures, a younger version of Ghost was standing next to her mother. Lily gasped, “Oh my god.” A beautifully folded piece of paper came out from between the pictures. She opened it up with shaky hands. It was a letter written by hand. The writing faded a little, but you could still read it. “Ghost, if you’re reading this, I didn’t make it home.” Please do something for me.
I should have asked this a long time ago, but I was too arrogant to say I needed help. Look for Lily. Keep her safe. I have made plans with the state, but I don’t trust the system. I’ve seen too many kids become lost in it. She is brilliant and stronger than she thinks, but she will need someone who knows what it takes to keep promises. I only trust you with this.
You kept me alive in a foreign country when everyone else would have abandoned me behind. Now I’m asking you to protect her. On the back are the coordinates. That’s where I’ve told her to go if something happens to me. But if those plans don’t work out and the state moves her somewhere else, you have to find her. Make me a promise. She has my eyes.
Ghost. Also, I’m obstinate. You should not give up on her, even if she will fight you every step of the way. Let her know that you adored her. Sarah Lily’s eyes hurt. She blinked back tears with all her might, not letting them fall. She didn’t shed a tear. Crying was a sign of weakness, and youngsters who were weak in the system got devoured alive.
But her mother had loved her, made plans for her, and trusted someone to keep her safe. That person was laying on the floor, half frozen and broken, since he had been looking for her for five years. He had been looking for her. She flipped the letter over. There were coordinates and a date on the back. Five years ago, a week after her mother died. Below that, there was a name and address that had been crossed out.
Then another address was crossed out. Then another Foster Home. He had been keeping an eye on her through the foster system. Mrs. Patterson’s address was the last one written down. The words “reported missing 1112ths” were written in a different ink underneath it. Looking toward the area around Route 17. The date was yesterday. He had found her. Ghost had really discovered her after looking for her for five years. And then he crashed.
“No,” Lily said loudly, her voice strong. “Not an accident.” She looked at the cut on his head and the way his ribs were broken. She remembered how he had lied when she asked what had happened and how his eyes had moved away. He had been injured by someone. Someone had tried to keep him from getting to her. But why? A sound outside made her freeze. Not the wind this time.
A motor. She saw headlights cutting through the snow through the smashed windows. Coming closer. Ghost’s eyes sprung open. Even though he was hurt, the sound of the engine had roused him up. His gaze fell on the images and paperwork lying around Lily, and recognition flashed across his face. Not anger, resignation. Lily, he said quietly.
Your real name is Lily. She met his eyes, the silver locket gripped in her fingers. What do you have of my mother’s? Because I promised her I’d locate you. He tried to get up, but it hurt too much. And that’s because someone doesn’t want me to keep my word. The headlights were just about 50 yards distant now. Is that them? Lily said something in a low voice.
The folks that wounded you. Ghost used the wall to help him get up. Worse. That is a police car. So the police are meant to aid. He seemed quite serious. Not this one. Ghost moved faster than Lily believed someone with damaged ribs could.
He grabbed his jacket and quickly stuffed the photos and papers back into the secret pocket. We have to leave now. But you stated it was a cop. I know what I said. He put on the jacket, and his face turned white with pain. Some cops are bad, kid. And the one who is coming here? He works for someone who genuinely doesn’t want us to get together again.
Lily held the locket tightly, her mind racing. I don’t get it. The engine stopped running outside. The door of an automobile slammed shut. Ghost grasped her shoulder and looked at her with blue eyes. Pay close attention to what I say. Your mom wasn’t merely a soldier. She learned something she wasn’t allowed to know. Something that made her die.
The individuals who did it also think you might know about it. But I don’t. I was four years old. It doesn’t matter. They can’t take that chance. He walked toward the back of the station, dragging his left leg a little. Is there another way to get out of here? Lily nodded and started to move. When she first claimed this place as her hideout, she had looked for three ways to get away. There is a loading dock in the back.
The doors are rusty, but I can still open them. Good girl. They rushed into the gloom within. Lily led the way across broken benches and other junk. She heard the front door creak open behind them. Department of the Sheriff. Someone called out. Is anyone in here? Ghost put a finger to his mouth. They stood still in the dark. I can see the smoke from your fire. The deputy went on.
No one is in peril. I’m just checking to see if anyone needs help with the storm. Lily could tell from the tone that the adults were lying since they were using a phony nice voice. She had heard that from foster parents and social workers her whole life. Ghost pointed to the loading dock. They moved quietly, years of living taught Lily how to be little and quiet.
Ghost’s boot almost hit the door when it hit broken glass. The boom rang out through the empty station like a gunshot. Stop right there. The deputy’s flashlight beam moved toward them. Ghost pushed Lily toward the door. Get out of here. She hit the door to the loading dock with her shoulder. It grumbled but stayed strong.
She could hear the deputy’s footsteps getting closer and his radio crackling as he called for help. I told them to stop. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” Ghost pushed into the door next to her, and they both broke through into the bright snow. Lily’s feet hit the ground running.
Ghost was immediately after her, and even though he was hurt, he moved very quickly. Woods is 50 yards to the east. Lily yelled over the wind. They took off running. The deputy came out of the station, his flashlight scanning the snow. Hey, Sheriff, this is Hayes. I can see the girl. She is with the biker. They’re walking east. The voice of Warner crackled back. Hayes, stop them. Use any force you need to.
Hayes hesitated only a moment before raising his weapon. This is the last time I’ll warn you. Stop or I’ll shoot. Ghost grabbed Lily and turned left just as the first shot went off. The bullet went past them and into the white. He’s firing at us. Lily’s voice was shrill with disbelief. He’s actually shooting. Told you.
Ghost shoved her ahead of him, using his body as a shield. Keep going. They hit the treeine, and the branches hit their faces. The deputy’s flashlight beam went through the woods behind them, but it was hard to follow since the pines were so dense and the snow was so deep. Lily’s lungs hurt. Her legs felt like rubber. But Ghost’s touch on her back kept her pushing forward.
They raced for what felt like hours, but was really just minutes, putting distance between them and the deputy. Finally, Ghost pushed her under a large fallen log. Stay down. He breathed. His face twisted with pain. His hand squeezed on his ribcage. You’re bleeding again. Lily could see dark moisture creeping across his shirt. I’ll live. He looked over the log.
Can’t see his brightness anymore. He either lost us or is being smart and waiting for help. Why would a police officer shoot a child? Because he doesn’t genuinely want to help you. Someone is giving him money. most likely paying him well. Ghost sat back on the log and took a deep breath. Your mother found proof of something significant.
I think trafficking is going on in military supply lines around the world. She was going to tell on everyone involved and blow the whistle, so they killed her. Gave it the appearance of being an accident. His jaw got stiff. It happened while I was in the US. You were already in foster care by the time I found out. I’ve been looking for you ever since.
But someone has been making it hard for me by denying my requests, shifting you around, and keeping you off the grid. Mrs. Paterson. What? My group home is run by Mrs. Patterson. She knows people in the state foster system. That’s what they say. She gets kids that are causing trouble. Lily’s mind was racing. This year, she moved me three times.
We would move every time someone came to ask inquiries. Ghost’s face grew darker. She is a part of it. He probably gets paid to keep you concealed. A fresh sound pierced through the wind. Not just one engine, but several. Far away, yet getting closer. The rumble was deeper and more violent than the patrol car. Ghost’s face turned white. No.
No. They couldn’t have gotten here this quickly. Who? The people that drove me off the road yesterday. He fought to get up. The same people who have been looking for me in three states. Through the trees. Lily spotted lights, a lot of headlamps moving swiftly along Route 17. Not police cars. Motorbikes. At least twelve of them. I thought you said they were your brothers. The Brotherhood of Iron.
These aren’t my brothers. Ghost’s voice was dark. These are the jerks who quit the club five years ago. They were in the same unit as your mother while she was stationed overseas. The people who were assisting run the trafficking ring she was about to uncover. The bikes spread out, making a ring around the bus terminal and the forests beyond.
Lily could hear them now, engines cutting through the storm like machines hunting. There was a bike right in front of them and the station. The biker stopped his engine and got off. A huge man with a lot of facial hair and sergeant stripes tattooed on his forearm. His voice could be heard through the snow.
I know you’re out here, Ghost, and I know you found the Morgan girl. Ghost dragged Lily farther into the woods. We need to get going now. Where? They are everywhere. I know where it is. The old hunter’s blind is about 2 miles to the north. If we can get there, it’s 2 miles. You can hardly walk. Then I guess you should aid me. More engines roared to life, starting a planned search pattern.
The riders were getting farther apart, closing in on them. Ghost and Lily hunted as they walked through the trees. Ghost felt every stride in his chest. He could feel at least two ribs rubbing against each other, and maybe three. Yesterday, the cold had let some of the pain go away, but now that he was sprinting on snow-covered ground with adrenaline coursing through his body, every breath hurt.
Lily kept close, holding onto his jacket with her small hand. She went through the trees as she had been doing it her whole life, quietly and quickly, choosing trails that gave her cover without thinking about it. How much longer? She said softly. One and a half miles. Ghost stopped behind a group of pine trees to listen. The motorbike engines had spread out into a grid for searching.
Military training that is professional showing through. They’ll want us to leave the bikes behind. We’re going to go back around. Move in the same direction as the road. That’s nuts. We’ll run right into them. exactly why they won’t anticipate it. He moved again, but this time more slowly to save energy. You can trust me. Flashlights sliced through the falling snow behind them.
People yelled out to each other to organize the search. The north quadrant is clear. Going to section 7. There are tunes here. New ones going northeast. Ghost grinned sadly. Those were presumably rabbit footprints. but it would give them more time. For a few minutes, they moved without making a sound, and the sounds of the chase faded a little. Ghost’s eyesight would sometimes swim, and he realized that the hypothermia from yesterday wasn’t completely gone.
His body was running out of gas. Lily stopped all of a sudden, pulling him down. Pay attention. He heard it. A motorcycle engine is idling nearby. Too near. Ghost saw the rider through the trees. A leather cut from the late 30s with the identical symbol that Ghost remembered from five years ago. The man sat on his bike, smoking a cigarette, and you could see his breath in the frigid air.
Lily said, “We can’t get past him.” Ghost looked at the land. The cyclist was in the way of the natural passage through the trees. Going around would take 20 extra minutes they didn’t have and put them back in the search grid. Ghost said, “Stay here.” “What will you do?He didn’t answer; he merely continued onward, hiding behind the woods.
His hand found a branch that had fallen, and it was hefty and strong. “Not much of a weapon, but it would have to do.” The rider threw his cigarette into the snow and picked up his radio. This is Dutch. Nothing in section nine. Moving to Ghost smacked him from behind, and the branch broke over his shoulders. The rider fell off his bike with a grunt of astonishment.
Ghost was on him right once, disregarding the ache in his ribs and ramming a knee into the man’s back. He pulled the man’s arm up at an angle that made the writer gasp. Ghost. Dutch’s eyes got bigger when he saw it. Man, you should be dead. Sad. Ghost twisted the arm even more.
Who told you to come? Was it Crowley? You know I can’t say that. Dutch made a face but didn’t scream. Tough guy. Just leave, ghost. Let her go. No one wants to hurt you. You used to be a brother. Until I began to ask inquiries concerning Sarah Morgan’s death. Sarah was making noise that she shouldn’t have. She was aware of the rules. Dutch’s voice got harder. Some secrets are worth more than a single life.
What about the life of a child? Ghost pushed down harder. She is nine years old. What sort of secret is worth sacrificing a child for? The kind that keeps the money coming in and the lips silent. Dutch laughed in a sour way. Do you think we’re the bad guys? Sarah was planning to blow up a business that feeds hundreds of households. Good soldiers, ghost.
Brothers who earn their share after what they witnessed and did. Trafficking isn’t a job. It’s enslavement. You can call it whatever you like. The world is awful. We just figured out how to make money off of it. Ghost heard someone moving behind him. Lily coming out of the trees even though he told her to stay hidden. You know my mom? She whispered this gently, looking at Dutch.
The man’s face changed. Yes, kid. I knew her. Sergeant Morgan was a good soldier. Chose the wrong thing. She tried to stop you. She wanted to be a hero. Dutch’s gaze moved to the ghost. See where it got her? See where it’s taking you. A radio on Dutch’s belt made a noise. All units, come together in section 9. Dutch isn’t answering.
Ghost took the radio and flung it far into the woods. He looked at the motorcycle, which was probably worth $20,000 and was a gorgeous machine. He told Dutch he was sorry and meant it. He picked up a rock and destroyed the bike’s dashboard. Then he went to the engine and cut off important wires. The motorcycle was broken. Dutch wouldn’t be asking for help any time soon.
Dutch claimed they will find me in ten minutes. You can’t run forever. Don’t need forever. Just need enough time. Ghost used knots from the bike saddle pack to tie Dutch’s hands together. Every cyclist had them with them in case of an emergency. Let Crowley know that I’m not stopping. Tell him that Sarah’s daughter needs to hear the truth. Crowley is going to kill you both. He can try.
Ghost took Lily’s hand and they ran away, leaving Dutch to fight against his shackles. They walked another half mile before Lily said anything. He said they were feeding families “that man.” “Good soldiers.” Ghost muttered between heavy gasps, “Evil people always make excuses for their evil.”
“They tell themselves stories that make them heroes instead of monsters.” My mom truly did want to stop them. I have never met anyone as gutsy as your mom. They came out into a tiny area. Ghost knew the area. They were very close. The hunter’s blind was just over the next hill. But then the whole world was full of noise. Three motorcycles came out of the trees on their left, engines roaring.
Ryder’s spirit knew Crowley’s inner circle, the people who had been with him since the beginning. The main writer raised a shotgun. Ghost pushed Lily toward a wood that had fallen. Get down. The shotgun explosion ripped bark off a tree just over his head. Run! Ghost yelled and pulled Lily up. That group of rocks is just ahead of the blind.
They ran as more gunshots rang out in the bushes. Ghost felt something hot graze his shoulder, but didn’t halt. Fifty yards. 40 30 The hunter’s blind came into view. A clever building of stones and branches that Lily had miraculously found months ago. They dove inside just as another shot split the air.
Inside the small room, Ghost pulled Lily close, both of them breathing hard. Through holes in the stones, he could see the horsemen circling, hunting for angles. “We’re trapped,” Lily whimpered. Ghost took out his phone. There was no signal, but he had one bar of charge left. He turned on the emergency beacon, which was linked to the Iron Brotherhood’s network. There is help on the way.
How do you know? Because I finally grew wise enough to call for it. Crowley’s voice could be heard outside. Let’s talk about this like grown men, Ghost. Ghost looked about. They had about an hour before the motorcyclists figured out how to get them out. He just wanted his real brothers to be there first.
There wasn’t enough room in the hunter’s blind for both of them. Ghost sat with his back on the cold stone, breathing in short, quick bursts. The gash on his shoulder let blood through his jacket. Not life-threatening, but it was another injury on the list. Lily huddled next to him, looking through the crevices in the stones at the writers pacing outside like wolves outside a den. How long till your brothers arrive? She spoke it softly.
It depends on where they are; it could be an hour or three. In ghosts, jaws tightened. But they will arrive. The brotherhood never leaves its own behind. Those men out there were also part of a brotherhood, right? He moved around, attempting to find a posture that didn’t hurt his ribs, because they had chosen money over honor before.
There was a breakup five years ago. Half of the Montana chapter wanted to keep the trafficking business they had begun in another country going. The other half wanted to shut it down and let everyone know about it. My mom was one of the people who wanted to halt it. That half was guided by your mother. Ghost’s voice was full of something like respect. She got proof and put together a case.
She was going to give it to the FBI and military investigators. She would have put two dozen ex-soldiers in jail, but they killed her first. Made it look like a drunk driver pushed her off the road. The driver who was inebriated also died. Easy. Ghost’s hands were tight. Crowley and his team had already left by the time I figured out it wasn’t an accident. Some people went into hiding.
Some people transformed who they were. But they kept the business going. I just moved it. And I’m a loose end. Ghost stared at her. This little girl has her mother’s eyes and a strong spine like her mother’s. You are more than that. Before she died, Sarah told you stuff, right? Things you might not even remember.
Lily scowled as she tried to remember things from her early upbringing. I recall that she used to make up songs about numbers and sing them to me. What numbers? Yes, strange numbers. I assumed they were just dumb rhymes. Lily’s forehead wrinkled. 38779. And more. A lot of numbers in a row. Ghost’s eyes got bigger. Account numbers.
Sarah was learning by heart the offshore accounts where they were hiding the cash. She knew they would want to get rid of the proof, so she put it in a four-year-old’s bedtime rhymes, where they would never think to look. Lily, you’re a witness. Not what you witnessed, but what your mom told you. The numbers are still in your mind, hidden away in your memory. Crowley’s voice sliced through the wind outside.
Ghost, you don’t have anywhere to go. That tiny girl must be getting cold too. Let’s make this simple. You can leave if you send her out. You were never our enemy. Ghost didn’t pay attention to him. He took out the waterproof pouch again and found a small notebook that he had hidden inside. Pages full of names, notes, and timeframes.
He remarked gently, “I’ve been chasing these bastards for five years.” Following the money, keeping an eye on shipments, and putting the pieces together. But I could never find proof that the trafficking ring was linked to Sarah’s death. It would work with the account numbers. They’d show how the money moved. Show who was involved. Lily said, “I don’t remember the whole number.” Just parts.
A few pieces might be enough. Ghost gave her the journal. Write down everything you can remember, even if it doesn’t seem right or complete. Lily’s hands shook a little as she took the notebook. She closed her eyes and tried to remember things from five years ago. Her mother sang her to sleep with a soft, melodic voice. 387792.
Close your eyes and picture blue. She began to write, and numbers appeared on the page like ghosts from the past. Some came quickly, while others were bits and pieces that I only partly remembered. “There’s more,” she said suddenly. She used to tell me stories about a treasure box.
“A special box with three locks, and only someone who knew the magic words could open it. Not a box, a safe deposit box.” Ghost leaned forward despite the pain. Three locks means three keys, perhaps owned by three distinct banks. Sarah made a backup plan. Why didn’t she just give them to the FBI? Because she didn’t know who to trust. Military investigations can be compromised.
FBI has corruption, too. She needed hard evidence that couldn’t disappear. Ghost inspected the numbers Lily had scribbled. She constructed a paper trail that would survive even if she didn’t. A sound made them both freeze, scratching against stone. The horsemen were trying to demolish the blind from the outside.
Ghost pushed Lily deeper into the refuge. Listen to me carefully. If they get in here, if something happens to me, you run. Don’t look back. Don’t try to help. You run till you find a main road flag down a car and you tell them to call the FBI field office in Helena. Call Agent Rebecca Thornton. She is clean.
I checked it. You tell her everything I said. Do you get it? I’m not going to leave you. Lily, you told my mom you would keep me safe. Well, I’m telling her right now that I won’t let you die while I keep that pledge. Her young face was angry. Neither of us gets out, or we both do.
Ghost looked at her for a long time before laughing. A brief, painful noise. You are actually Sarah’s daughter, God. The scraping got louder. Ghost could see three guys working on the stones through the holes, painstakingly pulling apart their shelter. His phone rang. A text message came through with one bar of signal. 30 minutes away. Stay where you are. Demon, half an hour. They only had to stay alive for 30 more minutes. Ghost.
Now Crowley’s voice was closer. I’m becoming impatient. We can do things the easy way or the hard way. It’s up to you. Once more, Ghost looked around him. There were two ways out of the blind. They had come in by the main door and a narrow crawl passage at the back that led under a rock overhang. It was easy for Lily to get through.
He would have to squeeze, which would hurt his ribs, but it was feasible. He told Lily in a low voice to go the back way. When I say “go,” you crawl through and don’t stop until you’re in the trees. I’ll be right behind you. She nodded and started to move into place. Finally, the stones on the front broke and fell inside. A writer’s visage appeared in the opening, smiling with victory. “Now!””Ghost yelled.
Lily vanished into the crawl area like a rabbit going down a hole. Ghost was immediately following her, not caring that her fractured ribs were hurting like hell as they scraped against the stone. Crowley’s angry shout resonated through the cliffs behind them. “Don’t let that girl get away!” They ran out into the snow again.
But this time, Ghost could hear something far away. A lot of engines making noise and coming swiftly. His brothers were almost there. Ghost tripped and his eyesight started to fade at the corners. He had lost too much blood and pushed his shattered body too far. The world spun sideways, and suddenly he was on his knees in the snow, unable to remember falling. “Get up!Lily grabbed his jacket and pulled with all her might. Please stand up.
Crowley and his soldiers came out of the rocks behind them. For cyclists, going swiftly and spreading out to block escape routes. Ghost’s hand fished around in his jacket pocket and found the emergency flare gun he always carried with him. A last resort. He aimed it at the sky with shaky hands and pulled the trigger.
The flare screamed into the gray sky, leaving a bright crimson trail that looked like a searing wound against the storm clouds. “Good move,” Crowley said from 20 yards distant. His speech was calm, almost kind. “But your brothers won’t make it here in time, Ghost.” You know that. Ghost got up and stood between Lily and the writers. They might not, but I don’t need them to. I just need them to find what’s left.
What else is there? Crowley laughed. Do you really think we’re going to kill you? That’s not a good use of time. No, we’re just going to take the girl. You can go back to the hole you climbed out of and live with your failure. Not over my dying corpse. We can also do it. Crowley’s smile went away. I loved Sarah, a fine soldier, but she couldn’t leave well enough alone.
Had to be the hero. Had to preserve the planet. He shook his head. People don’t want to be saved. Ghost. It needs food, clothes, and fun. We move commodities across borders and connect supply with demand. That’s just how business works. You move people around. I make things possible. It matters how you look at things. Ghost’s hand moved to his belt, where he kept a little knife that folded up.
He didn’t have much to do with four armed guys, but he’d fought greater odds before. Then he heard it, a sound that gave him hope. Thunder rolling over the mountains. Getting louder. Not thunder. Motors. Many engines. Crowley heard it, too. His confident look changed to one of doubt. That can’t be.
They came over the ridge in a line like an army. Motorcycles, a lot of them, coming down the mountain trail in a tight group. The lead bikes had the Iron Brotherhood colors and the skull with wings that Ghost wore on his own back. There were more behind them, and the formation went on and on through the snow. Ghost has never seen something more lovely.
The lead biker stopped 30 feet away and turned off his motor. He took off his helmet, which showed a face with scars and a beard with gray streaks. Demon was the president of the Montana chapter and the closest thing Ghost had to a brother. “Hey, I heard you needed some help,” Demon stated casually, as if he had just come to help them out on a Sunday ride instead of racing through a blizzard to get there.
Riders kept coming in behind him. 20 30 50 The area was full of motorcycles and men and women with serious faces, all wearing the Brotherhood colors. Crowley’s faith in himself faded. The Brotherhood is no longer interested in this. This is a private matter between me and Ghost. When you broke your promise, you lost the right to call anything “brotherhood business.”
Demon said that his voice was strong enough to reach not just Crowley but also all the other former members who had followed him. You had an option five years ago. Honor or cash. You picked money. That made you an outsider. We were getting what we deserved. We fought for this country and suffered for it. What did we get? Nothing. A writer for Crowley came forward.
The procedure provided us a reason to live and the means to do so. It gave you blood money. Demon’s voice sounded like a whip cracking. And we lost Sarah Morgan because of it. The name was in the air. Some of the writers who came took off their helmets, and Ghost saw faces he knew. People who had worked with Sarah and knew how brave and honest she was. Crowley remarked, “Sarah was going to destroy everything we built.”
But his voice wasn’t sure anymore. “Sarah was going to stop you from hurting yourselves,” Demon said as he got off and walked forward. His more than 50 riders stayed on their horses, ready to fight, like a wall of steel and leather. Do you know what went wrong with your business? You have to forget why you joined the army in the first place.
You started to think like criminals, saying that bad things were okay because they paid handsomely. Lily’s voice broke the tension. You wounded my mom. Everyone looked at her. This little girl was standing in snow up to her knees and glaring at men three times her size with rage. You hurt her, then you killed her, and then you tried to make me go away. Her hands were in fists at her sides.
My mom was a hero. She was trying to help the individuals you damaged. And you killed her for it. Crowley opened his mouth and then closed it. What could he say to that? Demon got down on his knees so he could see Lily. You are the daughter of Sarah. She nodded. She was always talking about you.
His wounded face softened, and he showed everyone pictures and told them how smart and brave you were. He also remarked that you would change the world one day. Lily’s eyes were full of tears. She wouldn’t let it fall. She told me stories, numbers buried in melodies. She knew they were going to kill her, right? Yes, kid. I believe she did. Demon rose up and turned back to Crowley, his face hardening. So, here we are now.
You’ve been looking for a 9-year-old child because she might recall her mother’s account numbers. That’s pretty much it. We need to protect our investment. You have to answer for your crimes. Demon’s hand went to his belt. Fifty writers did the same thing behind him. Not guns, but phones. Crowley, we’ve been looking into you for five years, developing a case, and tracing the money. We know everything about the accounts, the shipments, and the full business.
We have already given everything to the FBI. Crowley’s face turned pale. You’re not telling the truth. Agent Rebecca Thornton works in the Helena Field Office. For the past eight months, she has been working with us to plan things. Demon smiled in a cold way. You’re done. New sounds came from far away. Siren. A lot of cars coming up quickly. The feds will be here in three minutes. Demon went on. You have an option.
You may run and make it worse, or you can stay and face what’s coming. Crowley looked at his riders and saw that they were all thinking the same thing. They were encircled, outnumbered, and had no other choice. Crowley’s soldiers lowered their weapons into the snow one by one. Ghost sagged with relief, and Lily grabbed his arm to keep him steady. She murmured, “Got you.”
“Yeah,” Ghost said. “You did.” The FBI cars stopped at the tiny entrance to the mountain pass, their lights flashing blue and red through the falling snow. For SUVs, the tactical crew can be seen through the windows. But before they could move forward, another car pulled up behind them. A sheriff’s patrol car. Warner walked out, his badge catching the light.
He went approached the FBI trucks with the confident stride of someone who believed he owned the situation. He yelled, “Sheriff Warner, Morgan County,” as he got closer to the front SUV. I have the right to do this. The girl is a ward of the state and was reported missing from her foster home.
I’m here to take her into custody and get her back to where she needs to be. Agent Rebecca Thornton got out of the lead car. She was a lady in her 40s with piercing eyes and a no-nonsense attitude. This is now a federal inquiry, Sheriff. The girl is a key witness in a case on trafficking. A person who saw something. Warner’s laugh was fake. Pitched to Carrie. She is nine years old.
For years, they’ve been going from one foster family to another. All of this excitement probably made them disoriented. Doesn’t know what she witnessed. She knows a lot. From behind the wall of motorcycles, Ghost said. Sheriff, you too. Warner’s face changed. Agent, I don’t know what this criminal told you, but I’ve never met this individual. I’m just doing my duty, which is to protect a weak child by shooting at her.
Deputy Hayes walked out from where he had been standing awkwardly at the edge of the gathering. His face was pallid, but he was determined. Sheriff, I have something to tell you. Warner’s head turned quickly toward him. Hayes, get back to the car. No, sir. Hayes spoke directly to Agent Thornon. Sheriff Warner told me an hour ago to get the girl back by any means necessary.
When I caught her with this guy, he pointed to Ghost. I blasted warning bullets as commanded, although I didn’t know everything that was going on. I believed we were doing a real recovery. You were given orders. Warner’s voice got louder. A runaway with an adult male who is dangerous and unknown.
an unknown adult man who turned out to be a distinguished veteran hunting for the daughter of his fallen buddy. Hayes cut in. I stopped trying to get what I wanted once I knew what was actually going on. But then I heard you on the radio, Sheriff. When you contacted Crowley Warner’s face went from crimson to white because you were working with someone who wasn’t dispatch. You’re wrong. I wrote it down. Hayes took out his phone. Policy for the department.
All radio calls are recorded. I took the sound file. Thornton put out her hand. Hayes handed her the phone. Everyone was quiet and nervous while she listened. I could definitely hear Warner’s voice. Crowley, they’re going north from the bus station. Hayes is after me, but you may cut them off. Yes, I get it. 15,000 on delivery.
I don’t care what you do with the biker. All I want is the girl. Thornton looked up, and her face was frigid. Sheriff Warner, you are being arrested for conspiracy, trying to kidnap someone, and obstructing justice. This is crazy. Warner moved back toward his car. I am a public servant. You can’t, but I can. Thornton signaled her troops.
Two operatives moved forward, rifles drawn but held low. You want to make this hard? Warner’s hand crept toward the gun he used for work. Fifty motorcycles revved their motors at the same time. A wall of loudness that made everyone stop. Demon’s voice sliced through the noise. I wouldn’t. Warner’s hand halted.
His shoulders dropped in defeat as FBI officers cuffed him and read him his rights. Thornton looked at Crowley and his men, who were standing in a tight group surrounded by the Brotherhood. “You’re all going to jail.” Trafficking, racketeering, and planning to kill someone. The list goes on and on. “We want lawyers,” Crowley stated without a hint of hesitation. “You’ll get them.”
After processing, Thornton pointed to her squad, who then started to systematically cuff the former members of the Iron Brotherhood. But as they were working, additional cars showed up on the road. High-end SUVs with dark windows. They halted just outside the federal boundary, and well-dressed guys with briefcases got out. One of them yelled, “Agent Thornton!” “I’m Richard Castellano, Mr. Crowley’s lawyer.
“I need to talk to my client right away.” Another lawyer, who was representing Dutch Morrison, came up to Sarah Chen. Without a lawyer present, my client will not be making any statements. Thornton’s face grew harder as she counted the lawyers. Six of them, the kind that cost $500 an hour. “How did they know to come here?””She said softly.
Ghost, who was leaning on Lily for support, spoke out. “Because this organization has always been bigger than just Crowley and his crew. There are people further up the chain who invest. They’ve been watching and waiting to see what would happen. A silver-haired man in a $3,000 suit walked forward with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Agent Thornton, I speak for a number of clients who are interested in this case. I need to let you know that any evidence you get could be challenged based on “save it for court,” Thornton said angrily. Your clients are going to federal prison, and I’m sure my firm will carefully look over the charges. The lawyer’s smile got bigger.
We get along quite well with the US Attorney’s Office. I think that most of these charges will be dropped or lowered within 48 hours. Ghost’s stomach dropped. This was the issue. It always has been. The guys on the street were arrested. But the ones who had real power and money had lawyers and connections. They would plead guilty, get probation, and maybe spend six months in a low-security prison.
After that, Lily stepped up. This little girl in a big coat stepped right up to the lawyer with silver hair and gazed up at him with her mother’s furious eyes. “My mom remembered your account numbers,” she added firmly. “All of them. accounts in the Cayman Islands, Switzerland, and Singapore that are not in the US.
She taught them to me as songs to sing before bed. I can recall each number. The lawyer’s smile went away. 387792461, Lily said, her voice getting louder. That’s the first account. 295883770. That’s the second account. Do you want me to keep going? The clearing was completely quiet. The lawyer responded, “She’s lying,” but his voice shook.
“A child’s fantasy.” “Agent Thornton can confirm them,” Ghost remarked. Before she died, Sarah Morgan wrote down everything. “She just put the account numbers in the one place you wouldn’t think to look in her daughter’s memory.” Thornton took out her own phone and opened an encrypted file. As she compared numbers, her eyes became wider. They are the same.
All of the numbers match the accounts we’ve been looking for for five years. The lawyer stepped back. Ghost witnessed the moment when all the other lawyers glanced at each other and realized the same thing. Their clients were done. No amount of legal maneuvering could change the fact that a 9-year-old child was able to recite account numbers that directly linked them to international trafficking organizations. Lily still had more to say.
She turned to look at Crowley. My mom was braver than any of you. She knew you would attempt to shut her up. So, she made sure I would remember. Made sure the truth would live on. Crowley looked at the little girl who had just ruined everything he had worked for. He whispered softly, “You’re just like her.” You are too brave for your own good. Lily said no. I’m brave enough.
Agent Thornton called. In less than 20 minutes, more federal vehicles, armored transport vans, tactical teams, and a mobile command center showed up. The mountain pass turned into a safe federal operation. But the Iron Brotherhood didn’t leave. Demon and his riders made a round around the federal agents, with their engines running and watching everything.
This was their domain, their brother’s struggle, and they weren’t quitting it until the job was complete. Ghost sat in the back of an ambulance, paramedics working on his ribs and shoulder. Lily refused to leave his side, sat on the bumper beside him, the silver necklace clutched in her palm.
“The girl needs medical evaluation, too,” one of the paramedics remarked. “I’m fine,” Lily insisted. “You’ve been out in a blizzard for 2 days. you need. I answered, “I’m fine.” Her voice had that edge that Ghost recognized. The tone of a kid who had learnt that being weak in the system meant you were broken. Ghost murmured softly, “Let them check you over.”
“Your mom would want you to be healthy.” “That got through.” Lily let the paramedic check her out. She had mild hypothermia, was dehydrated, and had some frostbite on her fingers, but nothing serious. Tough child. While they worked, Demon approached the ambulance. He studied Ghost with the trained eye of someone who’d seen lots of combat injuries.
You look like crap. Feel terrible, Ghost managed a faint grin. Thanks for the help. I got your beacon eight hours ago. It took a while to get everyone together. Demon looked at Lily. This is Sarah’s real child. Yes, she has her mother’s fire. Demon’s face relaxed. Sarah was one of the greatest. What happened to her? We should have done more.
Should have stopped Crowley before it got this bad. We couldn’t see. We all didn’t want to accept that our brothers could be that nasty. Demon’s jaw, however, got tighter. We failed her. Will not let her daughter down. Agent Thornton came up to them with her iPad in hand. I need to ask you both some questions, Mr. Garrett. Ghost and Lily talked for the next hour.
Everything: the search, the crash, the chase, and the account numbers Sarah had hidden in bedtime rhymes. Thornton wrote it all down, and with each new piece of information, her face grew more serious. She said this will be the biggest trafficking case in ten years. Finally, the account numbers Lily gave directly connect to 12 high-ranking people, including two sitting state legislators, two retired military leaders, and a federal judge. Ghost whistled softly.
Sarah truly did discover it all. She made a strong case, but she knew she would never be able to testify. Thornton turned to Lily. So, she put you on her insurance policy. Smart and sad. Will they be sent to jail? Lily asked them all. Yes, with this proof. We’re talking about life in prison. Thornton stopped.
We will require you to testify at some point. When you’re older and ready. I’m ready now. You’re nine. Old enough to recall. Able to tell the truth. Lily raised her chin. My mom gave me this. I won’t let her down. Thornton looked at her for a long time before nodding. Okay, just make sure you’re safe the whole time.
Thornton stepped away to talk to her staff, and Ghost heard people yelling near the government vans. He turned to see Crowley being put into a car, but the former head of the Iron Brotherhood had halted and was now facing the current members of the brotherhood. You self-righteous jerks. Crowley yelled. “You think you’re better than us?” We’re the same. Same fights, same blood, same bad dreams.
The only difference is that we were smart enough to get rewarded for our agony. Demon went ahead, and the snow crunched under his boots. There was no noise in the clearing. Demon responded, “You are right about one thing.” We have the same wounds, the same experiences, and the same brothers who didn’t come home. He halted 5 feet away from Crowley. But that’s where the similarities end.
We chose to make something when we got home because we didn’t know how to deal with what we had experienced. You made the choice to destroy. We made the choice to live. No, you choose to make money off of other people’s pain. You become the enemy we fought against in other countries. It was hard to hear Demon’s voice. The Iron Brotherhood was built on ideas. Respect, loyalty, and safety. You used those beliefs as reasons to take advantage of people.
The Brotherhood left us first. They turned their backs on us when we needed help. We helped. Family, jobs, medical help, and counseling. We didn’t give anyone authorization to traffic people. Demon turned to talk to all of the old members, not just Crowley. You all had choices. You made the wrong choice. That’s your fault.
A younger writer, maybe 30, who worked for Crowley stood out. I had no idea what I was getting into. Crowley said it was basically transferring things and getting clean money. When did you realize it wasn’t? questioned the devil. Three years ago, the young rider gazed at the ground. Saw what we were truly carrying and who we were carrying. And you still stayed. I owed money.
Needed the cash. Everyone needs cash. Not everyone gives up their soul for it. The eyes of demons looked over all the men who had been arrested. Do you want to be forgiven? Want to be forgiven? Then you have to admit what you did. No excuses. No reasons. You own it. Be quiet. Then the ghost rider Dutch had tied up with zip ties spoke. I knew Sarah was correct.
Knew we had gone too far to turn back. I stayed nevertheless because quitting would have meant acknowledging that I had become something I detested. His voice broke. Several other former members glanced down and let their shoulders droop. Demon slowly nodded. That’s a good start. It’s a little step, but it’s a start. He looked at Thornton.
If these guys testify and help you catch the investors and organizers, it might be worth making deals with them. We will see. Thornton said their cooperation would be taken into account while deciding on a sentence. Crowley laughed with anger. Do you think that turning on the investors will help you? In prison, they’ll kill you. All of you. Possibly.
Demon pointed to the agents and stated, “But at least you’ll die knowing you did one good thing.” “Get them out of here.” As the vans drove away, the Brotherhood scribes started a procedure that Ghost had only witnessed twice before: the delivering of judgment. They made two lines that faced each other, making a hallway. Every motorcyclist took off their helmet and bent their head.
The brotherhood did this to honor the dead and condemn those who betrayed them. The vehicles drove through the hallway of bowed heads, taking men who had once been brothers into a future of concrete and bars. Ghost felt Lily’s hands creep into his. Is it done? The arrests? Yes, the healing. He held her hand tight. That requires more time. Demon went back to the ambulance.
The government wants to keep her safe until the trials. No. Ghost’s voice was strong. She stays with me. Ghost. I told Sarah I would. Promised I’d protect her. He gazed at Lily. If she wants me. Lily’s eyes were big. You mean like stay with you? Are you serious? Really? No more homes for foster kids. Stop running. You would be a member of the Brotherhood family.
We look out for each other. I don’t know anything about bikes. We’ll show you how. Demon grinned. When you’re a lot older. You just need to be a kid for now. Lily gazed at the two of them, the old warrior and the broken protector, and saw something she had never seen before. Family. “Okay,” she said softly. “Yes, that’s fine.”
“Three days later, the storm was over.” The sky in Montana was clear and blue, cold, yet bright with winter sunlight. The Veterans Memorial Grounds were a huge area in Helena that was dedicated to disaster relief workers and fallen service men. The town had never seen anything like what was happening there. There were thousands of motorcycles. They had been coming since morning.
The Iron Brotherhood sent out a message to every chapter in the western states: Montana, Idaho, Wyoming, Washington, Oregon, and Nevada. Word got out through military family organizations, veteran networks, and motorcycle clubs all throughout the country. They came for Sarah Morgan. They came for her child. Ghost stood at the edge of the memorial grounds and watched the bikers come in.
He had his ribs wrapped tightly and his arm in a sling, but he wouldn’t miss this. Lily was wearing clean clothes that the brotherhood’s families had given her. She had on pants that fit, a warm jacket, and her mother’s silver pendant around her neck. “How many?””She asked, watching the motorcycles go by one after the other. Demon asked, “How many are confirmed?” Ghost answered, “Close to 5,000.”
“The biggest gathering in Brotherhood history.” “All for my mom, all for your mom, and for you.” The memorial grounds had changed. The Brotherhood had put up a makeshift stage, hung lights in the trees, and set up a display to remember Sarah Morgan. There was a picture of her in army uniform on an easel. She was a young woman with sparkling eyes and a determined look.
A purple heart and other awards she had earned while serving were next to it. But the main part was something else. A new black granite stone that would be permanently set in the memorial. SGT Sarah Morgan of the US Army died protecting the innocent and taught her daughter to be fearless.
Lily stared at the stone, tears flowing down her face. Ghost put his good arm around her shoulders. She’d be very proud of you, he murmured quietly. I wish she could see this. It’s possible that she can. Ghost pointed to the crowd that was gathered. A lot of folks are here because Sarah spoke up when it mattered. Because she wanted to be a hero. Lily, that legacy will never die.
You keep it alive. Agent Thornton showed there in regular clothing out of respect for the event. Can I join you? Ghost nodded. In the last three days, Thornton had become almost like a friend. She had personally taken care of Lily’s case, wading through red tape to make sure Ghost could be her legal guardian.
The FBI had also provided protection, with agents stationed around the memorial grounds in case any of the investors’ acquaintances had ideas. Thornton said, “I wanted to let you know.” All 12 of the main investors have been taken into custody. The federal judge tried to flee away but was caught at a private airfield trying to get on a jet to Brazil.
“Good,” Ghost said. Better than okay. We have frozen more than $200 million in assets thanks to the account information Lily gave us. That money will go back to the victims of trafficking for counseling, going home, and paying for school. Sarah’s testimony will help hundreds of individuals get their lives back on track. Lily raised her head. Really? Are you serious? Thornton bent down so that he was at her eye level.
Lily, your mother saved those folks. Her bravery is still keeping innocent people safe, even after she died. And you did that by memorizing what she said. I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. I just remembered some songs. You did something very special. You told the truth to the proper people. Thornton stood up.
The bureau wants to thank you in writing, but we thought today should be about your mom. A microphone picked up Demon’s voice and made it seem loud across the grounds. We are about to start, brothers and sisters, family, and friends. Please come together. The people moved toward the stage. 5,000 motorcyclists, their families, veterans who had come on foot, and townspeople who learned about the event.
There were a lot of people in the memorial grounds, and they all stood quietly, many of them in brotherhood colors. Ghost held Lily’s hand. “Are you ready?She nodded, but her hand shook in his. They walked through the people. People moved out of the way for them, and Lily could feel eyes on her. They weren’t hostile, but they were curious and kind.
These were fighters, guardians, and those who knew how to give up. Demon was on stage. Three other chapter presidents sat next to him. They were older men who had been there for a long time and were respected by everyone in the fraternity. Demon helped Ghost and Lily up when they got to the stage. The crowd got quiet. Demon began, his voice booming across the fields, “We are here today to honor Sergeant Sarah Morgan.”
A soldier who did a great job serving her country. A mother who loved her daughter very much and a hero who dedicated his life to stop an evil that most of us didn’t even know about. He stopped for a while to let the words sink in. Five years ago, Sarah found out that individuals we used to call brothers were running a trafficking ring. She may have turned away.
Could have kept quiet. Could have taken the easy way out. Demon’s voice got harder. But Sarah Morgan didn’t go with the simple choice. She made the proper choice. She got proof, made a case, and got ready to tell everyone involved, even though she knew it would probably cost her life. Lily’s tears spilled easily. Now, Ghost gripped her tight.
Sarah hid the most important proof in a strange spot in her daughter’s memory before she died. Demon glanced at Lily while she sang and told stories to her four-year-old daughter that she would never forget, even years later. Lily Morgan, who is nine years old, lived for five years in a dysfunctional system. She saved a soldier who was hurt from freezing to death. She raced away from males who were three times her size.
She stood up to corrupt officials and criminal groups. And when it counted most, she remembered her mother’s songs and delivered justice to hundreds of others who had been hurt. The audience broke out in applause. Lily put her face in Ghost’s jacket because she was so upset. Demon held up his hand to get everyone to be quiet. We have a tradition among the Iron Brotherhood.
We show the greatest respect we can when someone shows incredible bravery, bravery that honors not only themselves but also everyone they represent. He turned to Lily and took off his helmet. The three chapter presidents behind him did the same thing. We bow to you, Lily Morgan. All four males bent their heads quite low. Then, like a wave moving over water, every motorcyclist in the memorial grounds took off their helmet and bowed.
5,000 heads bowed at the same time, and there was a sea of respect as far as Lily could see. The quiet was deep and holy. Lily stepped on that platform, a little girl who had been hidden for a long time. Finally seen, finally honored, and finally home. Demon said again when the writers finally looked up.
Sarah Morgan’s daughter is carrying on her mother’s tradition. Lily Morgan can count on the Iron Brotherhood to defend her for as long as she needs it. She is now part of the family. We have to keep her safe. Here. Here. The answer from 5,000 voices shook the ground. Ghost knelt down next to Lily, ignoring the agony in his ribs.
Your mom did what she said she would do to keep you safe. It’s our turn now. You’ll never be alone again. Lily put her arms around his neck and held on hard. This man had traveled through three states and braved death to keep a commitment to a buddy who had died. “Thanks,” she said softly. “Thanks for finding me.” “Always, kid.” Always.
The ceremony ended as the sun began to set behind the mountains, turning the sky orange and gold. The writers stayed for a while, telling anecdotes about Sarah and giving Lily their sympathies and support. She met a lot of people who had worked with her mother, and each one had a story to tell.
One old soldier informed her, “Your mom once carried me three miles with a bullet in her leg.” “Wouldn’t leave me behind.” She taught me to read.” Another said, “I’d hidden that I couldn’t. She helped me for six months and never told anyone. She made us laugh when we thought we couldn’t anymore. Every narrative added to the puzzle of who Sarah Morgan was. A person, not just a hero.
Not perfect, yet humorous, tough, and authentic. Ghost took Lily to a quieter part of the memorial grounds as the crowd started to leave. His motorcycle was parked there, and the Brotherhood’s mechanics had fixed it up and shined the chrome until it shone. Want to see something?”Ghost asked. He took a leather jacket out of one of the saddle bags.
Not his. This one was smaller and made for a woman. The patches were worn out but still easy to see. The Iron Brotherhood skull with wings is the same. “Your mother gave this to you,” Ghost whispered softly. “She rode with us on the weekends sometimes.” She said it helped her clear her brain after tough deployments. Lily ran her fingertips over the aged leather and could feel the history in every scratch and scuff.
Ghost went on, “I’ve been carrying it for five years.” I was waiting to find you. If you desire it, it’s yours. I can’t ride a bike. Not yet. But he grinned someday. For now, just put it on when you’re cold. Don’t forget that she was more than simply the tragedy. She was still alive. She rode. She laughed. She fought. She was alive. Lily put on the jacket.
It was so big on her that it hung down beyond her legs and the sleeves totally covered her arms. She looked silly. She felt great. Ghost took off the jacket he had on when Lily found him in the snow. The one that had kept Sarah’s secrets safe for five years. He put it on top of Lily’s mother’s and then put it on her shoulders.
He said two jackets. One from the mother who cared about you. One from the person who found you. Both making the same promise. You’ll never have to face the cold alone again. Lily gazed up at him. This warrior with scars who had maintained an impossible commitment. What happens next? What now? Thought about ghosts. The FBI wants us to stay in Helena for a few more weeks.
Depositions, forms, and other things like that. We go home after that. Where’s home? I have a tiny house in Billings. Three bedrooms and a spacious yard. It’s not spectacular, but it’s safe. He stopped. You’d have your own space. You can choose how we paint it. Sign you up for school. Things that kids do every day. I’ve never been normal. Not me either. We’ll sort it out as a team.
Ghost’s face got serious. Lily, I’m not going to act like I’m great at this. I don’t know a lot about how to raise kids. I might botch up, forget things, and not always know what to say. That’s fine. I don’t know anything about having a family either. After that, we’ll learn. He put out his hand. Deal.
Lily held his hand. Deal. Demon approached followed by a woman approximately 40 with kind eyes and grin lines. Ghost Lily. Want you to meet someone. This is my wife, Patricia. She runs the Brotherhood family support network. Patricia instantly bent down to Lily’s level. Hello, my love. I know your mother. She was amazing.
People keep saying it because it’s true. Patricia’s smile grew bigger. I also hear that you’re going to live with this idiot. I lead a support group for families with brothers and sisters who are also in the club. I thought you might like to join. Find some people who get the way you live. Lily looked to Ghost, who nodded in support. Okay. That’s a good idea. Great.
Ghost will give me your details. Patricia got up. And Lily, if you ever need anything, like someone to chat to, help with your homework, or simply want to hang out away from all the motorcycles and testosterone, you can phone me anytime. Lily felt something she hadn’t felt in five years for the first time. Hope.
Not the frantic hope of staying alive, but the warm hope of fitting in. More members of the Brotherhood came over to say goodbye, and each one made sure Lily knew she had family. People were now giving each other their phone numbers, promising to visit, and inviting each other. As the sun went down, Ghost and Lily stood in front of their mother’s grave one more time.
“I remember more now,” Lily replied softly. Not simply the music. I recall her reading to me. The way she smelled like gunpowder and vanilla. How she would wrap me up so tightly that I felt like I was in a cocoon. She wanted you to be protected. I do now. Lily ran her fingers over the locket on her neck. That would make her pleased, right? She would be really happy. She would be proud.
Ghost’s voice was full with feeling. You went through things that no child should have to. You kept her secrets safe. You took down a whole group of criminals. And you did it all while being yourself, being brave, and being nice. Lily put her weight on him. Ghost put his good arm around her shoulders. They stood there like that until the first stars came out.
A family made up of snow, secrets, and sacrifice. After a while, Ghost Lily remarked, “Yeah, kid.” Thanks for not giving up, for looking for five years, and for maintaining your word. Ghost’s throat clenched. Thanks for keeping me safe in that snowfall. For trusting me, which took a lot of courage, and for being precisely who your mother knew you would be.
The memorial grounds slowly empty behind them. 5,000 writers left the event at night, taking Sarah Morgan’s story with them. People would tell the story at clubhouses and around campfires, in veteran halls, and at family gatherings. It would encourage people to fight against injustice, honor their word, and choose the right thing over the easy thing.
The memory of Sarah Morgan would live on. But right now, in this quiet moment, there was only a guy and a girl standing in front of a stone that marked the end of one thing and the beginning of another. Are you ready to go home? Ghost finally asked? Lily gazed up at him.
This guardian had traveled mountains to find her and had faced gunfire, blizzards, and broken bones to keep a promise to a friend who had died. “Yes,” she responded, smiling through her tears. “Let’s go home.” Ghost picked her up and put her on the back of his motorcycle, where he could keep her secure in front of him. He turned on the engine, and the familiar rumble seemed like a heartbeat around them. Lily looked back one more time as they rode away from the memorial grounds.
She could picture her mother standing beside the memorial stone with the big smile from the pictures on her face. “Proud, at peace.” Bye, Mom. Lily spoke softly to the wind. I’ll make you proud. I swear. The motorcycle took them into the night and into a future with school days, homework, family dinners, bruised knees, birthdays, and nightmares that made them feel better.
Normal things, pretty things, things that every youngster should have. Ghost had done what he said he would do for Sarah Morgan. He would now spend the rest of his life upholding his promise to Lily to keep her safe, show her the path, and make sure she always knew she was loved. The wind took them home. And for the first time in five years, Lily wasn’t running away from anything.
She was sprinting toward it, toward family, toward a place where she belonged, toward a life where she wasn’t just getting by but really living. It was no longer snowing. The storm was over. And after it was over, a little girl who had lost everything found a place where she belonged, people who loved her, and the knowledge that she would never be alone again.
5,000 writers had lowered their heads in respect. But the ceremony and the memorial stone weren’t the best parts. It was this: a promise kept, a child saved, and a bright future full with possibilities. Sarah Morgan’s daughter was finally back home. That’s it.
