Blondhilda and the Hydra
Blondhilda and the Hydra
"Look, I don't know," the woman's voice said. "The car started, okay? I don't need a jump anymore. Just get him into your car and go!"
Blondhilda gunned the engine and the powerful motorcycle surged. The hostage was out in the open desert, just over the rise ahead, his cellphone transmitting his kidnappers' conversation through Blondhilda's headset.
"Alright—get in here, you," a male voice said. Blondhilda heard a door slam. "What are you waiting for?" the same voice shouted, seemingly to the other driver. "Go!" Blondhilda came over the ridge and spotted the cars. A yellow sedan on the left and a red on the right, so close they almost touched. Each suddenly accelerated in opposite directions.
Blondhilda had to choose which one to follow.
"What the--" the male voice said. "You've got a cellphone!" There was the sound of a sharp blow and a yelp of pain. The phone bounced off the floor. "You think I can't shoot you and drive at the same time?" Feedback stung Blondhilda's ear as an explosion came through. The man cursed. "As soon as I get this gun unjammed, I'm blowing your head off." More curses and muffled thumps; then the phone went dead. In seconds Stanley Chester Brown would be dead too.
Blondhilda expertly twitched her machine to the left and gained on the yellow car.
* * *
Later that evening, Blondhilda raised her wineglass to Stanley. The firelight glowed over her silken skin; the stars were bright overhead and silver desert stretched to the horizon.
"How did you know which car to follow?"
Blondhilda walked languidly to her vintage Harley-Davidson Hydra-Glide and took another jug of mead from the saddlebag.
"The chariot you were in--the coach driven by the woman--had problems with the...battery is it?" Blondhilda shook out her sheet of flaxen hair and gracefully dropped down beside Stanley. She refilled his glass. "The woman was stopped and the man drove to her to help her. When I spied the chariots, they were so close together that the driver of the one on the right could not open the door." Blondhilda stirred the fire. "I think that a person come to help another would not park so he could not open his door. So I ventured he drove the one on the left, the one you were in."
Stanley stared into the darkness for a long moment, his gaze turned inward. "He almost killed me."
Blondhilda said nothing, but the fire, in sympathy with her passion, flamed to the sky. Some of the desert sand turned to glass.
She touched Stanley's cheek where the ring on the man's fist had cut him. The skin healed itself under the goddess's touch. Then she kissed his eyelids and Stanley sighed as the memory of terror abated and his soul was healed.
The warrior smiled. Then she turned back to the fire and watched the ring melt around the finger that wore it. Pin It Now!
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