* * * * * *
Fear propelled Emily into action as she realized that the huge motorcycle was skidding her way. Jumping back up on the curb first, then hopping farther back on the demolished sidewalk landing on a loose piece of concrete, she wobbled on it feeling unsteady. Heart hammering in her chest.
The driver was struggling to regain limited control of the Harley, jerking the handlebars in an obvious attempt to recover from the skid. He managed to change its direction by inches, skidding right past her and heading down the street.
Too close for comfort.
As the bike neared, Emily jumped back again landing on another unstable piece of concrete that sent her teetering backward, falling through a small space in the hedge. The branches scratched her face, arms and hands, like dozens of tiny assailants, catching at pieces of her sweatshirt -- pulling at the threads.
She landed on the grassy sloped embankment on the other side and rolled rather comically if somewhat ignobly. Managing to stop herself from rolling into the rocky embankment of the drainage ditch below by kicking her legs wildly about. Graceful it wasn’t, effective it was. Phone clasped tightly against her chest. The device escaped injury. Her backpack, purse, keys and sunglasses were not so lucky.
All were scattered on the rocks below.
* * * * * *
Having witnessed the series of events which unfolded in a most Rube Goldberg fashion, David saw the girl fall through the hedge. He recognized her green sweatshirt and realized that he'd seen her earlier. Is she hurt? he wondered. A sucker for a damsel in distress, he rushed down the slope to lend a hand.
His movement was momentarily stalled by the sight of a huge man in dark glasses across the street standing beside an oak tree. What caught his attention was the sheer size of the man. At 6-foot-3-inches tall, David stood head and shoulders above most people. The red haired man was easily a foot taller. There was a short Asian woman beside him.
The ginger giant was doing something odd with his hand. It was by his side but he was waving his fingers like a conductor and his lips were moving. He was too far away for David to hear what the giant was saying.
David got the distinct impression that Red wasn’t speaking to the woman.
There was a heavy thud. His eyes went back to State Street.
The motorcycle flipped on its side and skidded about a block down the road. The owner held on until he managed to grab the key from the ignition-- the engine died. When man and machine stopped sliding, the rider stood up. He seemed to wobble.
"He's one lucky son of a gun," said David aloud, even though no one could hear him.
Glancing back across the street, he noticed that the giant and his tiny companion were gone. Briefly looking around, eyes sweeping the sidewalk in either direction -- he didn’t see them anywhere. Where did they go? he wondered abstractedly before continuing carefully down the slope.