Chapter 5 - The Gathering of the 700
The roar of seven hundred motorcycle engines starting at once was a sound that could shake the snow off the mountains. The valley trembled beneath the weight of the Iron Saints as they lined up outside the clubhouse, their headlights cutting through the fading blizzard like an army of angry ghosts.
Vance Creed sat on his massive black chopper at the front of the line. Behind him, seven hundred men—men who had fought in wars, men who feared nothing—sat in perfect, lethal formation. They weren't riding for turf tonight. They weren't riding for money.
They were riding for a boy who had no one.
"Listen up!" Vance's voice carried over the thrum of the engines as he addressed his club through the radio comms. "A kid who didn't know our names just saved my boys. He bled for them. He broke for them. And while he was doing that, he was carrying the scars of a coward who thinks nobody is coming for him."
Vance raised his fist, the silver skulls gleaming in the headlight beams.
"We are the Iron Saints! And tonight, we are coming for him!"
The line moved. A massive snake of iron and fire tore down Route 14, ignoring the snow drifts, smashing through the whiteout with the unstoppable force of an avalanche.
Meanwhile, back at the clubhouse, Tyler slowly opened his eyes. The warmth of the medical bay confused him. The ceiling wasn't the cracked plaster of Dale's house. It was clean.
"Easy, son," Doc said, pressing a warm cup of water to Tyler's split lips. "You're safe. You're at the Saints' Rest."
Tyler tried to sit up, his eyes widening with instant, familiar terror. "The boys... Seth... Luke..."
"They're alive, Tyler. They're sleeping in the next room because of you," Doc said gently, holding the boy's shoulders down. "You did it, kid. You saved them."
Tyler let out a long, ragged breath, his shoulders shaking as tears finally came, washing away the salt and dried blood on his cheeks. But then he looked down at his bare chest, seeing the bandages covering his bruises. He looked at Doc's grim expression.
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"You saw," Tyler whispered, pulling the blanket up to his chin, his voice dropping into the small, broken tone of a child who expected to be punished for being hurt. "Please... don't call Dale. Don't send me back. He'll kill me this time."
Doc reached out, his rough hand gently squeezing Tyler’s shoulder. "Tyler, look at me. Dale Mercer is never going to touch you again. The President of this club has just gone to sign your release papers. Personally."
