The line rang twice before a gruff, gravelly voice answered. "Yeah?"

"Jackson, it's Thomas," he said, turning his back to the counter to keep his voice private. "I'm at the Pine Ridge Diner. I've got a situation. A little girl just walked out of the storm. Her mother’s car broke down yesterday morning on the old logging road by the split pine. The mother went for help and never came back. She's still out there."

There was a brief pause on the other end, followed by the heavy rustle of leather jackets and the metallic clinking of keys. "Say no more. The storm's bad, but the boys are restless. How many do you need?"

"All of them," Thomas said grimly. "Bring the snow-chains, the heavy tow straps, and every high-output flashlight we've got. We're running out of daylight."

"We're rolling in five," Jackson replied, and the line went dead.

Thomas walked back to the counter. Lily had finished half the soup, a faint hint of color finally returning to her pale cheeks. She looked up at him, her wide eyes filled with sudden fear as she saw him zipping up his heavy riding jacket.

"Are you leaving me?" she whispered, her voice cracking.

Thomas knelt beside her stool, bringing himself eye-level with the frightened child. He reached out and gently tucked a stray, damp lock of hair behind her ear.

"Never, Lily," Thomas said, his voice as solid as a mountain. "I'm going to go find your mommy. But I need you to stay right here with the nice lady at the counter. Can you do that for me?"

Lily looked at the waitress, who gave a warm, tearful nod, and then back at Thomas. Slowly, she reached into her faded yellow jacket and pulled out a small, plastic keychain with a faded pink unicorn on it. She pressed it into Thomas's massive, calloused palm.

"Give this to her," Lily sobbed quietly. "It's her favorite. So she knows you're a friend."

Thomas closed his fist around the tiny token, feeling a heavy weight settle onto his shoulders. He slipped it safely into his breast pocket, right next to his heart.

"I'll bring her back, Lily. I promise."

As Thomas stepped out of the diner, the freezing wind slammed into him like a wall of ice. He pulled his thick wool mask over his face and straddled his heavy custom chopper. He kicked the starter, and the massive V-twin engine roared to life, a thunderous rumble that defied the howling gale.

He rode out into the blinding white fury of the storm, heading toward the old logging road. Ten minutes into the frozen darkness, the thundering echo of a dozen more engines joined his. Out of the whiteout, Jackson and fifteen heavy-set bikers appeared, their headlights cutting through the snow like a line of guardian angels.

They reached the entrance of the unplowed logging road. The snow here was treacherous, easily two feet deep. Thomas pointed his front tire into the abyss, his headlights straining to find the old split pine tree.

Suddenly, Jackson pointed his heavy tactical flashlight toward a steep snowdrift near a ditch.