The biker heard soft crying coming from the dumpster behind the deserted gas station at 3 AM and almost kept going.
I had stopped to check my map. Middle of nowhere, Tennessee. No cell signal. Just me, my Harley, and the fiercest storm in a decade bearing down fast.
The sound was faint, like a cat in pain. Maybe injured. But when I lifted the lid, I saw a garbage bag. It moved.
Inside, a baby. Hours old at most. The umbilical cord still tied with a shoelace.
Blue. Barely breathing. Someone had tossed this child aside like trash, left her to die in a forgotten dumpster.