Hundreds.
Then hundreds more.
The city had no idea what was coming.
Eight Hundred Engines
At eight in the morning, Riley climbed the courthouse steps between Cole and Roxanne.
Roxanne sat in a wheelchair.
Wade pushed her.
Cole walked beside Riley.
Then Riley heard it.
A vibration beneath her boots.
She turned.
At the far end of the avenue, headlights appeared.
One hundred motorcycles.
Then two hundred.
Then five hundred.
The sound became enormous.
Eight hundred motorcycles poured into downtown Seattle.
They filled the streets.
They filled the sidewalks.
They filled the surrounding blocks.
But there was no violence.
No shouting.
No destruction.
The riders parked in formation.
Then, almost simultaneously, eight hundred engines shut off.
Silence fell.
Eight hundred men and women stood at the courthouse steps.
Waiting.
Watching.
Standing for one girl.
Riley looked at them in disbelief.
She had spent years believing nobody would notice if she disappeared.
Now an entire city could see her.
The Courtroom
Inside the courtroom, the atmosphere was suffocating.
The state's attorney presented the case.
"Your Honor, this child is a chronic runaway. The individuals she currently resides with are known associates of a criminal organization."
Cole stood.
He leaned on his cane.
"This girl saved my wife's life."
The courtroom became silent.
"She dragged nine hundred pounds of motorcycle off my wife's leg."
He turned toward the state's attorney.
"Your system left her sleeping under Interstate Five."
His voice hardened.
"You left her hungry."
He pointed toward the courthouse windows.
"We gave her food."
Then he looked at Riley.
"We gave her a roof."
His voice softened.
"And we gave her something your paperwork never gave her."
A pause.
"Family."
The judge looked toward the window.
Eight hundred bikers stood outside.
Not threatening.
Not moving.
Just waiting.
The judge looked back at Riley.
Then at the case file.
He closed it.
"The petition for state custody is denied."