He tried again.
A deeper sound came from inside the cylinders.
Then—
RUMBLE.
The engine shook.
Smoke poured from the exhaust.
Leo jumped backward.
The Harley roared to life.
The sound filled the entire workshop.
Leo laughed.
He couldn't help it.
He ran around the bike like a child.
"I knew it!"
The engine roared again.
Outside, a dog began barking.
Lights came on in a nearby house.
Leo shut the motorcycle off.
Silence returned.
He was still smiling when Frank appeared in the doorway.
Frank wasn't smiling.
"Turn it off."
"It's off."
"Don't start it again."
Leo frowned.
"Why?"
Frank walked closer.
He stared at the motorcycle.
Then he looked at Leo.
"Because somebody is going to hear that."
"Who?"
Frank didn't answer.
Leo waited.
Finally Frank said:
"People who have been waiting twelve years."
The Man Who Recognized It
The next morning, a gray pickup truck pulled into the yard.
An old man stepped out.
He was tall and lean, with silver hair and a beard that covered most of his jaw.
A faded tattoo ran along his left forearm.
He walked toward the workshop.
Then he saw the Harley.
He stopped.
His face went pale.
"Where did you get that?"
Frank came out of the office.
"Morning, Mason."
Mason Reed ignored him.
"Where did you get that bike?"
Leo stepped forward.
"I found it."
Mason looked at him.
"You found it?"
"In Section G."
Mason slowly walked around the motorcycle.
He touched the fuel tank.
Then the handlebar.
Then the engine.
"It's still here."
Leo frowned.
"You know it?"
Mason looked at Frank.
"You told me it was gone."
Frank's jaw tightened.
"I thought it was."
Mason turned toward Leo.
"Did you make it run?"
Leo nodded.
Mason closed his eyes.
For several seconds he said nothing.
Then he whispered:
"Ray."
Leo immediately understood.
"You knew him."
Mason nodded.
"Everyone in our world knew Ray."
"What kind of man was he?"
Mason smiled sadly.
"Better than most."
"Was he a mechanic?"
"The best."
Leo smiled.
"I knew it."
Mason looked at him.
"You have his hands."
Leo glanced down.
"What?"
"The way you look at a machine."
Mason shook his head.
"Ray used to do the same thing."
"Why did he die?"
Mason's expression changed.
"Bad accident."
"Frank said nobody came for the bike."
"Because nobody knew what had happened."
Leo pointed at the motorcycle.
"What's special about it?"
Mason looked at the bike.
"Everything."
He reached into his jacket and pulled out an old photograph.
Ray Cole stood beside the Harley.
He was younger.
Smiling.
One arm around a woman.
A small boy stood between them.
Leo studied the photograph.
"His family?"
Mason nodded.
"His wife Anna."
"And the boy?"
"Michael."
"What happened to them?"
Mason's voice dropped.
"They disappeared."
Leo looked up.
"Both?"
"After Ray died."
"Why?"
Mason put the photograph away.
"Because Ray had enemies."
Leo felt a chill despite the heat.
"What enemies?"
Mason looked toward the road.
"That's the question everyone has been trying to answer for twelve years."
Before leaving, Mason pointed at the Harley.
"Don't ride it."
"Why?"
"Because when people realize that bike is alive..."
He paused.
"...they're going to come looking."
The Sound That Called Them Home
The video appeared online that afternoon.
Someone had recorded the Harley starting.
The clip lasted only eighteen seconds.
But eighteen seconds were enough.
By sunset, people were sharing it.
By midnight, someone had identified the motorcycle.
By morning, the first phone call came.
Frank answered it.
He didn't speak much.
Then he hung up.
Leo was working on the rear brake.
"Who was that?"
Frank looked at him.
"Nobody."
"You're a terrible liar."
Frank sighed.
"Get your mother."
"Why?"
"Because I think we might have visitors."
At four in the afternoon, Leo heard the first engine.
Then another.
Then ten.
He stepped outside.
A line of motorcycles appeared at the end of the road.
More followed.
Then more.
Soon the highway seemed to be filled with them.
Hundreds.
Chrome reflected the setting sun.
Engines rolled across the desert like distant thunder.
Leo counted as many as he could.
He stopped at one hundred.
Then two hundred.
Then gave up.
Frank stood beside him.
"How many?"
Leo whispered:
"Three hundred."
The motorcycles stopped outside the yard.
Nobody rushed the gate.
Nobody shouted.
The riders simply climbed off.
A man in his sixties walked forward.
He was broad-shouldered, gray-haired, and carried himself with quiet authority.
He wore a black vest bearing the Hells Angels insignia.
He stopped in front of Leo.
"Are you Leo Rossi?"
Leo swallowed.
"Yes."
"Did you rebuild that Harley?"
"Yes."
The man looked at Frank.
Then back at Leo.
"My name is Daniel Mercer."
Leo recognized the name from Mason.
"You knew Ray."
Daniel nodded.
"Ray was my brother in every way that mattered."
He looked at the Harley.
For the first time, his eyes became wet.
"We thought we'd never hear that engine again."
Leo asked:
"Why does everyone care so much?"
Daniel looked at the assembled riders.