"We bypass ignition."
He installed a crude toggle switch.
Chloe watched every movement.
Her father had taught her enough mechanics to understand how desperate the repair was.
This motorcycle had no business being ridden.
But it also represented motion.
And motion meant distance.
Distance meant survival.
Finally Arthur stepped back.
"Try it."
Chloe stared at the machine.
She had ridden small dirt bikes years earlier.
Never something this heavy.
The Shovelhead probably weighed five times what she did.
"You sure?"
Arthur gave her a look.
"No."
Chloe swung her leg over the torn seat.
The bike settled beneath her.
Heavy.
Wide.
Unforgiving.
Arthur explained the controls.
Clutch.
Throttle.
Rear brake.
Front brake.
Gear shift.
"If something sounds wrong, stop."
Chloe looked at him.
"Everything sounds wrong already."
"Fair point."
She flipped the toggle.
Kicked the starter.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
Third time.
A cough.
Fourth.
Silence.
Chloe's leg burned.
"Again!" Arthur shouted.
She kicked.
The motorcycle exploded to life.
The roar tore through the salvage yard.
Black smoke erupted from both exhaust pipes.
Chloe nearly jumped off.
The entire frame vibrated.
Metal rattled.
The engine settled into a violent uneven rhythm.
Potato.
Potato.
Potato.
Arthur began laughing.
"Jesus Christ."
Chloe looked at him.
"What?"
"I haven't heard one sound that bad and still run since 1987."
The engine sputtered.
Arthur's face changed.
"Go!"
"What?"
"Don't let it stall."
He pointed toward the gate.
"If that thing dies hot, we're never starting it again."
Chloe squeezed the clutch.
Dropped into gear.
The motorcycle lurched.
She nearly lost balance.
Arthur jumped backward.
"Easy!"
Chloe twisted the throttle.
Gravel sprayed.
The Harley surged forward.
For the first fifty yards Chloe was certain she was going to crash.
Then instinct took over.
She relaxed her shoulders.
Straightened the bike.
Found second gear.
The machine accelerated.
Wind struck her face.
Arthur became smaller behind her.
For the first time in years, Chloe felt something dangerously close to freedom.
She reached the salvage yard gate.
Then she looked toward the road.
Dust was rising in the distance.
A vehicle approached fast.
White.
SUV.
Light bar.
Chloe's blood turned cold.
Richard.
Arthur saw it too.
He ran toward the gate.
"GO!"
Chloe did.
The Shovelhead screamed as she twisted the throttle.
She entered the road without stopping.
Behind her, the white SUV turned toward the salvage yard.
Chloe kept her eyes forward.
The bike vibrated beneath her so violently she could barely see clearly in the mirrors.
Third gear.
Then fourth.
The speedometer did not work.
She did not care.
Every mile between herself and Richard was worth whatever the engine suffered.
At Arthur's yard, Richard Croft slammed the SUV to a stop.
He stepped out before the dust settled.
"Where is she?"
Arthur continued wiping his hands on a rag.
"Who?"
Richard crossed the distance between them.
He grabbed Arthur's coveralls.
"Don't screw with me."
Arthur looked at the deputy's bloodshot eyes.
"You been drinking?"
Richard shoved him.
"Where is Chloe?"
Arthur glanced at the open gate.