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my chest—which was not as distressing as it would have been in other circumstances. I took a quick glance and there was no visible puncture. This was little consolation, however, as the pain was excruciating.
    I glanced behind me at the monster and noted his right hip had nearly separated from the rest of his body. I had heard a loud crack on impact, and was relieved it wasn’t my bike that had made the sound.
    His leg lagged behind him as he attempted to crawl toward me, arms outstretched, belly blubbering along. His teeth were chattering, and his face was red with dried blood. The heavyset monster wasn’t making much progress, and actually seemed to be crawling in a circle. I was momentarily hypnotized by the sight and stared at the awkward scene longer than I wanted to, but fortunately snapped to and refocused on the task at hand.
    I pushed the engine start button, and she fired back up. That’s my girl. I spun my motorcycle to the right, and served Fatboy a dirt cocktail. I righted the KLR and took off toward the foothills. As I sped off, I yelled at the top of my lungs, “Don’t Mess With Texas, my ass!” I felt my cheeks turning red as a result of the false bravado, and was glad nobody was present to hear me say that.
    Dork.
    Ten minutes later I found myself fumbling for my key as I pulled up to my garage. The structure housing my repair business is quite modest and lacks charm or charisma from the outside. However, what it lacks in allure, it makes up for in functionality. I had recently retooled the garage, and it was state of the art. At twenty-eight-hundred square feet, it stood on three quarters of an acre. It was a good sized lot for a business so close to downtown Campbell. The fifteen-year-old building is gray with olive green rolling doors on all sides. There are six, ten by ten roll-up doors, one on each side wall, and two front and back. The garage is connected to my office, which is located to the right as you approach the building. The front office is six hundred square feet, with an adjoining bathroom and a small private office in the back. All of this is enclosed by cyclone fencing on all sides.
    I parked the bike and went for the lock and chain on the front gate. That was when I noticed the lock was hanging on the cyclone fence, unlocked. The chain was not wrapped around the gate, thus it swung open freely.
    “Motherfucker!” I shouted to nobody.
    I hopped on the KLR and rode it through the open gate, stopping inches from the building. I reached for the tinted glass door, but Max bested me from the inside of the office.
    “Max, I told you to—”
    “Hey, Rem, gimme a sec, I gotta go lock the gate, you just left it open,” Max said with a wry smile as he continued past me. “I was out here waiting and heard ya coming so I opened the gate. Then the phone rang, so I ran inside to answer. You were saying?”
    Ignoring his smug look, I asked who called. Max informed me it was Rich and I was glad to hear from him, though Emily would have been a welcome call as well.
    I looked back down the deserted street and saw the low speed pursuit of a dozen monsters whose attention I had drawn. I figured they came from side streets or other property.
    “Maybe the loud after-market exhaust I bought was a little much, Max?” I said half in jest. “I couldn’t help it, out of the factory, the motor of the KLR sounds like a sewing machine.”
    “I already saw a few of them milling around down the street,” Max added.
    “I think a stock pipe would have attracted less attention.”
    “No worries, Rem, loud pipes save lives, man.”

Chapter 5

    “This is not going to do, we need a plan.”
     
     
     
    I entered the garage through the adjoining office door and was relieved to see Buell’s bike to my left. I should have known he would never leave his motorcycle outside, even behind my locked gate. Buell’s caution seemed prudent, so I reversed my path, opened the rolling door, and moved my KLR next to