He had no breathing apparatus.
No protective clothing.
And no guarantee that his strength would carry him through the smoke.
But the boy was inside.
The child who called him Grandpa Biker.
The boy who had hugged him beside the motorcycle less than two hours earlier.
The old man approached the lower-level entrance while neighbors shouted for him to stop.
He called the child's name.
He heard a faint answer.
Then he made a decision that would leave him injured and haunted.
He entered far enough to reach the boy near the den doorway, where smoke had already begun spreading through the room.
He found the child frightened and struggling.
The biker lifted him as carefully as he could.
Then turned toward the exit.
On the way out, he struck his forehead against a fallen section of interior trim near the doorway.
The impact stunned him.
But he kept moving.
A neighbor helped them clear the entrance.
Then someone took the child from his arms.
The biker staggered outside.
For several seconds, he couldn't remain standing.
He dropped to one knee.
His head hurt.
His chest burned.
And his hands trembled.
The mother rushed toward her son.
He was conscious but frightened and needed immediate medical care.
She reached for him.
The boy opened his eyes.
For one brief moment, he looked at her.
Then he whispered, "Mommy."
She began crying.
"I'm here."
The firefighters arrived and took control of the scene.
Emergency medical personnel assessed the child, the mother, and the old biker.
The boy required hospital treatment.
So did the mother.
The biker was taken for evaluation because of his head injury and smoke exposure.
As the ambulances prepared to leave, the old man looked toward the attached garage.
Flames had damaged much of it.
Firefighters were working to contain the fire and protect the remaining structure.
The black motorcycle was inside.
He could no longer see it.
But he knew where it had been.
He knew the charging equipment had been connected.
And he remembered the warning he'd promised himself he'd investigate the following morning.
For the first time that night, he understood that his own decisions might have contributed to what happened.
He closed his eyes.
Then whispered, "What have I done?"
The hospital corridors smelled of disinfectant and fresh coffee.