The storm had passed, but the highway was still slick under the gray morning light.

Cole Dawson, a 44-year-old biker with weathered hands and a scar above his eyebrow, was heading home from a charity ride in Missouri. His boots splashed through puddles as he checked his tires. That’s when he saw it — something dark near the shoulder of the road.

At first, he thought it was roadkill. He almost didn’t stop.

But then, something moved.

He parked his Harley, walked closer, and stepped into what looked like a red puddle. When he crouched down, the world slowed.