Zombies VS Bikers Read online

  The Dead Jesters

  The highway was littered with abandoned vehicles, some with their doors hanging wide open; some with windshields cracked, thick lines across the glass that looked like spider webs. Many of the cars and trucks had dead bodies in them, heads smashed open on the dash or steering wheels. Some of the bodies’ heads were intact though, so the corpses moved, opening and closing their jaws, their tongues fat and black and dry. Big Mack cruised slowly with his fellow Dead Jesters, swerving this way and that, his head constantly turning like it was on a swivel. The only way to survive in the world since the green light was vigilance. That fucking green light bathed the entire earth for three minutes or so according to the talking idiots broadcasting the news. No one knows exactly what the hell it was but ever since that happened, the dead began to walk the earth as zombies craving flesh to eat. Society had completely broken apart, only the strong and smart groups like the Jesters had managed to survive. Big Mack saw a child in a car seat, his chest was caved in, the shirt he wore had once been blue but was now mostly dark reddish brown, reminding Big Mack of his favorite sauce at Barbecue Bob’s back in Texas. Just another thing he would never have again.

  Big Mack slowed his Harley, pulling softly on the brake with his strong fingers, unable to quit looking at the boy. The child had three ribs jutting from his shirt and the skin beneath. One leg was broken as well, bent at the knee in the wrong direction, the skin there purple and inflamed. The child turned his head towards the biker as Big Mack passed, and Big Mack noticed the kid was missing one of his eyes. Big Mack shuddered, hoping none of his crew noticed, and hit the throttle, sending the bike from the child as quickly as possible.

  “I’m running low on jerky!” Bard yelled as he pulled up along side Big Mack during a long stretch of the highway with fewer cars and undead in the way. Big Mack couldn’t help but grin when he looked over and saw his oldest friend with three long tubes of beef jerky sticking out of his mouth while he rode. On Bard’s back was the ever present guitar case, holding his prized acoustic guitar. Bard was a hell of a player and had entertained the Dead Jesters many nights over the last thirty-two years.

  Big Mack had formed the Jesters technically, but Bard had been the first member, and he had helped design their logo patch. The men had known each other since grade school, and had bought their first bikes together in high-school. There wasn’t anything either of them liked more than cruising across the country, and it just wasn’t the same when they weren’t doing it together.

  In over three decades the Dead Jesters had grown to include branches in ten states, and had over three thousand members. The charter branch in Texas had over three hundred by itself. Only ten had made it out of Texas, as far as Big Mac knew, and they had been riding with him in the months since the dead came back to life and started eating the living.

  “Well shit, we can’t let that happen,” Big Mack replied to Bard. “We’re running low on a lot of things I reckon. Start checking the exits.”

  “I’m out of condoms,” a voice called from Big Mack’s other side. He laughed and turned to Tim. “That hot little thing back a few days ago made me burn through my last three.”

  “You got to be the only person I know practicing safe sex when the world has gone to shit like this,” Big Mack said.

  “Well fuck,” Tim replied. “We got enough shit trying to kill us now we don’t need to help it out by having our dicks fall off.”

  “That’s why I ain’t got a dick!” Shelly yelled from the back of her husband Bill’s bike. The whole gang had formed up and was riding together, and Big Mack couldn’t help but fantasize that they were riding like they had in the old days.

  It was harder to keep up that illusion as they neared the next exit. The road became thick once more with abandoned vehicles and the walking dead. Three undead were crouched in the middle of one of the lanes, ripping and biting furiously at a screaming girl. The girl screamed for them to help her as the biker gang passed, but not one of them looked in her direction. Big Mack thought she sounded like a teenager, but couldn’t be sure without seeing her clearly. Bard pointed ahead and called to the others. “There’s a Wal-Mart!”

  “I hope it has gas,” Viper called from behind everyone else, thumping his hand against one of the many empty gas cans strapped to his bike with bungee cords. All of the riders had made some quick modifications to their bikes since the world had gone to Hell. Each bike was covered with containers for fuel, each biker kept a gun on them at all times, and they had a small arsenal piled up in Toga’s side car, unused since his old lady had been killed a few months back when the Jesters had broken into what they thought had been an abandoned house, only to find a small group holed up in one bedroom and heavily armed. The battle for the house had been brief but intense and left all of the squatters dead along with Eileen. She hadn’t been the first that they had lost and Big Mack doubted she would be the last.

  He was hopeful though, and as The Dead Jesters made their way onto the exit ramp, heading for the Wal-Mart, Big Mack let his mind wander to their destination. They had banded quickly together in the aftermath of the first attacks, living the life of nomads for half a year. They took what they needed, and they never stopped for long.

  Trading supplies and information with other survivors was crucial, and from more than one source they heard about Covington, Florida. It was a small town in Southern Florida, apparently big on fishing and crabbing. The rumor spreading amongst the survivors that fought tooth and claw for their stunted and terrifying lives was that on June 10th a large number of ships were convening in Covington. There they would be loaded with supplies and with survivors. The hope was, as others explained it to the Jesters, that going to sea for as long as possible, and taking as many as possible, would let the undead deteriorate until they could no longer move, and limit the amount of people who could become undead themselves. Of course, there was always the chance of someone dying aboard the ships, but Big Mack was sure that men smarter than him had already considered and planned for that.

  The Dead Jesters slowed their bikes and then stopped all together after pulling off of the highway and into the parking lot of the Wal-Mart. A massive mob of undead were in front of the building, the ones furthest from the door pushing forward, causing the ones in front to slam against the doors hard enough to be audible to the Jesters a hundred yards away. It reminded Big Mack oddly of the ocean, something he had only seen once, a long time ago. The undead behaved like the sea, an unending wave that flowed forward, attempting to get into the building. Big Mack wondered how long some of the undead had been here in this parking lot. Months probably.

  “Well shit,” Bard said, looking over to Big Mack. “Should we keep going?”

  “No,” answered Big Mack. “Let’s check the back first. These fuckers wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t someone inside, right? They probably have something we can use.”

  “Engines off?” Double D asked? She was the only female in the motorcycle club proper, though of course there had been plenty of wives or girlfriends considered family as well. Double D was Dianna Dunne, but her nick name was apt, she was a large woman and her breasts were gigantic, constantly straining against any black Harley shirt she wore.

  “Yeah,” Big Mack replied. The Dead Jesters that remained had done so this long by not being stupid. Each of the nine bikes was turned off and their riders used their feet to guide them forward, angling for the side of the Wal-Mart. While the vast majority of undead in the parking lot were centered near the front of the building, six were along the side, in between the Jesters and their destination. Big Mack kicked his stand down and climbed off his bike while a wiry bald man named Willy did the same beside him. Big Mack pulled a wooden Louisville Slugger from a make shift holder along the handlebars from his bike, while Willy unsheathed his trusty six inch hunting knife.

  Willy was the oldest member of this small crew by at least a decade, putting him nearer to his seventies than his sixties, but Big Mack had been impressed by the old man so far. Back in Cincinnati the Jesters had been overtaken by a large group of the ghouls while they had been refueling at a miraculously untouched gas station. First everyone had scrambled for their weapons, but when Big Mack realized a massive amount of undead was still flooding into the area he ordered everyone on their bikes and out of there. Willy had his knife and yelled for the others to go, and without another word he strode into the group of undead.

  The rest of the Jesters left their friend behind, willing to accept Willy’s sacrifice. They had all seemed to turn and focus on him when he walked into their midst, and Big Mack himself thought perhaps Willy wasn’t willing to live in this world any more, but didn’t want to puss out and kill himself, so he simply went down taking as many of those things with him as possible.

  Two hours after they had left him, Willy came roaring down the highway behind him, covered in blood that was still wet, shining red in the midday son. Big Mack had noticed that no one in this new world liked to use the word zombie, even though that’s clearly what these things were. It just seemed silly. Zombies were fiction, creatures from old black and white movies. Still though, when Willy started riding up to them, from that point on they had started calling him The Zombie Fucker-Upper.

  Big Mack swung his heavy bat at the nearest ghoul, connecting with the side of its head, which crumpled and cracked open, releasing a noxious stench that made Big Mack gag. There was no blood, not like there always had been in the movies. Since these things hearts didn’t beat, their blood pooled down
in their feet, turning the rotting skin there a deep purple. Willie stepped past Big Mack and took on the next undead in line. His knife slashed forward, glinting in the sun before embedding its blade through the eye of the zombie, smashing through the bone behind the eye and piercing the damned things brain. The zombie let out a groan and collapsed in a heap. Willy was already moving on to the next ghoul.

  Soon the undead were taken care of and Willy and Big Mack were back on their bikes, leading everyone around the back of the store with their engines still off. Farther down the back stood two zombies who began shuffling towards the Jesters when they saw them, but they were far away enough to not be a concern. Big Mack stopped at the first door he came to, a small metal one that was locked. Big Mack pulled a shotgun from his bike near his right foot and take aim at the lock, blowing it loudly apart. He reached over his handlebars and pulled the door open, walking his bike in far enough to allow those behind him to do the same.

  The door opened into a large area with pallet after pallet on the floor and large shelving that ran up the walls. The pallets had obviously been gone through for goods. The only ones that looked untouched to Big Mack were ones with electronics and children’s toys. Even the pallets that had held pet food looked pretty picked over. It amazed Big Mack to think some stupid yuppies were so concerned about their pets in a world where the dead came back to life to eat the living. Most of the lights were off in the stock room, besides smaller emergency lights hanging high up on the wall. There seemed to be two exits from the large stock room, a set of swinging double doors that led to a sales floor that was almost completely darkened, and a single swinging door that looked to be barricaded, judging by the slight view Big Mack could get through the small plastic window cut into the door. He guessed if there was anyone living in this place, they’d be behind the barricaded door.

  Big Mack climbed off his hog, still holding his shotgun, and was met by everyone else at the barricaded door. “I guess we just push it open,” he said.

  “Sounds good to me,” Bard agreed, and all nine of the Jesters, plus Shelly pushed against the door. The door slid open an inch before stopping and Big Mack called for everyone to stop.

  “Hold on now, they got this door stopped up tight, but that can’t be the only way to get into wherever they’re at.”

  “What about the roof?” Toga asked.

  “What about it, Toga?” Slim said.

  “No, I get what he’s saying, there’s got to be a way to get up on the roof, and maybe it lets down somewhere past this door,” Big Mack said as he nodded. “You think there’s a ladder or something out there?”

  “Only one way to find out,” Jester said, sliding his soft cover guitar case from his back. “Keep Betsy safe for me, will ya Mack?”

  Big Mack rolled his eyes and took the guitar case. “Slim; go with him, will ya?”

  “Yeah,” Slim said, walking back to his bike and pulling a handgun from one of the saddle bags. “Ready.”

  “Alright, let’s hit it,” Bard said, grabbing his gun and taking the lead. He went to the door they had come in from and pushed it open a few inches. He glanced back at Slim and the men nodded to one another. Bard put his shoulder to the door, flinging it open quickly and he slid out into the blinding sunlight, with Slim hot on his heels.

  Slim let the door swing shut on its own accord behind him, already lifting his hand gun and taking aim at one of the two ghouls they had seen when they first entered the building. Now the zombies were much closer, their heads swiveling towards the two men, their slender jaws beginning to work, their rotted teeth clicking together in almost perfect unison. The nearest ghoul lifted his one remaining arm, his fingers thin and skeletal, all but one of the fingernails were missing. The zombie behind him rushed forward so quickly he bumped into the one armed zombie, who fell to the ground with a groan, landing flat on his face. Bard stepped forward and slammed the stock of his rifle into the standing zombie’s face, grinning triumphantly as the things nose broke with a satisfying snap. The zombie fell back, and would have certainly fallen if he hadn’t hit the brick wall of the Wal-Mart first. His feet were just quick enough to keep himself upright, and he bounded back after bumping the wall, managing to slide dry and brittle fingers across Bards face before the Biker slammed the butt of his weapon into the ghouls face once more.

  The zombie’s face crumpled inwards instantly, one of his eyes popping from its socket and falling through the air. The one armed zombie was struggling to sit up, still working his jaw furiously. The two living men watched with revulsion was the eyeball fell straight into the one armed zombies mouth, where he quickly bit into it, popping the thing like a balloon. A yellow creamy substance came spilling from the eyeball, sliding out past the one armed ghouls lips and running down his chin as he finally managed to sit up.

  “Fucking disgusting things,” Slim said as he stepped forward, pressing his gun to the one armed zombie’s forehead.

  “No! Don’t!” Bard said, a moment too late. The gun shot was deafening, the sound bouncing from the rear of the building and to a long wall that separated the Wal-Mart from the highway beyond.

  “Fuck, you idiot. They’ll have heard that from two states away.”

  “Shit, sorry,” Slim said. Bard shook his head, clearly annoyed.

  “Come on, let’s find the damned ladder.”

  The two men started off, skirting the back of the massive building, looking for any sign of a way to make it onto the roof. They passed a large loading bay built into the center of the building and finally they saw it; a spindly metal ladder that had once been silver but was now red with rust.

  “Should we go up?” Slim asked.

  “I think so,” Bard said, pointing forward where a group of undead was shuffling around the corner. Bard glanced over his shoulder and saw more coming up from the way they had come.

  “Fuck, I’m sorry,” Slim said.

  “Forget it,” Bard said, pushing the man forward and onto the ladder. Bard followed Slim up the ladder, clutching the thing with clammy hands, closing his eyes every time the ladder creaked or swayed under their steps, which was often.

  “I’m not so sure about this thing,” Slim called over his shoulder, stopping half way up the ladder.

  “Just keep climbing dumbass!” Bard called to the man above him. He risked a glance downwards, his heart sinking at the sight of at least ten of the ghouls gathered below them. Luckily it looked as if the zombies had no idea how to climb a ladder. Slim began climbing once more, but had only moved up three more rungs when there was an earsplitting shriek of metal sliding against something, and the top of the ladder came free from the edge of the roof above them. Bard shut his eyes as he felt the ladder pull away suddenly from the wall.

  “Hold on!” Slim yelled, somewhat needlessly Bard thought. Bard hooked his arms through the spaces between rungs, using the inside of his elbows to hold him securely to the ladder. Slim didn’t do the same, relying on his handheld grip to hold on. The top of the ladder pulled away five feet from the building before jerking to a sudden stop. Bard held tight, but Slim lost his grip, his arms failing wildly for balance as he began to fall.

  “Shit!” Slim yelled as he fell, one of his feet sliding down off of the rung above Bard and kicking him in the face. Bard’s head snapped back but he managed to hold on, even as his fellow Jester fell completely free from the ladder. Bard turned his head just in time to see Slim land on one of the zombies, shoving the things head down into it’s own chest cavity. Slim then hit the ground hard, it looked to Bard that the man broke his ankle on impact. The zombies all turned towards Slim, falling to their knees as one and grabbing for the doomed man.

  Even though he had the wind knocked out of him, Slim knew he had to get moving if he were to survive. The biker rolled over on his stomach, working to get his hands and feet beneath him, but the number of undead was just too great. Their hands covered his body, pushing him back down, face first now in the parking lot. Slim was laying on something hard, and it took him a moment to realize it was his handgun, shoved unceremoniously into the waist of his jeans before he started climbing the ladder. Slim managed to turn back over onto his back, kicking out at one zombie that was inches from burying its teeth into his leg. His boot connected solidly with the ghoul’s temple, sending the thing toppling onto its side.