Zombies VS Bikers Read online

  Slim snatched the gun from his waist, barely able to raise it before another zombie lowered his head, biting into the soft flesh of Slim’s upper arm. Slim screamed, squeezing the trigger as he did so. Slim hadn’t been aiming at anything and the hot lead was propelled upwards, slamming into the brick of the building just inches to the left of Bard’s leg. “Shit!” Bard yelled as dust and pieces of brick rained down onto the scene below him.

  Slim tried to get off another shot but now there was another set of teeth ripping into his flesh, and Slim could see his own blood spray violently from his body, arcing in the sky before splattering against the wall beside him. “Get off of me!” Slim yelled, thrashing wildly at the hands groping for him and holding him down, but it was no use. Slim had gotten used to the smell of a world gone dead, but now with a large number of the ghouls right on top of him the stench was unbearable and overwhelming. Slim felt his stomach give, and he turned his head to vomit. A zombie felt Slim’s stomach in another way as it pressed its hand against his skin so forcefully that his skin split open wide in another red shower.

  Slim began yelling at this point, screaming as the teeth bit into him, as the hands fought one another to pull his organs from his body cavity. He watched one zombie grab a fistful of his own intestines and then stand and shuffle away, unwinding the slimy mass and leaving it to trail along behind it. Slim turned his head just as a zombie knelt down, having been aiming for Slim’s cheek but finding instead his nose suddenly in its mouth. It bit down and tore the cartilage from Slim’s face, and his screaming became even louder.

  As Slim was torn apart and eaten alive on the ground below him, Bard resolved to do whatever he could to avoid that fate. He began to climb again, slowly, carefully, working hard to keep from pulling the ladder from the wall any more than it already was. It was slow going made harder by the screaming, and then when that stopped the wet sounds mixed with the chewing sounds and the tearing sounds. Slim had been an idiot, but he had been a Dead Jester. The name seemed more apt than ever now.

  The ladder began swaying dangerously back and forth away from the wall as Bard neared the top. Bard swung one leg around the side of the ladder, and then looped his arm around managing to completely change the side of the ladder he had been on. If Bard hung from the ladder with only one hand and foot supporting him on it, he could just brush the edge of the building with his finger tips. He would have to jump.

  Bard situated himself facing the building, his heels on the ladder; both hands reaching back to hold him self there. “Come on asshole,” Bard said aloud in an attempt to psyche him self up. “Do it.” With one more deep breath, Bard did it. He bent his knees and reached out simultaneously. The force of his jump tore more of the ladder from the wall, and once those bolts came loose, more followed behind them. The whole rusted contraption fell, landing with a sickening crunch on the undead and Slim beneath it. Bard hung from the edge of the rooftop, Straining to pull himself up. Bard yelled a primal sound with no pitch or rhythm that exploded from his mouth and flew through the afternoon air. He flexed, he pulled, and somehow he managed to get himself up and onto the roof.

  Bard lay on the roof panting, not sure if ten minutes passed or ten ours before he was finally ready to move again. He climbed to his feet and took in his surroundings. The roof was wide and sparse in one corner Bard was surprised to see a bank of solar panels. That explained the emergency lights still being on after half a year. To his left sat a small tin hut with a door. Bard’s suspicions that this way the entrance to the store proved correct when he pulled open the door to reveal a circular set of aluminum steps leading down into the building. Bard shut the door behind him, and headed down the stairs.

  The stairs ended in a small room lined with bricks, with a wooden door built into the wall directly across from the bottom step. Bard had slung his rifle over his shoulder when he was climbing, but he took it into his hands before pushing the door open. Bard stepped into a dim hall, lined with doors on both sides, all of them shut tightly. At the end of the hall was a heap of products that had certainly once been in the store proper, but were now being used to barricade the swinging door the rest of the Dead Jesters stood on the other side of. There were large boxes that held bikes, long flat but heavy looking boxes that held furniture, and a myriad of other products. Bard started towards the pile with no hesitation.

  Bard turned and checked that the hallways was empty behind him once he reached the barricaded door before setting the rifle down in the corner and going to work clearing the boxes from in front of the door. A voice rang out behind him after he had managed only to move a patio table and the chairs that matched.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” a man called, his voice bouncing from wall to wall in the tight corridor like a silver ball in a pinball machine. Bard spun around, reaching automatically for his weapon, pulling the stock of the rifle into the crook of his arm and pointing the barrel at the man who had spoke. The man walking toward was armed as well, but his handgun was shoved into the waist of his pants and he was holding both of his hands up. Bard guessed he was in his mid thirties, and he wore khaki pants and a light blue button up shirt. While he wasn’t wearing a nametag, Bard guessed he had worked at the Wal-Mart. Behind the man one of the doors Bard had passed was opened, with a few people in the doorway, peeking out.

  “My friends are on the other side of this door,” Bard said, letting the barrel of his gun lower slightly.

  “Okay, how did you get in here?” the man asked.

  “The roof,” Bard answered.

  “Bring them in that way too, I don’t mind taking more in, but we can’t be messing up that stuff.”

  “I can’t, the ladder broke,” Bard said.

  The man considered this for a moment, coming to a stop a few feet from Bard, where he offered his hand. “I’m Scott.”

  “Everyone calls me Bard.”

  “Great to meet ya,” Scott said with an effortless smile. It seemed to Bard as if the man were still just a mid level manager at a Wal-Mart, discussing the price of work boots with him instead of offering sanctuary during the zombie apocalypse. Behind Scott a large man came through the open doorway, shoving his way past the people who had gathered there. The man was dark skinned and easily six and a half feet, if not more. He held a metal baseball bat in one hand and had a meet tenderizer hanging from one of his belt loops.

  “Who’s this guy?” the large man asked Scott.

  “Bard,” Scott answered. “His friends are on the other side of the door, Bard came in through the roof.”

  “So we gonna let him stay here?”

  “Sure, him and his friends,” Scott said, surprising Bad with the tone of authority in his voice. “We got enough of everything to go around.”

  “Sure, we do, but the less people we have, the longer it’ll last.”

  “Now John, we’ve been over this, more than once, alright?”

  Bard watched as the big man named John simmered, standing a few feet behind Scott, who spun back towards Bard with another Wal-Mart approved smile. “Now let’s get this door opened and then shut back up tight.”

  Bard and Scott began on the door, and were soon joined by John and a couple of other people who came to help from whatever room lay beyond the open door in the hall. Within minutes they had the window in the door cleared, and Bard took a moment to silently check in with Big Mack, stuck on the other side. He could see everyone on that side was accounted for, and when Big Mack mouthed the name Slim, Bard had to shake his head sadly before going back to work.

  Half an hour later the door was cleared and The Dead jesters came in, rolling their bikes in along with them. Bard started introductions but Scott cut him off. “Let’s get this stuff back in front for the door, and then we can meet everyone all at once.” Bard nodded and they worked to quickly barricade the door once more.

  Sweating and exhausted Bard led the Dead Jesters to the open door, beyond which turned out to be a large break room, with another door in the back leading to another, smaller break room, with a large glass window in the wall between the two. Bard stepped aside when it was time for introductions, leaving that work to Big Mack. Big Mack stepped forward and shook Scott’s hand, and then nodded to each of the break room natives as they were introduced. There was John, the large black man, an old man with a bandaged stump instead of an arm named Lyle, three women; Mary, Rebecca, and a teenager named Michelle. John had a sister there named Hallie and there was a family sitting in the corner who Scott introduced simply as the Craig’s.

  Big Mack introduced all of the Dead Jesters and then Scott offered to take them on the tour. It was a joke of course, as you could take the tour by standing in the middle of the room and spinning in a slow circle. Along one wall was a row of soft drink and snack machines. Along another were three refrigerators, still running by the looks of it. Nothing was against the wall that had the large window running along it, looking into the smaller break room, and the last one had a flat screen TV hanging from it, turned on but showing nothing but static. A few long tables sat in the middle of the room, with more pushed to the side, under the window. Uncomfortable looking chairs sat here and there, and there were blankets and pillows piled here and there.

  In the smaller break room were the supplies, mostly food but also what looked like a small armory, certainly guns and ammunition taken from the sporting goods department. Big Mack quirked a brow to Bard when no one else was looking, and Bard nodded softly. They would certainly be able to take what they needed from here.

  Scott and his group turned out to be very sharing, allowing the Jesters to each take a can of food, which they ate cold straight from the can with plastic forks. Scott sat with Big Mack and Bard, where they exchanged secrets. Scott had indeed worked in the stor
e before the green light, and during the confusing first week as more and more reports of zombie attacks rolled in the store remained open. When the severity of the undead problem became clear, Scott decided to stay at his work, thinking that there were enough supplies to last him a long time. He was the only employee to do so, and took in the rest of his crew over the last half year.

  As Big Mack started to fill Scott in on the outside world Bard excused himself, interrupting to find out if they had a toilet. Scott pointed into the hall as he spoke. “First door on the right.”

  Bard followed the directions and was pulling the bathroom door open just as the one armed old man Lyle was coming out. Lyle nodded to Bard, who grabbed the man by his good arm before he cold pass him by.

  “What happened here?” Bard asked, nodding his head towards the old man’s stump.

  “I got bit by one of the damned zombies. My son cut it off a month before I made it here. I think the damn thing is infected.”

  Bard laughed in the old man’s face, causing Lyle to knit his brows and jab his remaining index finger into the biker’s chest. “What’s so funny?”

  “You cut your fucking arm off?”

  “Yes, I did. I don’t want to become one of them things.”

  “One of them things? Why would being bit turn you into one of them things?”

  Lyle huffed, his face going red. “It happens like that in all of the movies.”

  “This ain’t a movie!” Bard said in between another fit of laughter. “It’s real life! Cutting your own fucking arm off will kill you faster than a zombie will.”

  “Now you hold on. Everyone knows that’s how it works.”

  “Oh really?” Bard asked, pulling down the collar of his black Led Zeppelin tee shirt, exposing his shoulder. Lyle gasped when he saw the half circle scarred there, deep brown and shiny compared to the rest of Bard’s pale skin. It was an unmistakable bite.

  “That was from a zombie?”

  “Shit yeah,” Bard confirmed. “Their bites don’t do shit but hurt ya. I guess they could give you some sort of disease, but the only thing that turn you is dying. It don’t matter how you die either. Heart attack, eaten, fucking cancer. Sorry sport, you cut your arm off for nothing.” Bard laughed one more time and slapped Lyle on his good shoulder, as if Lyle had just discovered he had made a silly bet and lost easy money, but the look on Lyle’s face as he made his way back to the break room was one of pure devastation.

  Later that night in the dim emergency lights Bard played his guitar for everyone, singing a few rock songs from the 70’s in an acoustic style. As he played Scott sat next to Big Mack and whispered to him.

  “How long you guys staying? You in for the long haul?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Big Mack answered. “I think we’ll be leaving tonight. We really need supplies more than we need a place to stay. We like to keep moving.”

  “I understand that.” Scott said nodding. “You have things to trade? I didn’t see much more than those bikes. A lot of guns, but we got plenty of that.”

  “Yeah well we got the bikes. A couple of those might be enough to get us a few things, wouldn’t they?” Big Mack said.

  Scott laughed softly. “Yeah Big Mack, I guess they would.” Scott moved off and Bard joined Big Mack and Toga when he was done playing.

  “We staying here long?” Bard asked.

  “Nah, let’s stay the night and hit the road,” Big Mack said.

  “We trading?” Toga asked.

  “You going to give them your bike?” Big Mack retorted.

  “Hell no,” Toga said.

  “Then there’s your answer. Listen I’m tired, and it’s been a few weeks since we slept with something more than the clouds between us and the stars, lets enjoy it and get to the un-pleasantries as they come tomorrow morning.” Toga smiled and moved off to find a spot to curl up with the pillow and blanket Scott had given him and Bard leaned close to Big Mack to fill him in on Lyle allowing his own arm to be cut off. Big Mack enjoyed a good laugh before bed.

  ****

  Here’s how it’s going to go,” Big Mack said, his shot gun pointed at Scott’s chest. The Jesters had woken early and had armed themselves long before anyone from Scott’s group was awake. Now they were tired and standing against the wall under the flat screen TV. “We’re going to take some of this shit, as much as will fit on our bikes to be honest with you. You’re going to get your people into the bathroom and stay there until we tell you to come out.”

  “Fuck you,” John said, stepping forward with his fists clenched. Big Mack took note of the man, calmly swiveling at the hips and pulling the trigger of his shotgun when the barrel aligned with the big mans chest. John collapsed in a crimson spray, and his sister Hallie fell quickly to her knees beside him, screaming.

  “God damn it, he was black, and I’m a biker in leathers with long hair and a big beard. I know what you’re thinking and I ain’t no racist, okay? I’d hate for any of you to think I shot that man because he was black.”

  No one spoke up as John lay dying on the floor, his blood bubbling in his own throat as he choked on it. A few of the Dead Jesters moved Scott and his group to the bathroom, after shooting John in the head before he could come back. Then they had their guns trained on the closed door while the rest began loading their bikes and Toga’s sidecar with canned and non perishable foods. They restocked their ammo supply and within an hour they were ready to get back on the road.

  “Why don’t we just stay for a while?” Shelly brought up to her husband, who shrugged his shoulders and let Big Mack answer.

  “We don’t want to miss the boats,” he said.

  “We’ve got plenty of time from when the boats are coming, if they’re even coming at all,” Shelly countered.

  “We got to believe their coming Shel, else our lives are going to be nothing but cruising up and down these highways waiting to die. And I’d rather be early for them than to pull up to the ocean and see ‘em disappearing down in the horizon, you know? Now, no one told these folks about the boats, did they? I don’t need them getting the idea to follow us. It might make for an uncomfortable cruise with old Scott shooting me dirty looks the whole time.”

  “I uh, I mentioned it to that one armed fella,” Tim said, causing Big Mack to roll his eyes.

  “Damn it. Okay then, you guys start working on clearing that shit out from in front of the door. I’ll take care of Tim’s fuck up.”

  The Jesters did as they were instructed, working together to quickly remove the barricade. Big Mack borrowed a handgun from one of his crew and entered the bathroom. The shots were loud and echoing in the hall. Big Mack came back out of the bathroom with a fine dusting of red splashed across his chest and up over his chin and lips. “Let’s go,” he said cheerfully.

  Soon the Dead Jesters were cruising once more, heading south on a highway choked with abandoned cars and littered with shambling corpses. Their bikes were heavier and they ate better each night than they had in a long time. When the world had first gone to shit Big Mack had found it hard to sleep peacefully, or even through the night. Now though he slept like a baby, grown so used to the world around him that it no longer bothered him. Even though he had done horrible things to other, living people, and scattered the rotting gray matter of more than a few zombies to the wind he could no sleep for ten hours or more, if he could get away with it. Big Mack tried not to think about what that said about him.

  Five days past the stop at Wal-Mart found the Jesters cruising down a sparse four lane highway, each way two lanes separated by a grass filled median. Big Mack was in the lead, with Bard cruising to his right, and Toga to his left. He had one hand on the bike, the other resting at his side. He could relax a bit when there were few cars left on the road. As they neared and overpass, Big Mack suddenly wished he had been more vigilant. A few feet from the overpass a heavy concrete block fell just in front of Big Mack’s bike. He swerved to avoid it, dropping the bike to one side with his leg underneath it, shredding the shit out of his leathers and jeans and leg as well as he slid to a stop.