Zombies Don't Ride Motorcycles

by Melissa Leo-Pahl

  Fifteen minutes passed, and she took a few steps back, and tossed the empty can to the side. She looked up at the finished piece on the boarded up grocery store and nodded her head in approval. Reaching down, she grabbed her overstuffed green backpack that was once used to carry her schoolbooks. Now it had to be used to carry her essentials; her trusty map she stole from the gas station by her old house, some food, a change of clothes, and her father’s old leather-man’s tool that he used for everything. She hefted it onto her shoulders and attached the extra belt clip around her waist for more support and grabbed Penny, the stuffed penguin that has never left her side since she was born, and held him to her chest tightly.

  With one last look to the military wall closing off the town, she turned and started her journey towards the next town in hope of finding someone else that has survived.

  She never once looked back.

  She never looked to see if anyone was following.

  She never looked to see the ‘walkers’ that trailed behind her about a mile.

  She needn’t worry about them for now. They were too slow and too incompetent to speed up their pace in order to actually catch her. They were the stragglers from the past towns. She seemed to pick up at least one or two every time she stopped and searched for food. For now, she was safe. Their ‘army’, if you could call it an ‘army’, was small and she had the upper hand. In that moment, she was the smartest person alive, and she knew it. With that thought, she clutched Penny to her chest even tighter and looked up with a devious smile and continued on her way.

  In the distance, her painting could still be seen of a little girl putting flowers on an unmarked grave. The picture was so finely detailed, it could have easily been mistaken for a photograph, screen printed onto the wall. The words she left there were in an elegant writing style, which would serve as her everlasting signature:

  To fall and weep

  Crying to sleep

  Screaming to mourn their names

  Bodies in the street

  Honors to keep

  Regarding the dead man’s fame

  ~Fayte Reynolds 5-25-2015

  The wind began to pick up again as garbage tumbled down the street. Quickly sidestepping the monstrosity that had quickly plagued the earth, this lonely child kept her eyes forward. The dead began to become sparse again as she traveled between the towns. Their numbers always grew in size the closer she crept to the once larger signs of civilization. A sign off the highway she was on gave her hope, maybe this would be the town. Maybe this time she would find a survivor.

  WICHITA, KANSAS – 20 miles

  She was smart; she definitely knew that. She had survived the ferocious storm that took her father from her. She kept everything together when her mother passed away almost a year ago. Walking twenty miles was a piece of cake. All she had to do was keep a good pace and make sure to keep the distance vast between her and her undead followers. Their sights never wavered from the meal that was always kept just out of reach. She was the proverbial carrot led before the mule.

  Fayte had walked for hours. She watched as her shadow danced in front of her as the sun was now beating down on her back. The summer heat was relentless in Kansas. Just a few more miles, then I can rest, she kept telling herself. Her shadow nodded back in agreement.

  She giggled a little to herself, remembering the shadow games her dad used to play with her. Her fondest memories came from when he would tell his stories from his travels around the world. If he could only see this world now, she thought. This is what the few of us who survived inherited. She wondered if there was really any ‘us’’. She worried that she was the only one left. She sighed softly and looked up to the cloudless sky.

  He’s the lucky one. Not me.

  The disease took him quickly in the night. The damned virus did not even have a name yet and he didn’t even stand a chance. Her mind wandered back to the day her whole life came crashing down.

  He was still battling that awful chest cold and she had wanted him to get better quickly, so she had begged him to go rest. He kissed his daughter goodnight and obliged to her orders. During the night, the wind had picked up and began to howl as the heavens opened up with thunder and lightning to drown out Deaths’ heavy footsteps.

  Fayte woke the next morning to the sun blinding her eyes. Streams of golden light poured through her mother’s old yellow lace curtains that used to be in her study before she passed away last year. Fayte rubbed her eyes while stretching out her legs from the weird sleeping position she was in. She rose quickly to the sound of birds beginning their annoying routine of chirping outside her window. She spoke out in a whisper toward the curtains, as if her mother’s spirit still dwelled within them.

  “I love you, Mom. I miss you.”

  She decided to skip changing out of her pajamas, and she rushed to the kitchen to make a surprise breakfast for her father. Fayte walked into her father’s room baring some hot tea with honey and toast, in the hopes of making him feel better. She looked up from balancing the tray on her forearms as she reached his side of the bed to call out and wake him.

  The sound of her voice froze in her throat at the sight of her father. He laid there still, cold, pale, and not breathing. She stood there waiting, watching, and searching with her eyes over every inch of his body for some sort of response to her presence.

  “Daddy” she whispered finally, as the tears burned down her cheeks and dropped onto the toast she had prepared for him. Her hero laid there lifeless, clutching the covers in his hands, his lips parted just slightly and his eyes open wide in fear.

  The tray clattered to the floor as she could no longer hold her sobs back as they racked her tiny frame. For hours, she stared at his body without blinking in hopes to see his chest rise and fall again. She saw no change.

  With all the courage she could muster, she reached forward with shaky hands and forced his eyes closed. The finality of that act sent her body into another set of wailing sobs as she curled into herself at the foot of his bed.

  The reaper had come during the storm and showed her once fearless father, Kevin Reynolds, not an ounce of mercy. Or perhaps, it was mercy on the Reaper’s mind. After all, Daddy didn’t rise up and become a monster like all the rest.

  The memory of his death was still so raw and fresh in her mind that her tears once again began to betray her and fall to the ground as she stopped in front of a diner. A diner? And the open sign was still lit up. Why is the godforsaken ‘We’re Open’ sign still lit up? Its neon fluorescent lights flickered between the red and blue tinted glass. The sign pulsed in and out, struggling to capture the small bits of power humming its way out of a small generator she could see from the parking lot.

  She cocked her head to the side as she stared at the diners’ windows looking for movement. Nothing. She shrugged to herself.

  Meh. Why not?

  Her shadow was all but gone now, she waved her hand to it as if she was bidding adieu. “Til tomorrow, when we meet again” she whispered while looking back to the setting sun.

  She cautiously searched through the windows of the diner, checking for any movement, listening for any sounds echoing off the recently polished 1950’s tables and chairs. It’s clean…like spotless…who would take the time to do that…she thought. The only sound she could hear was the constant hum of that blasted generator. Didn’t they know they aren’t only attracted by smell; it’s also the sounds that draw them in. Specifically your heartbeat. She needed to shut it off and fast. Unfortunately, she wasn’t fast enough. Her ‘army’ was closer than she thought. Her trip down memory lane had slowed her pace and closed the distance she had kept. The dragging of their heels across the cracked pavement and the sniffing and gasping for the scent of her warmed flesh brought her back to her senses. She ran towards the entrance and frantically pushed the door open. Stumbling and falling to the floor, she turned and forced the door to shut with her feet. With shaky hands, she twisted the lock praying that she didn’t just seal
her own fate in the lonely diner. Fayte clutched Penny tighter to her chest in hopes of calming her erratic breathing, while shuffling backwards on her feet slowly until she bumped something hard.

  Oh God!

  Oh God!

  Please have a pulse.

  Please have a pulse.

  She squeezed her eyes shut tight and chanted it repeatedly in her head. She waited for this ‘Reaper’ to make its move but none came. Just its’ rhythmic rise and fall of its chest against her back and the faint escape of its breath tickling the hairs abandoned by her ponytail. With her quivering legs, she took a few steps forward and only turned slightly to see behind her. She poised herself ready to run. Behind her stood a warrior angel and by the looks of it, her faithful servant.

  “Are you real? Alive?” Fayte asked in a voice that rose in pitch with each syllable.

  The man and woman briefly glanced at each other with eyebrows pulled together and then back to the little girl that was turning a light shade of blue from holding her breath.

  Please be real… please… please…I’m tired of being alone.

  The two just nodded their heads and tears began to pool in Fayte’s eyes. Before the woman could even brace herself, the little girl ran and flung herself on to her and cried.

  “You found me… you found me...” Fayte choked out between sobs.

  The woman tightened her grip on Fayte. She stroked the hair on the little girl’s head, all the while giving Byron a dazed look. She backed down on the bear hug beneath her.

  “Sshhh, I found you, I found you.” Charlie whispered back to the orphaned little girl clinging on to her for dear life.

  An apocalyptic, gun toting angel caged her arms around the little girl and pressed rouge colored lips to her head, then she whispered one last time “I found you.”

  (May 26, 2014)

  “We probably need to pack up some medicinal stuff for the road. You know, just the basics. First Aid Kits, Ibuprofen, whatever else we think we may need.” Charlie started.

  Byron nodded in agreement. ”We can probably find some good supplies at any one of the drug stores in town. It’ll be plenty enough for our needs. I mean, there is only the three of us.”

  “We’ll need to be careful, any or all of these buildings could be hiding one of them. You two should let me go in first, I’ll clear the way if I find anything.

  Even Fayte felt the need to chime in. “Sounds like a plan!” she beamed her grin right into Charlie’s heart. Charlie felt herself melt. This child was such a gift. In all this desolation she had seen, this little girl was a pretty light that almost could wash it all away. Something still seemed to be missing though in her heart. The scene wasn’t quite complete. She knew that there was no chance of finding it now. Her one true love was most likely a denizen of the walking dead by now and there surely would be no way to make that work. She sighed and stroked Fayte’s cheek lovingly, who jumped and hugged her leg, with all of the strength she could muster in those tiny pale arms of hers. She smiled and closed her eyes knowing nothing could make that ache go away. Ever.

  “Ok little one. Let’s load up in the car and go scavenging.” The cute pile of freckles and hair smiled and nodded back up at her. As they walked out she steered the child away from viewing the adjacent alley. The zombies that followed the little girl when she found them would have put a severe damper on their whole trip. Fortunately only four remained wandering around the building when Charlie awoke that morning. She had slipped out and dispatched all four and managed to drag them out of view into the alley. The army-brat managed to even wash up and start working on breakfast before Byron and the new little foundling began stirring awake from their sleep.

  Loaded in the car, Charlie mentally noted the next couple of songs in rotation on the radio. She looked back at Fayte, barely tall enough to fill the shoulder strap on the seat belt. It’s a completely new ballgame now, she realized, remembering that the next song was not age appropriate for her new smiling midget to be listening to. Quickly, she dialed the volume down.

  Gonna have to download an entirely new mindset now. Sigh.

  Byron gave stuttered directions, unsure of his way mostly because he generally walked everywhere he went. The ride was slow going. Charlie had to become somewhat creative in her trailblazing, as many vehicles lay abandoned across her path. Riding the ditch-lines made for a bumpy ride, and all of it made Charlie queasy. Byron seemed unaffected and Fayte just bounced happily along.

  Looking at the clock, she decided it time for a little tension breaker and turned the music back up. She figured she had another four songs before she had to make an excuse for conversation and turn it down again.

  What should have been a five minute car ride ended up taking thirty. Soon they pulled up into the drive-in entrance and had to park the car there. The lot was packed with helter-skelter cars, most with their doors left wide open. They would have to walk the length of the lot to get inside, but none of them seemed to mind. It was a longer walk from the back spaces from Wal-Mart parking lot on a payday weekend, so this was no chore. Charlie slowed her already creeping gait to an stand-still. Something caught her eye in the windows but from here, she could not tell what. Most of the glass had been boarded up, yet one large bay window was uncovered, its plywood shield tossed to the side, its corner teetering back and forth against the buildings brickwork. She focused her attention the board. It was full of hammer holes and most of the edges had been splintered up. I’ve never seen a zombie want to get so badly into a drugstore, she mused.

  She held her hand up to her companions and raised a quieting finger to her lips.

  “Stay here. I’m going on ahead and check it out first. Watch her closely Byron”, she whispered.

  She stepped into a cat-footed stance and paced slowly toward the broken window. Closer inspection revealed a small sized shopping cart had been used to break through the double paned glass. This was definitely not the work of zombies, who as far has her experience had dictated, knew nothing of using tools or objects. They only knew the primal needs of hunger and want, and the rending of flesh with so many teeth. A sudden cry of anguish pierced through the window and through the parking lot, reverberating off the walls between the shops. Charlie stopped short of the window by a few feet and let slip her desert eagle into her waiting hands.

  Drawing in a breath, she waited, her eyes trained on the opening, searching for any movement. A scurry of large envelopes flew across her field of vision and the clattering of small plastic bottles bouncing and skittering across the old tile floor. A muffled, but understandably human voice reached her ears, through Charlie off her guard.

  “I’m going to find it brother, just hang tight Jace!”

  Charlie tucked her head slowly though the empty space where the window had been and surveyed the scene.

  A thin, mousy waif of a girl, no more than seventeen or so, was rummaging across the front counter, her yellow and white dress whipping about in frenzy around her as she moved. The ripping sounds of bags and skittering of pill bottles across the floor told the story. They were looting this place for drugs and Charlie needed to tread lightly. She raised her Eagle to bear and called out with a short sharp whistle, that froze the younger girl in her tracks, like a deer caught in the headlights of a tractor trailer.

  They eyed each other across the dusty-aired space between them, the young girl holding her outstretched hands out in the “please don’t shoot me” pose. Charlie slipped through the broken careful, kicking away a couple of the larger pieces with her the toes of her boot. The silence was broken by a sharp weeping, and the girl looked almost mournfully down toward one of the plastic waiting area chairs. Crumpled in a heap, across two chairs was the figure of a man wrapped tightly within a trench coat, his head hidden by his fetal pose. Long unkempt locks of black hair showed through the way he was holding his head through his outstretched fingers, which moved across his scalp, as if he was trying to massage some deep pain away, driven deep within his skull.
On instinct, Charlie whipped out her other Eagle and quickly trained it on the awkward bundle that fell into a rocking motion across the hard plastic.

  Charlie knitted her eyebrows together and motioned over to the quivering mass with her jaw. “Was he bitten?” she asked sternly, her eyes watching for the truth in the little girls face.

  The girl in the yellow and white dress with worn jeans on underneath quickly shook her head no and stuttered out her plea. “No. W-withdrawals. I just broke him out of rehab. He needs help. I don’t think he can stand it much longer.”

  Charlie lowered her guns, the hard line of her jaw softening in sympathy. A drug addict? Nice time to be one . . . seems I can’t find anyone normal without issues. She sighed and looked about her. It seemed there were dozens of little amber bottles scattered and tossed about the place. She watched her step as she walked slowly toward the trench coat taco lying in the seats.

  “Is he dangerous like this?” She whispered.

  “No. But he’s in a lot of pain. Can you please help me help him?”

  Charlie nodded but looked around dumbfounded.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Ellie.” She breathed.

  Charlie holstered both weapons slowly, but stayed tense in case either one of these two “unfamiliars” decided they wanted to pop up and jump her.

  “And his?”

  Ellie stared open mouth at the form in the seats, shaking her head back and forth in disbelief, but could say nothing.

  The shivering mass convulsed and balled up tighter into a fetal position, without a name, without a face.

  “Are you sure that he hasn’t been bitten or scratched.” She stared down at the irritated mass beneath the trench coat.

  “No. No, he’s having withdrawals. I rescued him from rehab. He’s not fully recovered at all yet. He was only there for two weeks.”” The words came out quickly, fearing the reappearance of the twin cannons.