Zombies Don't Ride Motorcycles

by Melissa Leo-Pahl

  Tren frowned. “You kill’em your way. I’ll kill’em mine.”

  Jace shook his head. “I would prefer not to kill at all. Not my style.”

  The Junction City Boys all gave one another knowing looks. It wasn’t their style either until a few weeks ago.

  “You must be zombie killing virgin then hoss.” Rhyce chuckled. “Check this. The sooner you pop that cherry, the sooner you are going to realize what kind of world you are living in right now. It’s killed or be killed bro. The only thing that’s in between that is becoming one of them. And I don’t recommend that route. Eventually you will have to deal with us. Capeesh?”

  Charlie stepped in between them. “Leave him alone. He is just waking up this. He needs time to acclimate.” Rhyce backed off, not wanting to cross Charlie. Her tone dictated a natural authority he had no choice but to obey.

  Jace looked at the four, a question brewing in his eyes. “So, which of you four is the leader?”

  Tren spoke first. “We never have had to declare one. We are all pretty much brothers, so that is pretty much how we run things. It isn’t too often we disagree on anything. One thing is for sure. We have learned that there is really only two options for us. It’s either go or no go. There is no room for in between.”

  “Sounds almost militant,” replied Jace.

  Tren nodded. “It’s what I would call a unanimous democracy. We don’t let ourselves get off on a tangent. That is when you get killed. That is when you die. None of us is going to allow that to happen. Right boys?”

  “Damn right,” echoed the twins.

  “You see anyone else on your tours?” asked Charlie.

  “Now that you mention it, we did run into another set of twins. These two girls on a cheap motorcycle.”

  Rhyce shook his head. “Yeah, but they didn’t want anything to do with us. Pity.”

  “I think they had some trust issues. The driver looked like a man-hater anyway. Guess we didn’t have the right parts. But the other…she seemed like she was bating for the right team.” Callen offered.

  All boys giggled at that. Even Jace allowed a little chuckle.

  “Well,” began Charlie. “Fayte has stamped her little seal of approval on you boys. You guys are welcome to hang around.”

  Tren looked back to others and motioned them all into a quick huddle. Muddled murmurs which Charlie was pretty sure were all just a show and the huddle broke as quickly as it was assembled.

  “We accept. It will be nice to have some new good friends around.” Tren proffered his hand toward Charlie in friendship.

  Charlie walked up and accepted his handshake, but made sure she made eye contact with each of them. “Just remember boys. Any funny business with my friends, and even your little democracy won’t be able to save you.” She ended with a smile.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Tren returned. He looked back to the boys and all responded in line fashion with their own ‘yes ma’am’s.

  The outside of the building, with the onslaught of the hungry four finishing off Ellie’s attacker, it had left quite a mess. It had also drew a bit of attention. The scent of blood still hung on the air. No doubt the sound of zombies slurping and munching on fresh picked bones may have traveled on the air to all the surrounding walkers. The parking lot was full to bursting. The group inside could not have known the limits of these predators’ hunger. At the bottom of the proverbial barrel, where the attacker had drawn his final breaths, blood permeated the blacktop. The bottom feeders of the group who were fortunate enough to have been there first laid pressed down against the asphalt by those above them, still licking and gnawing at the stained parking lot.

  The group was going nowhere soon.

  They first needed to give the walkers nothing to wait around for. Using heavy amounts of cloth from the fabric department and a great deal of liquid-nail caulk from the tool department, they were able to finish blacking out the remainder of the windows. The Junction City Boys were each instrumental in helping create ways to reinforce the entrances and exits. The last thing that any of them needed was having one zombie find a way to pour into the building, like water in a pin hole of an aging dam. One pours through and that is it. They all burst through and God help anyone caught in the wash.

  They opted to make the best use of their time sorting through the remains on the shelves. There was still a good bit of canned food left and ammo for some of the weapons that Charlie carried. First aid kits and rubbing alcohol topped the list of necessities, not to mention a few unmentionables that Charlie had packed away for both her and Ellie. The problem of carrying all these items remained. However that would have to wait until the walkers outside had moved on. Regardless, Charlie knew that her riding days with Lady were over. She had traded them for something more important, the company of some good people with whom she thought she could make a good go of it during this zombie infested apocalypse. It was a good trade. Besides, she just would not have the room for all of their supplies.

  However, Charlie had been put on notice a bit of a trend in how her company was being kept. The Junction City Boys kept their distance, only conferring with the rest of the group on their ideas for survival and then rushing off to implement them with gusto. They truly were a very handy bunch. However, it was Jace that had caught most of her attention. She would catch him stealing glances, like a stalker behind a newspaper in one of those spy films. When she felt his gaze, she felt her eyes jump at him and quickly he would shift and retreat. He fell into this play act, as if he was looking at something of great significance or assembling two items that clearly did not belong together. It was annoying.

  Little did he know he had already been on her mind. Her thoughts tended to flow that way around him, without cause or prompt. A small part of her worried about him and how he was feeling. That addiction he still possessed seemed to hurt him in ways she would never understand. She realized in those moments that he did not stray very far from her at all. It was almost as if he was following her but keeping her distance. He was like a little lost puppy, but still fearful of anyone to attempt to pet or feed him.

  The days rounded out an entire week of their voluntary incarceration. Jace kept his conversations short with her, opted to steal looks of her from afar.

  She spun on one foot to face him, and took a deep breath to scream.

  “Why do you always have to be so close to me? Why?”

  Her eyes brimmed with tears, yet flashed with boiling anger. He would have smiled at her would it not been for the contempt that rolled out at him in waves.”

  His voice started softly, carefully.

  “Will you trust me long enough to show you why?”

  Her face swelled with disdain, but she said nothing. She balled up her fists hard as granite. She let her eyes speak her true feelings for her. If you cross the line Mister, you will know it.

  He hesitated, and then leaned forward slowly. “You know my past, what I put myself through. What I put my family through. What I am still suffering through.” Her head nodded slowly, but she kept her eyes trained on his, untrusting. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and showed them to her. They trembled in spasms. Her eyes softened just a little in sympathy. It looked very painful.

  Jace gave her a nervous smile. “Now watch.” He edged closer and slowly moved a hand toward her and with his fingertip drew a gentle line across her skin from her wrist down the length of her arm. She dropped her guard and her eyes closed to swallow her in the feeling. The gentle contact was so loving in its nature. She had been deprived of all human contact for so long, she had forgotten what it felt like and how important it was to her. Jace watched her response and dared a return stroke. His deftly flipped his wrist and let the back of his forefinger traverse the run of her arm back up to her palm, and made a small circle in the center of it. She let out a sigh and reluctantly opened her eyes once more.

  “No fair,” she permitted herself a half-smile for him.

  Jace only frowned.

  �
��But you missed it, Charlie,” he said shaking his head.

  “What did I miss?” she said irritated. She tried to bring up her angry face again, but his touch had all but crumbled that mask. It was half-hearted and he could see it.

  “Try to keep your eyes open this time.”

  She did, as he ran her fingertips down the length of her arm a second time. She nearly dropped her eyelids again. It was like trying to stifle a yawn and receiving the reward of a painful jaw ache. It was blissful. She felt the goose bumps rise up again delicately off her skin. It was all she could do not to coo at him. No man had ever touched her in quite that way before. It was one of the most unselfish gestures she had ever experienced.

  Then she saw it. Her mouth opened wide in discovery.

  “When you touch me, your hands don’t shake.”

  He smiled, nodding. They stood there in the silence of the moment, letting the ambiance sink in. Jace, who could not resist himself any more, reached up and put his hand gently around her waist. At his touch, her knees buckled; she felt a surge like lightning shoot down her spine and into her legs. Against her, she could feel the rush of his veins. It was a torrent just beneath his surface, warming his skin, and amalgamating with what she thought was her own iced-over heart. She gave in to it and threw her arms around his neck, pulling him in.

  Charlie did not dare to break the silence. She was still stubborn that way. She refused to vocalize that he had been what she had needed. So she took this moment and laid in it. She kept her mouth closed and waited. She stood there and realized that the onslaught that she so was so desperately prepared for against just was not coming. He remained steadfast, unselfish, only giving her what she would allow, what she would accept. He waited for her cues. In that moment she realized she had found what the thing she did not realize she was missing all of her life.

  “Thank you,” she whispered to him.

  He stood there perplexed. “For what?” he whispered back, his face only a short pause from her neck. But she refused to answer. How could he know?

  “Hold me,” she said.

  “As you wish, my princess,” he said smiling through the whisper.

  He held her until his legs about gave up and guided her down to a bench. She curled up against him and in his warmth, fell asleep with her head against his chest. She fit perfectly within his arms. It was as if he had been created for her. She slept soundly, cradled by his strength and his perfect touch.

  The princess had finally found her Superman.

  ***

  Patient Zero

  The ‘ground zero’ of the entire undead apocalypse stared across the parking lot, peering from beneath the lid of a dumpster. He never felt as low as he was feeling in that moment. He laid in the trash for several hours before feeling safe enough to even bother making any motion that would produce sound, and hence betray him. That nagging voice still craned about his ear, like a burning spotlight against his failure. He cringed and shook in his boiling anger. His tear ducts had long since failed and begun not to spring forth the salty tears, but instead began leaking blood. Two red trails raced down both sides of his face, a stark contrast to the paleness he had acquired from becoming undead in the first place. He reached up and smeared away the blood and looked at it in his hands. How dare they deny me? His faculties had already started to come back to him from the brains he had been able to partake. Still, he was not one hundred percent.

  He slid out from his hiding spot. There had to be some more walkers nearby. He was not in desperate need of his fix, but he knew the moment would come soon where he lost himself once more to the addiction. He leapt across the street away back to where he had parked his motorcycle. Thankfully, it was still where he had left it. He pulled up his kickstand and walked the bike away. He was quick enough to where no one from the surviving group spotted him. Patient Zero was thankful sent up a quick prayer to whatever gods remained for this small bit of fortune.

  He managed to get up the road half a mile when he came across his fix. A walker, female, still wearing high heels, albeit broken. Somehow her purse had managed to get tangled around her ankle. It dragged behind her just as she dragged on in search of her meal. She embodied the essence of what he was certain had once been a very beautiful streetwalker. The flesh from a recent victim stuck in her teeth gave new life to the definition of man-eater.

  She walked and almost walked passed him. She stopped and bent over as if the instinct to conversation with her prospective John through a car window had not diminished with the contraction of the virus. Old habits die hard, he thought.

  Still with his motorcycle helmet in hand, he smiled to the undead prostituted. He bowed like a gentleman courting a well-met socialite. “I accept your gracious invitation,” he said. He giggled at the end. A well timed swing of the helmet, and the zombie whore was quickly dropped to her back.

  I always preferred the caveman method to courting. He walked around to her head and grabbed a good heavy lock of her hair, and proceeded to drag her down one of the alleyways.

  The faint ticking sound of a filing cabinet opening echoed softly through their makeshift home. Everyone one was asleep...well was supposed to be asleep. Everyone except Byron, it was his turn to stand watch. But Fayte couldn't sleep more than a three hours at a time. All those weeks of being on her own had ingrained her schedule into her little body. It woke on its own accord, ready to flee at a moment's notice. But that's not the reason she stayed awake this time. No. She had a hunch and wanted to see it through as usual. Sometimes it sucked being the smartest one in the room...and alive. A secret she was still forced to keep. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to play the dumb little girl for that much longer. It was becoming taxing.

  She closed her favorite book, The Secret Garden the last gift she had received from her dying mother, and reached for her mini flash light, flicking it on as soon as her little thumb made contact with the small plastic button. She left her shoes knowing that the flickering lights on their heels would bring unwanted attention, slipping on a thin pair of moccasins she had found a few towns backs. As she made her way out of her little tent, she was greeted by the rounds of snores emanating from all the males in the group. Fayte thought she might have even heard Ellie squeak a few high pitched ones out, but she wasn’t really sure.

  More clicking and ticking signaled the direction from which the disturbance was coming. Plus a beam from a flashlight pointing at the low hung sealing. Its rays barely illuminated the white and blue sign, Pharmacy. She had noticed everyone was accounted for before leaving the makeshift campsite. So only one person could be making all that ruckus.

  Hmmm…Now why would Bryon be digging around in the pharmacy?

  Her little feet slapped lightly against the waxed concrete floor as she crept around the last rack of baby clothes, the pharmacy windows came into full view. There Byron stood with his back to her, staring at a cocktail of meds and a syringe.

  "Have you ever tried telling them to just shut up and leave you alone?" She asked. Her voice was small and soft but holding strength with her knowledge.

  Startled by the intrusion, he dropped his purchase to the counter in front of him. He never heard his little Fayte approach.

  "Tell who to shut up?" He asked while turning to face her.

  Cocking her head to the side giving her pigtails a little bounce. "The voices in your head, silly. Why don’t you tell them to leave you alone?"

  Shocked and exposed like a raw nerve, Byron let his guard down, showing this little girl how vulnerable he really was. No one in the group had figured out he was that different, that he was not sane. No one but this little girl with whom he had begun to think of as his own little sister. One who wouldn't judge him and clearly one who hasn't yet. Byron thought if anyone would understand him it would be her.

  "How did you know?"

  In that instant, she had aged fifteen years, her eyes lost their child like innocent as they flashed with an understanding only his psychiatrist looked at hi
m with.

  "My aunt had it. But hers was really bad. They locked her up in a padded room. With one of those jackets so she could hug herself,” answered Fayte. A hint a mischief covering her words, and easing the tension out of the air.

  Fayte stepped up to the low counter where the register was concealed, hopped up on the counter and waited for Byron's response. "Well honestly I haven't heard them like I used to. I used to be able to drown them out with medication. But I haven't needed it for a while. I'm just afraid that they'll come back when I don't want them to."

  "Are they dangerous?" she asked. "No just annoying," he responded the small smile teasing at his lips. "Now why are you up little girl, shouldn't you be sleeping?"

  With a bright smile she replied "Nope. I’d rather play game Uncle Byron.”

  No longer feeling like he was still so different from all the others, Byron gave in to the little pig-tailed girl in front of him.

  “And what game might that be munchkin?” He asked, calling her the nickname the others had christened her with.

  “Chess of course. Maybe this time I’ll go easy on ya. Maybe I might let ya win.”

  ***

  The sun fought to break through the cracks in between the shattered glass doors and the wooden pallets piled against them. Morning had come again, and today was the day they would finally be leaving this place. Byron just hoped that the next place they decided to hold up in had a working generator. He was craving some real cooked meat. Bacon, yeah definitely the pig, he could care less about the beef. Hell, even Kermit loved to eat bacon. Lucky puppet, said one of the voices crowded in his mind. For now he just wanted a good ole’ fashioned hearty breakfast. Fried eggs, biscuits and gravy, hash-browns, and lots and lots of bacon.

  Byron was dissatisfied with his current meal choice that Fayte had happily placed into his awaiting palm. But he smiled at the little girl anyways, she was only trying to be nice. Bryon ripped the packaging off his chewy granola bar, and mumbled “Why can’t you be bacon?”