Sometimes We Ran (Book 1)

by Drivick, Stephen

  At least Claire was okay. She didn’t seem any worse for wear from her ordeal. She just seemed quiet and drained of a little spirit. The ordeal seemed to take a little fight out of her. At least they didn’t rape her till she died and then throw her body in some ditch somewhere. There were rumors of rape gangs roaming the streets in the opening weeks of the outbreak. It was amazing how fast law and order broke down.

  Claire was right. No one was chasing us. I put my binoculars away, and turned to get her. She was sitting on the ground drawing in the dirt. “Okay, kiddo, let’s go. You’re right …no one’s coming”

  She stood up and brushed herself off. “So, what’s the plan, Tiger?”

  I smiled at her use of my nickname. She hadn’t called me “Tiger” in a while. Maybe she was feeling better. “Well, I guess we’ll continue down the road, and try to find some more supplies. Our backpacks are getting a little light.”

  “Okay,” Claire said quietly. She started getting her stuff together.

  I put my hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah. I’m just a little tired.” She looked at the ground to avoid looking me in the eyes. ”I just wanted to say thanks for saving me. I was really scared, but I knew you’d find me somehow.” Claire’s voice cracked a little as she tried not to cry. It was the first time she had spoken about her ordeal.

  I returned the hug. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” We stopped hugging, and I looked into her big eyes full of tears. “We’re in this together …you and I. For as long as I am able, you can count on me. I don’t think I could have lived with myself if I had left you behind. I had to find you.” I paused for a second to let that sink in. “Besides, I can’t leave my apocalypse buddy behind.” I rubbed the top of her head, messing up her rain-dampened hair.

  “Right,” Claire said wiping her eyes. “All right, enough bawling …Let’s go.”

  We boarded the scooter and prepared to depart. It took a few tries, but the scooter finally started. I was getting a little concerned about our silver steed. The full-throttle shenanigans and bad gasoline were taking their toll. The scooter was on borrowed time.

  We rode for a while stopping in a few places to find supplies. The wrecked stores and gas stations we stopped at were very empty and picked over. We managed a few bottles of water and maybe a couple packages of crackers. Claire found a few cases of cat and dog food left over in a pet store, but we weren’t that desperate yet. We still had about a week or two of food and water between us, so it wasn’t time to panic.

  As we rode, the weather turned downright nasty. The steady drizzle that had persisted throughout the day turned into a cold rain. After a few miles, Claire and I were cold, wet, and miserable. I had just started to look for a dry place to rest, when I spotted a sign on the side of the road. It was one of those light up signs with the black letters that you could change. As I got closer, I could make out the words “Bob’s Biker Bar-1 mi. on right.” I pulled on the brakes, and stopped at the sign.

  “Why’d you stop?” Claire asked.

  I nodded to the sign. “I was just wondering if you wanted to stop for a drink or two. We can rest and dry up.” I also hoped a drink and a little break would raise her sagging spirit.

  Claire started to giggle. “Okay. Sounds good. I could use a drink.”

  We rode for about a mile, and indeed Bob’s Biker Bar showed up on the right. It looked like a small apocalyptic war had been fought in the parking lot. A pickup truck rested on it’s roof in the road in front of the bar. Further up the road, a tractor trailer lay on it’s side like a beached whale. A few other wrecked cars and trucks were scattered about on the road and parking lot. Glass and debris was everywhere, along with a few decaying bodies.

  It was business as usual.

  The bar itself was a small, flat-roofed building painted an obnoxious shade of pinkish-red. It had a wooden porch with a few rocking chairs. The building was surrounded by a gravel parking lot. A few motorcycles were lying on their sides or tangled in big piles. Across the street was an automotive repair shop and used-car lot. Nature had already started to claim the area. Kudzu vines and other assorted vegetation had already started to crawl along the roof-lines of both buildings.

  I drove into the bar’s parking lot and parked next to a big cruiser motorcycle near the end of the lot. There was just too much debris and wreckage in the parking spaces near the stairs. I backed the scooter in just in case we had to leave in a hurry. Claire and I got off the bike, and took a look around with weapons ready. “Wow. This place looks like a war zone,” Claire said.

  “I agree. Looks a little ominous.” It was very quiet. The only sound I could hear was the steady rain hitting the metal roof of the bar.

  Claire and I climbed the five rickety steps to the porch and approached the door. Claire took one side, and I took the other. The old wooden door was closed, but it had been kicked open at one time. There was a large boot print on the door near the lock, and the jamb was splintered and broken. Claire started to push the door open, but I held up my hand to stop her. “We better take it easy,” I whispered. “Someone might be inside.” I drew my shotgun, and pushed the door open slowly with the barrel.

  The door squeaked loudly as it opened. It sounded a lot like the sound saloon doors make in an old western. I walked into the darkened bar, with Claire behind me. We walked slowly, trying to make the least noise possible. Along the far wall was the bar, with some stools in front. There were all the usual bar decorations; tables and chairs, a jukebox in one corner, and a pool table along the wall to the left. The whole bar was paneled with fake wood painted a dark color. On the walls were pictures of people who I assumed were the owners, or maybe regular patrons. A dartboard hung among the old pictures. The whole place smelled damp and waterlogged. There were candles and glasses everywhere. Bob’s Biker Bar had seen a fight or two as well; overturned chairs and tables were scattered on the floor, along with large amounts of broken glass.

  “John, got a blood trail over here,” Claire called from the bar area.

  I walked over to see what she had found. It was a trail of dried blood that ran from behind the bar to a white door, which I assumed led to an office or storeroom. There were a few bloody hand prints on the door at about doorknob level. I turned the knob and tried to push the door open, but something on the other side was blocking it. I decided not to investigate. The smell that came out when I cracked the door was not good.

  I put my shotgun on the bar, and Claire lit a few of the candles. I went behind the bar to check out what was left. “Well, kiddo, it’s not exactly a five-star establishment, but it’s a place to get out of the rain,” I said, trying to sound hopeful. I rummaged around behind the bar, trying to find anything to drink.

  Claire placed her bat next to my shotgun on the bar and grabbed a seat on one of the stools. “Well Tiger, is there anything to drink?”

  Searching around under the darkened bar didn’t produce much. I found a few empty bottles and broken glasses. After a short search, I managed to find two half-full bottles along with two reasonably clean glasses.

  “Well, I found some possible bourbon with no label, and half a bottle of some green stuff that may or may not be antifreeze,” I said, holding the bottles at arm’s length.

  Claire giggled. “Oh, we have to try the green stuff first.”

  I blew the dust out of the glasses and poured in a little of the green fluid. We both took a quick sniff. It smelled a little like rotten apples. “Well,” I said, screwing up my courage, “here goes nothing.” I put the glass to my lips, and took a swig. Claire did the same.

  It tasted a little like rotten apples as well.

  Claire coughed, and banged her hand on the bar. “Holy crap! That’s awful. Let’s switch to the other stuff.” I couldn’t agree more. I returned the bottle of the horrible green liquid to the shelf under the bar. I opened the bottle of it-might-be-bourbon and poured a little each of the glasses.

  I raised my glass.
“What should we drink to, Claire?”

  She thought for a minute. “How about we drink to Bob, and his crappy bar with the lousy green liquor?”

  We clinked our glasses together. “Sounds good. To Bob, and his crappy bar.” Claire and I then took a big swig of the light brown liquid in our glasses. It was definitely better than the green stuff. I think it was bourbon, but it was so watered down it was hard to tell. I guess Bob liked to dilute his liquor.

  I poured another round for each of us, and we drank it down. We probably were not going to get wasted on this watered-down brew, but it was definitely warming us up on this gloomy, rainy afternoon. It also gave Claire a case of the giggles, which amused me. We sat at the bar and drank, trying to forget all our troubles. It was actually kind of nice for a change.

  Claire took her glass, and walked over to the pool table. “You ever shoot pool, Tiger?”

  Most of the pool I played was on my old cell phone. “Not much,” I answered, joining her at the table. “How about you?”

  “We had a table at the dorm,” she said, picking up a cue stick. “We’d take study breaks, and shoot a little. None of us were any good.”

  “Well, let’s see what you got, kid” I found six old billiard balls and the cue. The rack was missing, so I arranged them the best I could in a “V” formation.

  “Okay old man. What’s the bet?” she said, as she walked to the end of the table.

  “How about a million dollars? I’m sure we could scrounge that up in our travels. We’ll check out a few banks,” I said with a smile.

  Claire broke out into a fit of giggles. “Okay, Tiger, you’re on.” She leaned down to size up her first shot. She looked a little like those professional pool players I used to see on the sports channels. I had a strange feeling that I was about to get beat by a girl.

  With surprising strength for a girl her size, she sent the cue ball flying. It collided with the other balls and sent them spinning around the table. Claire then began calling her shots. “Six ball, corner.” She sank the ball with ease. She admitted she was rusty after missing her third shot. However, Claire on her worst day was still miles ahead of me. Try as I might, I couldn’t sink a single ball. As I failed, Claire taunted me relentlessly.

  The drinks had made us loose. We continued playing pool, laughing, and having fun for about an hour or so. Slowly, we began to let our guard down. We started to forget where we were, and what was out there waiting for us. We were making too much noise and attracting attention. We should have been a little more careful. The noise eventually did attract something to our little hideout.

  A Yellow-Eye zombie pushed open the creaky door and walked inside.

  It was Claire that noticed him first. I was bent down, taking a shot, when I looked up to see her frozen in mid-drink with eyes as wide as saucers staring at something behind me. I was just about to ask what was wrong, when I heard the moan. I turned around to see the Yellow-Eye approaching the pool table.

  It was a male that had just begun to go a little skeletal. His lips were gone, and his teeth were exposed in a permanent grimace. He was also pretty mobile and intact. In short, he was a tough customer. He came in close and reached out to grab me.

  Claire found her voice. “John, watch out!” she yelled, as she went for our weapons on the bar.

  The zombie turned, and made a beeline for Claire. Displaying amazing agility for a walking corpse, he intercepted her at the bar, grabbing her by the arm. He started to pull her in for a bite. I reacted quickly. I hit him with my cue stick, catching him right in the face. The zombie’s lower jaw came loose and flew through the air behind the bar. I must have got his attention, because he let go of Claire and turned on me. With his lower jaw missing, his tongue hung out of his mouth like some kind of weird party favor. The only sound he could make was a dreadful hissing noise. He reached out to grab me by the throat.

  He started to pull me in closer. The zombie party crasher wasn’t going to be able to bite me with no lower jaw, but I guess instinct or hunger made him grab me by the neck. As my face got closer, I could smell and see the remains of meals he had in the past. Meat and dried blood were lodged in his still present upper-jaw. His grip tightened as he anticipated trying to bite into my tasty head. Without thinking, I drew my handgun, stuck it where his lower jaw used to be, and pulled the trigger. His brains redecorated the wall behind the bar.

  The monster’s grip slowly grew weaker, and he fell to the floor with a sizable hole in his head. I stood over my vanquished enemy breathing hard, like I had just run a marathon. I rubbed my neck where he had grabbed me. Claire touched me on the shoulder and handed me my shotgun. “You okay there, Tiger?”

  I was just starting to catch my breath. “I’m fine. Did he hurt you?”

  Claire rubbed her shoulder. “He twisted my arm a little bit, so now it hurts. Nothing two weeks in the Bahamas wouldn’t cure.” We both laughed a little.

  I heard more groaning coming from outside the bar. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “Yeah. I guess the party is over.” She got her bat ready for battle. “Let’s go.”

  We made our way to the door. Another Yellow-Eye poked his head into the bar to take a look around. Claire caved his skull in with her bat, and he dropped to the ground. I stopped in the doorway and opened the busted door slightly to take a look. About a half-dozen zombies were cruising the lot looking for some living flesh. Several more were coming from across the street towards the bar. Although our scooter was accessible, the path was full of dangerous walking corpses. This was not going to be easy.

  I turned to Claire, and gave her some instructions. “Okay. There’s a few bad guys out there. We’ll make a break for the scooter and get the hell out of here. Just smash anything that gets in your way. I left the keys in the scooter’s ignition. If anything happens to me, start it and go. Understand?”

  Claire nodded. “Got it. The same for me. If I get caught, just go.”

  I didn’t want to think about that possibility. “Okay. Ready?” I said, drawing my gun.

  We both counted to three, then burst out of the bar. Claire took the lead with bat flying. The first zombie we encountered was a slim female in a hospital gown coming up the stairs. Claire took an upward swing and sent the monster flying to the ground below. I took out a very decomposed male at the bottom of the stairs that was trying to cut us off. Before he even hit the ground, we broke into a fast run to cover the distance to the scooter. We were lucky in one sense. The pouring rain messed with the zombies ability to find us and slowed them down. The weather gave us a bit of an advantage.

  Still, there were quite a few baddies walking around. The general ruckus at the bar and the sound of our feet crunching on the wet gravel had attracted a crowd. Several undead were now staggering into the parking lot from the auto service place across the road.

  Several of the zombies were a little too close. I watched as Claire eliminated a middle-aged woman with a missing arm. I took out a young male in a fancy suit with a bullet to his head. I turned to see Claire running straight at a zombie-policeman. Her bat was out of position.

  “Claire! Duck!” I yelled, as I brought my gun to bear. Without missing a step, she bent slightly at the waist. I pulled the trigger, and hit the zombie in the shoulder. He recoiled a bit, but recovered. I aimed again, and got him right in the head. He dropped almost at Claire’s feet.

  As we approached the bike, I saw two final zombies blocking our path. One was a male wearing combat boots, and an “Ask Me About My Grandchildren” t-shirt and not much else. The other was a teenage girl with a broken-off metal pole through her abdomen.

  “I got the girl!” Claire yelled, as she took off towards the teenage zombie. When she got close enough, she swung the bat to land a killing blow. The dead teenager deftly avoided Claire’s swing and turned to do battle. Claire initially lost her balance, but recovered to face her adversary. For a moment, I thought I was going to have to intervene, but Claire finished strong. S
he struck the teenage walking corpse in the knees, then finished the job with a killing blow to the back of the head.

  No-Pants Zombie was a little easier. He was in worse condition than Teenage Girl Zombie, so the only thing he could do was walk around in circles with his arms outstretched. As I got closer, he turned towards me, and began to moan loudly. Thankfully, he was covered in blood and gore from the waist down, so some of his anatomy was at least a little concealed. I stopped, aimed, and fired a quick shot. It hit him in the neck, and he fell to the ground. He started to get up, but I put a bullet through the top of his skull to finish him off.

  Claire and I got to the scooter and climbed aboard. Several zombies were closing in on us from all sides. I turned the key to “Run”, and prayed to whatever God was above us that the damn thing would start. I pressed the starter button. The scooter coughed once, then roared to life.

  “Go, John, go!” Claire yelled in my ear. She didn’t have to tell me twice. I put the kickstand up, and pinned the throttle. We left the parking lot fishtailing and spewing gravel behind us. We hit the road with the rear tire spinning. I pointed the bike up the road towards the crashed tractor-trailer that was lying on its side. Several zombies, perhaps attracted by the sound at the bar, ambled down the road towards us. There were quite a few on the road, but it looked like we could make it through. I would just have to weave around to find a clear path.

  Easy as Chinese Algebra.

  Claire and I both put our heads down as I pinned the throttle to get through the phalanx of undead. I tore through them at breakneck speed, going from gap to gap. We were too fast for the slow zombies to grab us. Several reached out as we sped past, but I skillfully weaved away so that they would grab nothing but air. I felt like a world-class Grand Prix motorcycle racer as I steered through the rows of undead.