Death and Biker Gangs

by S. P. Blackmore

  If you survive long enough, self-preservation becomes second nature. Dax, suitably convinced, nodded. “I see your point.”

  We started walking.

  The sound of fighting and screaming dropped behind us, bleeding away beneath the dog’s panting and our gasps for air. I thought we were headed south, away from the bulk of the conflict. Hammond had kept this part of campus empty, intending to put in greenhouses to jump-start the food production chain.

  In hindsight, that had been my first inkling that this might turn out to be a long-term living arrangement.

  The southern gate was a flimsy-looking chain link contraption—really, the sort of thing you’d expect revenants to bust through in no time—and Tony held up a hand. “Hold your breath and listen.”

  We listened.

  The dog growled.

  Shit. Evie had turned into quite the proficient zombie detector. “Everybody quiet,” Tony said. I looked at the dog. She stared past the fence, into the darkened mass of the Elderwood suburbs.

  Tony glanced up at the makeshift guard tower. “Looks like everyone’s been recalled. Dax, give me some light.”

  Dax fumbled with his belongings, then switched on a big flashlight.

  Shit. A half-dozen dead guys milled around just outside the fence. One pressed his hands up against the chain links and moaned loudly, and the others shuffled over to join him. Tony got right up close to them and nudged the lock with his pistol.

  “You can’t just blast it off,” Dax said. “Even if you actually manage it, they’ll walk right in!”

  “Not if we put them down.”

  “What about the others?” Dax went on. “They’ll hear you shooting.”

  The first thing you realize in a zombie apocalypse is that the dead are extremely persistent. The second thing you realize is that where there’s one, there’s many. The horde may thin out for a bit when they get distracted by a noise in the bushes or a nudie magazine in an abandoned 7-11, but there are always more.

  Tony swung around to glower at him, completely heedless of the drooling dead dude not a foot away. “The camp’s fucked anyway.”

  “They’ll be more fucked if we leave the back door open,” I said. “Go find the damned key.”

  He sent me a dark look, but swung his rifle over his shoulder and climbed up into the guard tower. We could hear him rummaging around, knocking things over and issuing curses that were probably directed at the undead and us.

  Dax kept his flashlight trained on the ghouls, but he glanced at me. “Is it wrong that I’m fantasizing about leaving him here?”

  “How about you fantasize about Vibeke blowing away those dead dudes?” Tony jumped down the last two ladder rungs with something clutched in his fist. “Light them up, Vibster. We gotta get through that fence and lock it back down before more hear the festivities.”

  There’s a lot of things I never thought I’d do. Survive the zombie apocalypse, for starters. Go weeks without a hot shower. Get promoted to something resembling a combat medic without ever joining the military. Turn out to be a halfway decent shot. Get called Vibster.

  The undead are easy to stop, provided they aren’t actively swarming you. You line them up, say a prayer if you’re inclined, and they usually topple like dominos. A professional soldier with an M-16 can do all kinds of damage, provided he aims in the general vicinity of the head.

  I stuck the rifle’s muzzle through the linkage and into the face of the nearest ghoul. It opened its mouth, and I squeezed the trigger. One. The rifle carried thirty rounds, and I was already down two shots. I moved along the fence line, poking the muzzle through the fence rather than risk a valuable shot bouncing off the metal.

  I used nine bullets on six dead dudes. Shit.

  Tony didn’t comment, but he got the lock open. “Move it, gang.”

  It took us all of thirty seconds to get through the fence. The lock clicked back into place, and Tony hesitated briefly, looking at the key. Then he stuck it into his pocket and joined us in the street. “They can get copies made,” he explained.

  “Not if you took the only one,” I said.

  He growled in response and took off down the street, forcing Dax, the dog, and myself to chase after him. The noise from camp grew fainter, replaced by the sound of multiple sets of feet slapping against the ash-covered asphalt.

  My lungs itched. I didn’t even realize they could itch.

  “Puddle up ahead,” Tony reported. “Not so…actually, stay to the right, it’s deep here.”

  I heard water splashing, and had just trudged into it myself when Tony started bellowing. “Shit! Son of a bitch, that burns!”

  He flailed around, sending water droplets cascading against my face. The itch and sting began immediately, and I pawed frantically at my cheeks, trying to wipe the water away with my sleeve. “What the hell?”

  I stumbled out of the puddle and nearly toppled onto Evie, who had been smart and gone around it.

  “What is that?” Dax asked. The flashlight bobbed up and down. “Vibeke, is this acid?”

  I was too busy scrubbing at my face to answer him. It was more likely just a nasty irritant we’d had the misfortune to stumble into, but if it was acid…

  Well, at least we wouldn’t have to worry about the ghouls disfiguring us.

  FOUR

  Just in case I hadn’t dealt with enough crap that day, the cut on my hand turned out to be a giant piece of embedded glass.

  “The fun never stops,” I muttered, turning my hand this way and that. Little welts had popped up around the glass where Tony had splashed me, like I’d had some kind of terrible allergic reaction. My face probably sported similar markings; it was already starting to itch.

  We’d stopped at the first shelter we found—a gas station with a small market attached. It had probably been open around the clock before the shit hit the fan, but now it stood silent and empty, a testament to the world we’d lost.

  It had also been thoroughly pilfered for food, aside from a few bags of candy and a rotten-looking sandwich in the otherwise empty refrigerator unit.

  “How bad is it?” Dax pointed his flashlight at my wound. The dog snuffled around my feet, her tail wagging against my knees. “Do you need stitches?”

  “Don’t know. Can you get the first aid kit? We brought it, right?” Performing impromptu surgery on myself was not high on my list of enjoyable activities, but I couldn’t just leave the glass there. “What’s Tony doing?”

  “Securing the joint so we don’t get chomped.” Dax rustled through his backpack and came up with a small blue box. “And yeah, I brought it. Where’s yours?”

  “Still at the medical facility.” I could have kicked myself over my own stupidity. I’d grabbed my useless cell phone, but left the first aid kit sitting on the counter. I guess old habits really do die hard.

  He held both of the flashlights while I rummaged for gauze, disinfectant, and tape. The dog stuck close to my side, her nose twitching at the smell of blood. I checked her over with my good hand, but she seemed no worse for wear, possibly because she was apparently smarter than the three humans put together.

  “How’s your stomach doing?” I asked.

  Dax blinked. “Are you asking me or the dog?”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, gauging his trustworthiness. Dax was generally pretty stoic, if somewhat overconfident in humanity’s general goodness. “You gonna be okay holding the flashlights? You can’t puke on me.”

  He cracked a half-smile. “I won’t.”

  “Are you sure? Some people can’t stand blood.”

  “You’re the one who pukes on the undead.”

  He had me there. I’m sure there’s other people in the world who have spewed on the nearest shambler, but they may not have lived to tell the tale, much less had their friends poke fun at them. “Hold the flashlights steady,” I said. “I’ll see how fast I can do this.”

  Running water and soap were distant memories, so I dumped some antibacterial gel on my
hands, grinding my teeth against the sting. I got some gauze ready, grasped the edge of the glass, and yanked it out.

  “OW!”

  Blood bubbled up from the cut. I slapped the gauze down on top of it, then probed around as much as I could, searching for little fragments that would trouble me later. “I think I can get away with taping it up,” I said through clenched teeth. Cleaning it out each day was going to be a bitch and a half, but I’d figure out some way to do it.

  “Okay.” Dax sounded borderline disappointed. I bet he was hoping for some gruesome self-surgery.

  I picked up the tube of antibiotic cream and took a deep breath. This wouldn’t feel good.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Tony’s footsteps crashed toward us. “Did you get bit?”

  “Not. Now.” I dropped a dollop of antibiotic cream on a piece of gauze and placed it facedown over the wound, then had to skitter to the side when Tony reached for my wrist. “Goddammit, get your grubby hands off me!” I snarled.

  “She got cut,” Dax said. “That’s all.”

  I bandaged up my hand and turned it this way and that to inspect the work. It wasn’t pretty and it probably wouldn’t look good once it healed, but hell, everyone needs a few cool scars. I flexed the hand a few times to get an idea of what kind of range of motion I could expect, then looked up at the boys. “You guys okay? Holy shit, Tony—”

  “Don’t. I know it looks bad.” Red welts covered his face and neck, and his hands didn’t look much better. Upon closer inspection, several of the welts had already ruptured, spilling clear fluid down his skin. Dax’s hands were in much the same condition, but he’d at least had the good sense to turn his head when we went through the puddle. Only half his face had been splattered with water.

  Tony inspected his hands, then shrugged. “They don’t hurt anymore. Funny, I always thought puddles of acid were restricted to video games.”

  “I thought the same about zombies.” I held out the little tube of antibiotic cream. “Here, this is probably all we can do for it for now. Just spread a thin layer all over. Can’t hurt.”

  For once they did as I said, smoothing the cream over hands, faces, and necks. I did the same, then tucked the tube back into my kit. If I’d known we’d be splashing through acid, I’d have raided the pharmacy more effectively, or at least invested in galoshes.

  We gathered in a small circle in the center of the store. Tony set an industrial-strength flashlight on end in the center of our little group, and for a few minutes we picked at what was left of the store’s junk food stash. Dax and the dog sat together, as they always did, and he fed her bits of his granola bar. “What the hell’s up there to make the water burn?” he asked.

  “Evil stardust.”

  Dax rolled his eyes. “Tony…”

  “You heard the general’s lectures. All kinds of shit got kicked up when the meteors came.” Tony had located a bag of cotton candy, and he seemed content to just hold it, rather than devour it. “The evil stardust makes the dead come back to life and fucks up our vehicles, why wouldn’t it make the rain burn?”

  I hated to admit it, but that was probably the most scientific answer we were going to get. I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the lingering pain in my hand. “Doctor Samuels said there was all kinds of stuff in the air they couldn’t identify, even the places that still had access to proper equipment. And when you think about all the fires burning…stuff getting into the air…even our stuff…asbestos, radioactive particles, carcinogens from manufacturing plants…”

  I stopped when I realized both of the guys were scowling at me.

  “We’ve had enough bad news for the day,” Tony said. “Keep your carcinogen knowledge to yourself, will you? Evil stardust is bad enough when we don’t understand it.”

  I had to wonder if some government scientists in a hidden, lead-paneled enclave were experimenting on the evil stardust while the rest of us wallowed in it. Maybe they’d find cures for diseases, or ways to extend lives, or a new kind of energy that no one would ever really be able to use.

  Or maybe the evil stardust would just kill us all off and the cockroaches would finally inherit the planet.

  Damn, the apocalypse made me borderline existential.

  “So what’s our next move?” I asked.

  Evie rolled onto her back, and Dax obliged her with a belly rub. “Yeah, Fearless Leader, what’s next?”

  “Fearless Leader?” Tony almost smiled. “I like it. I have to get to Hastings. Are we still in Elderwood?”

  It took me a moment to roughly figure out where we must be. “Yeah. It backs up to Muldoon…wait, this is a gas station. There must be maps somewhere…”

  “I got one.” Tony pulled a crumpled paper out of his jacket pocket and smoothed it out on the dusty tiles, beckoning us to lean in. “This red dot is Elderwood Refugee Camp. We went out the south entrance, but didn’t get too far, so I’m guessing we’re…here.” He tapped his finger against a spot a quarter-inch away from the camp.

  Several additional red dots were scattered across the paper; some of them had X marks through them, or question marks placed alongside. “These were the other bases that we knew of,” Tony explained when I pointed at them. “The Midlands Cluster command base in Franklin stopped transmitting two weeks ago. That’s when Hammond really got jumpy.” He grunted and switched on a second flashlight, bathing the map in brilliant white. “Much better. Hastings was the last to stop talking to us. They’re here.”

  He tapped a red dot not far from where we sat. Hastings and Elderwood shared an eastern border; further south was Muldoon, then Golden View. My home, Ellisport, sat on the tail end of the Cluster, which made for a nightmarish daily commute—and that was when the freeways were still accessible and cars still worked right. Now it might as well be across an ocean.

  I pulled my aching hand closer to me. “So are we just on our own now? All those bases are just gone?”

  “They’ll send reinforcements,” Dax said.

  “Government’s spread too thin,” Tony muttered. “Can’t help everyone. If a big military presence out here couldn’t help us, why waste more lives?”

  “That’s a horrible way to think,” Dax said. “You said yourself that communications are down. How the hell would they even know what was going on? Once they hear something went wrong—”

  “You think Uncle Sam’s gonna come in and save our asses? Even if they had the manpower, how the hell would they get out here? Covered wagon?”

  “Those shielding units.” Dax had already succumbed to that stubborn expression he got when defending the inherent goodness of humanity, which seemed to be in short supply lately. “Your friend Will built one for the bike—it can’t be that hard to make one for a Hummer, or a truck, or a…”

  “Boy Scout, even if they do knock together some shields, they’re still thousands of miles away.” Tony pointed out the window at the blackness beyond our immediate shelter. “Will was one of those freaky genius types and knocked that thing together fast. Yeah, they can fix up engine shields, but that doesn’t mean they’re going to last on a long trip. And we don’t know what the rest of the country looks like. It could be a lot worse than this.” Tony rubbed irritably at his face. “Damn, I miss my bike.”

  I didn’t. The cobbled-together monstrosity might have gotten us out of Astra alive, but it had broken down ten miles out of the city. Tony had insisted on walking it the rest of the way to Elderwood, thinking he’d fix the damn thing once we got there.

  He hadn’t. It was still in pieces in the mechanic’s big tent, as far as I knew. Everyone was astounded we’d managed to get away on it at all, much less with the dog strapped to the back.

  Come to think of it, escaping from Astra on the bike was probably what had drained our luck in the first place. You don’t get that many breaks during the apocalypse.

  Dax shook his head. “I don’t believe it.”

  “That’s fine.” Tony ripped open the bag of cotton candy. “But I
am going to believe it until Air Force One shows up with a battalion of clone troopers to save our asses and bring us back to the island.”

  A dull, steady throb began pushing at my temples. “You’re mixing up your genre movies again.”

  For a long moment, no one said anything. Liquid dripped in a far corner, and wind howled outside, making something on the roof rattle. I pulled my jacket closer around myself. We needed to find some blankets if we intended to survive out here for any length of time.

  “Maybe the revenants will fall into the acid puddles and melt,” Dax said. I suspected that was as close as he’d get to a peace offering.

  I couldn’t say I’d mind stepping outside the next day to find out all the undead had been reduced to puddles of pungent primordial ooze. Yeah, it’d be a bitch to scrape them off my boots, but they’re easier to clean than kill.

  Not that I’ve ever scrubbed down a zombie. There’s some things you just don’t try.

  “So we’re all going to Hastings?” I asked, since no one else seemed willing to suggest it. “Maybe their radio just broke.”

  “I’ll check the camp tomorrow. If Hammond can clean up the mess, I’ll drop you two back there and go on to Hastings alone.” Tony picked at one of the little welts on his face. “But since our luck usually turns to shit, I think we need to assume you’ll be coming with me. Hammond thought he was getting the bikers under control, but I think they just stayed quiet until he was distracted.”

  Great. First the undead, then angry bikers. All the red dots on the map started to blur together, and another thought occurred to me. “Why were there so many military detachments in the area? The Midlands Cluster isn’t all that geographically relevant…maybe the farmlands, but…”

  Tony shrugged. “Don’t know why they all descended on us, but Hammond talked about bringing all the communities together and cleaning up the cities one by one, then fanning out. I don’t think he realized the air quality would choke off most attempts, pardon the pun.”

  “I see what you did there,” Dax mumbled. “Clever.”