was sedated often. The strange part was that we cracked jokes, laughed, and actually had fun most of the time.
Then she passed, and it was not fun anymore.
Tragedies do draw people together, and in some ways are a positive experience up to a point. I truly believe that. And up until now, we had been inside a cement building, behind a cyclone fence, stocked with food and water. We even had TV. It wasn’t stressful, or even scary. Shit, it was actually kind of fun at times.
But now we had to go outside.
I broke out of my reverie when Buell started putting on his riding gear. I followed suit before setting up my helmet intercom. I watched Max do the same. We were damn skillful riders, and respected the risk involved in riding motorcycles even in situations that did not involve the undead. We all wore leather jackets, gloves, boots, etc. Shit, Buell had a full one-piece Dianese leather racing suit and leg guards. He looked and rode the part. Having been on many road trips together, we knew each other’s habits and strengths quite well. I hoped this would prove to be a benefit on our sojourn.
The first step of the plan was for Max to create a diversion to move the monsters away from the front gate. This would clear space to get Buell and me out of the garage parking lot, and onto the main road. The next step was where Buell’s expertise would come in. In all my years of riding, I have never seen anyone launch a motorcycle from a dead stop as fast as he does. He was the king of drag racing as a kid, and as I said before, nobody passes him. I sat down to put on my boots, and glanced at Buell sitting on his bike. He was ready to go before Max and I had our boots on. He looked like he was going ninety miles per hour, and he wasn’t even moving yet. I gave him a nod, he nodded back, and I suddenly felt a surge of adrenaline.
Love that guy.
Max opened the roll-up door on the side of the building to our right. There were side doors on both sides of the building, perpendicular to the sidewalk. As a result, when the door opened, the monsters could not see the door or Max from their vantage point in front of the garage.
Max changed all that.
“Hey, Dodger fans! Get your asses over here!” Max shouted as he exited the garage.
Max immediately headed to the front corner of the yard, moving to his right. He looked ridiculous wearing his riding gear and helmet while yelling and waving his hands wildly. Max didn’t need to wear his gear because he wasn’t going to town with Buell and me, however, the extra protection seemed like a good idea.
There were now twenty or so monsters in front of him. The lingering mob slowly made their way toward a possible meal. I watched them nervously from just inside the office, as they hobbled as fast as they could toward Max, stacking up on the other side of the fence. The monsters looked unassuming physically as they limped along. They looked awkward, clumsy, and most had suffered some visible form of trauma. Yet it was their black eyes and white pasty skin that chilled my blood. They moaned and snapped their teeth while shuffling toward Max’s dance performance. Awkward or not, they were not to be taken lightly.
As the monsters moved to my right, I became downwind from the swarm. My God, the stench. I didn’t purposely look to see the origin, but I couldn’t help it. I saw stained clothing with wet, black feces running down the legs of some of the monsters. This in combination with their overbearing body odor was almost too disgusting to bear. I dry heaved after seeing this, and tried breathing through my mouth as much as possible from that point forward.
Within minutes all the visible monsters were up against the far side of the cyclone fence. They were clawing at Max and moaning loudly as they snapped their jaws. Their bloody fingers left streaks that contrasted sharply with the silver cyclone fencing.
“What kind of motorcycles do you stinky fuckers ride? Monsters?” Max said out
Then she passed, and it was not fun anymore.
Tragedies do draw people together, and in some ways are a positive experience up to a point. I truly believe that. And up until now, we had been inside a cement building, behind a cyclone fence, stocked with food and water. We even had TV. It wasn’t stressful, or even scary. Shit, it was actually kind of fun at times.
But now we had to go outside.
I broke out of my reverie when Buell started putting on his riding gear. I followed suit before setting up my helmet intercom. I watched Max do the same. We were damn skillful riders, and respected the risk involved in riding motorcycles even in situations that did not involve the undead. We all wore leather jackets, gloves, boots, etc. Shit, Buell had a full one-piece Dianese leather racing suit and leg guards. He looked and rode the part. Having been on many road trips together, we knew each other’s habits and strengths quite well. I hoped this would prove to be a benefit on our sojourn.
The first step of the plan was for Max to create a diversion to move the monsters away from the front gate. This would clear space to get Buell and me out of the garage parking lot, and onto the main road. The next step was where Buell’s expertise would come in. In all my years of riding, I have never seen anyone launch a motorcycle from a dead stop as fast as he does. He was the king of drag racing as a kid, and as I said before, nobody passes him. I sat down to put on my boots, and glanced at Buell sitting on his bike. He was ready to go before Max and I had our boots on. He looked like he was going ninety miles per hour, and he wasn’t even moving yet. I gave him a nod, he nodded back, and I suddenly felt a surge of adrenaline.
Love that guy.
Max opened the roll-up door on the side of the building to our right. There were side doors on both sides of the building, perpendicular to the sidewalk. As a result, when the door opened, the monsters could not see the door or Max from their vantage point in front of the garage.
Max changed all that.
“Hey, Dodger fans! Get your asses over here!” Max shouted as he exited the garage.
Max immediately headed to the front corner of the yard, moving to his right. He looked ridiculous wearing his riding gear and helmet while yelling and waving his hands wildly. Max didn’t need to wear his gear because he wasn’t going to town with Buell and me, however, the extra protection seemed like a good idea.
There were now twenty or so monsters in front of him. The lingering mob slowly made their way toward a possible meal. I watched them nervously from just inside the office, as they hobbled as fast as they could toward Max, stacking up on the other side of the fence. The monsters looked unassuming physically as they limped along. They looked awkward, clumsy, and most had suffered some visible form of trauma. Yet it was their black eyes and white pasty skin that chilled my blood. They moaned and snapped their teeth while shuffling toward Max’s dance performance. Awkward or not, they were not to be taken lightly.
As the monsters moved to my right, I became downwind from the swarm. My God, the stench. I didn’t purposely look to see the origin, but I couldn’t help it. I saw stained clothing with wet, black feces running down the legs of some of the monsters. This in combination with their overbearing body odor was almost too disgusting to bear. I dry heaved after seeing this, and tried breathing through my mouth as much as possible from that point forward.
Within minutes all the visible monsters were up against the far side of the cyclone fence. They were clawing at Max and moaning loudly as they snapped their jaws. Their bloody fingers left streaks that contrasted sharply with the silver cyclone fencing.
“What kind of motorcycles do you stinky fuckers ride? Monsters?” Max said out
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