Riding The Apocalypse by Frank Ignagni III Page B

happen, Rem!” cursed Max through the intercom. He had seen the girl, and was unable to draw her from me.
    “Got it!” I replied triumphantly swinging the gate out.
    She was there.
    She had blond curly hair and could not have been more than ten years old. Her face was grayish white, eyes black, and she looked particularly unscathed for such a battle-tested undead monster.
    Where was the blood?
    She lunged at me and the collision that ensued knocked the gate between us into my shoulder with surprising force. After falling down after the initial impact, she quickly got to her feet, and lunged again. I strafed to my right, holding the gate in front of me like a shield with my right hand. In the same motion I reached for the aluminum bat I had previously stuffed in my leather jacket.
    Could I do this? She was just a little girl. My God, why did I have to do this?
    She was not going away, and me clearing the area was my part of the plan. I felt my stomach churn as I drew the bat over my head. With my left hand I swung as hard as I could and brought the bat straight down toward her skull with all my might.
    The impact was in-fucking-sane.
    Buell’s perfectly timed kick landed squarely on the left edge of the swinging gate, sending Goldilocks careening through the air a split second before my bat would have made contact with the girl’s head. As my bat slammed into the gravel, I watched the girl travel ten feet from the impact. She was still tumbling as I turned back to the KLR. My left hand felt like I had shoved it into a bees’ nest. But I didn’t entirely mind, the pain from the bat striking the ground reminded me again, I had not hit the girl.
    I hopped on and was on my way.
    With the gate now opened at a perpendicular angle to my garage, a temporary barrier between the monsters and me had been created by Buell’s kick. I started off in Buell’s direction kicking the gate back toward closed as I passed. He had stopped about forty feet up the road to wait in case my bike didn’t start.
    Yeah, right.
    I made a long arcing left turn and circumnavigated the mob of monsters which was heading toward Buell. We then paired up, and headed down the road about two hundred feet or so. As planned, we slammed on the brakes and quickly turned to determine the distance we were from our aggressors.
    Buell and I were now yelling at the undead, honking our horns, and revving the engines. My voice was hoarse with excitement and euphoria even as I was wrapped in terror. It was truly exhilarating, and I bellowed a high-pitched squeal in place of a manly roar.
    I hope Max and Buell didn’t notice that.
    The monsters all took the bait. We watched and waited as they approached, begging them to get closer. I looked back to the entrance and saw Max calmly locking the gate, then pumped my fist in the air.
    Phase One accomplished.
    Panning left toward the slowly moving swarm, I saw the little girl, gruesomely twisted, conscious, and writhing on the ground. She had apparently lost her ability to walk in the collision, but was still reaching out to me from the ground, arms outstretched, mouth open and wailing.
    “There’s the blood.”
     

Chapter 7
     
    “What the hell are we gonna do with those?”
                 
     
    The next few moments bordered on surreal. Not because we were facing an apocalypse, but because Buell and I were riding motorcycles together and for a moment, the ride felt like any other day out for a ride. The good old days.
    You know, three days ago.
    Motorcycling is one of the most thrilling things a person can experience, in my humble opinion. The difference between riding a motorcycle and riding a motorcycle well is huge, but the learning curve for most who get the riding bug is not insurmountable. When you compare it to other thrill-seeking hobbies like skydiving or hang gliding, it seems more attainable and practical.
    Yet, as thrilling as it can be, to me, riding just for the sake of riding can get a tad