Sometimes We Ran (Book 1) (15 page)

“Hot damn!” Claire exclaimed with glee.

The bike sounded pretty good. It ran with a slight miss, which I attributed to the possibility of bad gasoline or my shoddy workmanship. It smoked a little bit, and a warning light on the dash told of something amiss in the engine, but it actually kept running. Eventually, even the smoke stopped as it warmed up. Best of all, it really was very quiet. Even when I revved the motor, the sound was barely more than what a blender would make. I couldn’t believe it, but the scooter might actually work.

I killed the motor after a good warmup, and silence returned to the shop. Claire and I looked at each other and smiled. Tomorrow, we no longer walk; we ride.

We got up early the next morning to hit the road on our new scooter. The sun had just come out over the trees when I rolled our new silver ride out into the frosty morning. I gave the bike a quick check, and then started the engine to let it warm up.

Claire and I had tried to find some helmets, but none of the ones left in the store fit our heads. They were either too big for Claire’s smallish head, or too small for the large melon on my shoulders. Much to my dismay, we were going to have to risk it without protective headgear. I did manage to fit a few small tools and an extra battery in the storage area under the seat. I also added a small gas can and a length of hose, so we could acquire fuel on the road. Claire also found a few hundred dollars for our bribery fund in the cash register and a few bottles of water for the road. We were all set.

The only problem was I didn’t have much experience on two-wheeled vehicles. Claire found it very funny, and told me to take it for a little spin around the street to get familiar with the bike. I set off on a loop of the area with the bike wobbling beneath me. I tried to remember some basic riding skills from my youth spent riding dirt bikes on the trails near my boyhood home. It took a few laps, but eventually I felt confident enough to hit the open road. I pulled up to the front of the store to pick up Claire.

“Where to, lady?” I asked, joking around.

Claire played along. “Oh, how about California? No, wait! Las Vegas. That’s where we need to go.”

Sadly, Las Vegas was probably full of undead. California probably wasn’t a picnic either. “Well, let’s just hit the road and see what happens,” I said, helping her aboard our new silver steed.

Surprisingly, even wearing our backpacks, Claire and I fit very well on our new scooter. Her weight, plus the weight of the backpacks, was a different story. I wondered if it would change the handling.

I put the kickstand up and got ready to roll. “Hold on. Just bear with me while I get used to the extra weight.”

“All right Easy Rider. Just hit the road already.” Claire could be so impatient sometimes.

I cracked the throttle and pulled away from the curb at a slow but steady pace. Even with the extra weight, the bike glided smoothly down the street. I could get used to this.

Claire didn’t think I was going fast enough. “Hey, Grandpa,” I heard her say over the sound of the wind. “You can go a little faster, you know.”

“The speed limit is 45. That’s fast enough.” Claire snorted in mock disgust.

We made our way to the main road and continued our journey. In some areas, the abandoned vehicles and other debris slowed us down. In some extreme cases, we had to get off the scooter and push it around huge blockages on the road. A few times we even had to ride in the shoulder, or in the grass. We would stop occasionally to scrounge in stores or mini malls for new supplies. I would make sure to hide the bike from prying eyes, or we would simply take the bike with us into the building while we looked inside. It was good to have it near. Claire and I would often have to get away quickly from whatever fresh hell we found while scavenging. Even with all the clogged roads and stopping we were still able to cover a lot of ground.

All the while, the scooter ran well and gave us no trouble. It was quiet and attracted no attention. We were even able to find a little gas here and there to keep it full. I don’t know why I didn’t think of using a scooter before. Maybe I just liked walking.

It was the third day out when we came across the fork in the road. It was a rainy, foggy morning with low visibility and a sullen gray sky. I rode up to the sign between the two forks and parked the scooter. Claire and I dismounted to stretch our legs and dry off a little while I consulted the map I had taken from the firehouse.

“Which way, Tiger?” she asked.

I took a closer look at our map, and traced a finger along each route. The fork to the right led to a medium-sized town that could be infested with undead. The fork to the left led to more open country that might be a little safer to ride through. The town could have more supplies, but we might have to battle a couple of hundred zombies to get anything. The left fork looked a little safer, but supplies could be limited. I shot a glance at Claire. She was soaking wet even with her shower curtain rain gear. Being wet and miserable doesn’t help when you have to fight zombies. She had been a trouper through all this misery, but I think we needed a break. I made a decision. We’d take the left fork into the open country.

“That way,” I said, gesturing down the left fork in the road.

“Okay. Any particular reason why?” Claire asked.

“Looks like there might be less undead. Besides, according to the map, it looks like a nice scenic drive in the country.” I tried to sound like I knew I was doing.

She laughed a little. “Okay Tiger, let’s go.” We got on the scooter, and continued our journey on the fog-shrouded road. As I rode away from the sign, I secretly hoped my decision was the right one.

We rode for about an hour without incident. The rain stopped, and the sky even brightened a little. As we rode, the country changed into tree-lined roadways with the odd driveway or farm on one or both sides. The usual amount of abandoned cars was lighter, so we didn’t have to stop as often to go around obstacles in the road. With the end of the rain, and the relatively clear road, we were going to cover a lot of ground today.

And that’s when we came upon the sports car in the middle of the road.

It was a low-slung, Italian-made super car parked right on the center line. Claire and I rounded a curve and nearly ran over the very expensive relic from the pre-zombie days. I hit the brakes hard and we skidded to a stop. I stopped so quick that Claire nearly tumbled off the bike. We dismounted to check it out. I stood there for a minute admiring the beautiful red car.

“What the hell is this doing here?” I said aloud. I looked around at the surreal scene in front of us. The car was not alone on the road. Surrounding it were a few wooden barricades hastily nailed together, a few flaming garbage cans, and about half a dozen stolen telephone company orange cones. I also saw three cheap motorcycles parked in a neat row on the side of the road.

Claire drew her bat. ‘‘I don’t like the looks of this, John.”

“Me neither. Lets get the hell out of here.” I started to jog back to our scooter. This whole scene looked like a diversion.

Before we could get to the scooter, I knew it was too late. The trap had already sprung.

Four tough-looking characters blocked our path back to our scooter. They were all dressed like refugees from a bad post-apocalypse movie, and they were heavily armed. They advanced on us like a small army. Claire went for her revolver, but I put my hand out to stop her. They had us outgunned and outnumbered, but they didn’t look like professionals. They actually looked like a bunch of kids playing tough-guy. I thought we could talk or bribe our way out of the situation, and save potential violence and mayhem for later.

One of the tough guys, a stout, chubby fellow, separated from the rest of the group and walked to conversation distance. He was waving around some sort of weird submachine gun.

“You like my car? It’s a real beaut, isn’t it? I have three more back at the house,” he said as he approached.

I casually brought my semi-automatic rifle into a ready position, and said, “Yeah, pretty nice. What kind of mileage does it get?”

Chubby Boy got the message I was sending with the rifle, and backed off a little. “Well it’s a little tough on gas, but if you got the means to buy one, you go for it.”

We eyed each other carefully. His buddies looked a little nervous. After about a minute of heavy glancing, he finally said, “Crap, where are my manners? We haven’t introduced ourselves yet. My name is Richard.” He paused a few seconds to point at his associates behind him. “That blond shaggy-haired fellow on the extreme right is my brother Joey. The guy next to him is also named Richard, but we call him Dick. That fellow over there to the left …well, he got a little close to a homemade flame thrower, so we call him Toast.” The entire group, including the one he called Toast, laughed. Toast was in pretty bad shape. Most of his hair was gone, and it looked like he suffered second- and maybe third-degree burns on his face and hands. He almost looked as bad as some of the undead Claire and I had come across in our travels. It was a wonder he was still alive.

“Yeah, Toast is a little off, but he is a good addition to our group. The zombies think he is already dead.” Richard delivered that last line like a stand-up comedian. You could almost hear the rim shot. His little band of followers laughed like idiots.

Claire and I definitely didn’t think it was funny at all.

I’d come across guys like this before. In the old world, they were losers venting their spleens on the Internet in blogs and chat rooms acting like they knew everything. Now, without any authority, they’ve gathered a few friends and guns and try to pretend they own the freaking road. They usually had a cute gang name like “The Enforcers” or “The Blasters” or something equally inane.

I turned a little bit to make sure his little gang got a glimpse of my rifle. “Well, Rich, glad to meet you. I’m John, and this is my friend Claire. You guys got a gang name? All the toughest road gangs have a name.”

Richard looked like he was taken aback by the slightly sarcastic tone of my comment. “Well, most people call us ‘The Highwaymen.’ What do you think about that, John?”

I thought about what he said for a minute, then answered, “Well Rich, I think it’s a good name for a bunch of chumps on imported cheap-ass motorcycles acting like tough guys.” Despite the tension of the moment, Claire couldn’t help giggling a little.

Richard’s crew didn’t think it was funny. They all pulled extra weapons and started to advance. Richard held up his hand and laughed a little.

“Very funny, John. It’s kind of nice to meet someone with a sense of humor. Usually the people we meet either start shooting or cower in fear.” He walked up right next to me and Claire. “Actually, we’re not bad guys. We might let you leave if we can make a deal.”

I unzipped Claire’s backpack, and took out about a thousand dollars from our bribery fund. I showed the bills to Richard, then held them above my head to show his crew. “Is this enough? We have some jewelry too. If you need food or water we can spare a little bit.”

Richard laughed. “Don’t need money. It’s worthless. I got buckets of bills back at the house. We use them to wipe up household spills. Don’t need food or water, either. We got plenty, and can definitely get more if we start to run out.”

“No, John, the Highwaymen desire something else in your possession.” Based on the horny look on his face, I knew exactly what his little group wanted.

They wanted Claire.

Richard glared at me with menace in his eyes, and pointed in her direction. “We want her.”

I shoved the money back in Claire’s backpack and gave her a “now-it’s-good-time-to-use-your-revolver” wink. “Well, Rich, you see, Claire ain’t for sale. We’ll have to work something else out.” Richard’s friends began to advance with weapons ready.

“I’m sorry, John,” Richard said, feeling full of himself, “but she’s the only thing we need. You see, the Highwaymen have been without female companionship for a pretty long time, so can you maybe let us borrow her for a little bit?” He reached past me to cop a feel off Claire.

He really shouldn’t have done that.

Claire’s move was pretty quick. In one swift motion, she pulled her little revolver and shoved it into Richard’s face. “Get on your knees, jackass,” she said slowly. Richard’s three stooges stopped their advance.

I leaned in to whisper in Rich’s ear. “I would do as she says. She’s pretty good with that little gun.” He did as he was told, and took a knee in the middle of the road.

I stepped back to lay out the situation. “All right guys, here’s how I see it. You chuckleheads are going to let us go, or my little friend here is going to put a hole in your boss’s head. Don’t test us guys because we are not bluffing. Right, Claire?”

“Right.” She was starting to enjoy this.

Claire got Richard to stand up, and we began to walk slowly towards our scooter. As we got close to Richard’s friends, they parted to let us through. We passed through the line, dragging Richard with us. When we got to the bike, Claire stowed her gun, and I tossed her my rifle. I drew my gun, and pointed it at Richard who stood silently with his hands up.

“Oh, by the way, guys, don’t follow us. She’s pretty good with the rifle too.” I got on the bike, cranked it up, and got the hell out of there.

I ran the scooter down the road with the throttle pinned all the way back. When I got to the fork where we started that morning, I parked the bike to see if anyone was coming after us.

Claire was still shaking a little bit. “That was close. Those guys looked like they were going to kill us.”

I got out my binoculars, and took a look back down the road towards the Highwaymen. I saw and heard nothing chasing us. “No, I think they were amateurs. I think we scared them enough and they’ll stay away. By the way, loved it when you shoved the gun in his face. I think he almost peed in his pants.”

Claire laughed nervously. “Yeah. Kind of dramatic, wasn’t it?”

After a few minutes of looking down the road, I decided nothing was chasing us. Claire and I got back on the bike, and we took the other fork in the road into town. We’d have to take our chances with the zombies on the mean streets.

After a few minutes on the road, we arrived at a small town square. A large courthouse with marble pillars and a huge clock tower dominated one side of the square. The other three sides had small stores and parking areas. The square surrounded a park with a statue in the center. I rode over to the statue’s pedestal to take a look. He was some kind of Civil War hero that had lived in the town at one time. Much to Claire’s dismay, I read the information plaque aloud. I was an insufferable history nut. There was some weirdness in the park as well. Old camping tents were pitched here and there on the grassy areas. I guess people tried to survive in the park after everything went to hell. We didn’t see too many bodies. Everyone must have abandoned the park, and moved to greener pastures.