Riding The Apocalypse (12 page)

I also noted a few random fires and smoke downtown in the distance. What was disconcerting was the lack of emergency equipment and fire trucks. Again, just wrong. I couldn’t even hear a siren. We could hear the occasional gunshot, and a remote yell or scream. One more time, just wrong.

We’d been cooped up in my garage for three days, and the situation had steadily deteriorated all around us. There hadn’t been a live television broadcast for two days, not even a radio broadcast we could find. The internet had been down since around the same time cell service crapped out. I found that odd in a way the fires were not. I mean how did those dirty fuckers get to servers and why did they bother? How was it even possible? Aren’t servers encrypted?

Aside from an occasional trip outside to relieve ourselves, or throw a rock at the just too curious dead guy,
we stayed inside. Overall, we were laying low, trying not to draw attention from the growing number of undead occupants of our cul-de-sac.

With nearly a week’s worth of breakfast bars and a vending machine full of junk food, we had no need to venture out. However, the military had not progressed as we had hoped. There were no more standoffs. It looked to us like they were doing more surviving than fighting. So the elephant squeezed into the garage through one of the roll-up doors as we noted the advancing army of monsters.

President Atkins’s last transmission reported there were cases of the undead in other countries, thusly, the United States could not depend on foreign assistance. He also gave the location of a “secured sanctuary,” set up just outside of San Diego at a military base about four hundred and fifty miles from the garage. We contemplated heading there, but looking off the rooftop at the creatures, we never gave it serious consideration. We would be heading into the teeth of the monsters. Pun intended. It really didn’t matter, I knew where I was going I just hadn’t been able to force myself to go. My mind had been made up since Emily dropped the not-so subtle hint.

Ed was long gone. I do not know if he made it to wherever he was headed. I truly hope he did. Chances were better than not, he was a modern day MacGyver, he could disable a monster with a potato chip bag clip and a rubber band. Which, of course, he had in his pocket. Ed said he had family up north. And if he did make it, that family was better for it. Good man to have around.

Ed’s initial estimate of when the monsters would reach the garage was off because of the defensive put out by our brave soldiers the day he left. The military made a stand ten miles southeast of us and slowed the monsters considerably. We only caught glimpses of it from the rooftop, but it was a spectacular exhibition of firepower. Unfortunately the monsters just kept coming. They were relentless. A Robin Williams stream of consciousness would be the best way to describe it; never ending and somewhat horrifying. Their sheer numbers overwhelmed the failed military intervention, but it did buy us time. Max looked out to the highway, I saw him sigh and lower the field glasses. I could sense what he was going to say.

“We gotta fucking go, man,” Max said. “I really thought the military was gonna get hold of this, doesn’t look like it though, Rem.”

I nodded.

“Look, Rich is south, maybe he can put us up at his son’s house. They live by the water, and that is a natural barrier on one side,” Max said. “He has been there since before, so I bet he is set up. Whadda ya think, man, feel like a trip to the beach?”

“I know where I am going, Max, and I don’t expect you guys to come with me,” I said, looking south at the horizon. “I have been thinking about it since Emily—”

“Look, man, we both told you we’d come with you, why don’t you just let us go with ya, brother?” Max asked.

“ ’Cause it isn’t your demon, Max, Emily planted this seed in me, and I want to see it through. Not just for her, but for me. I want to be that guy she wanted me to be, that guy I should have been. Look how fucked up it is out there!” I said, pointing to a fire in the storage yard across Hamilton Ave. “You have a sister and family most likely still living in New York. You should not be going with me on some death wish grudge hunt for some fucking politician that was banging my ex girlfriend.”

“Hey, you know this fucker is part responsible for all this shit, right? That makes it our fight too!” Buell shouted as he climbed out onto the roof from inside the garage. “Stop being so selfish, man.”

“Look, I understand you guys are trying—”

“Look, Rem,” Max said as he grabbed both of my shoulders. Jesus, he had a firm grip. “We are in this together, Rem. I don’t know if my family is alive or not. I pray to God they are, but I am not getting to them anytime soon. We have waited long enough. Let’s go out in a blaze of glory, and go get the fucker who is behind this.”

“What if he isn’t there, Max? What if I drag you there and risk your lives for nothing? Two days ago you guys were ready to just chill here and wait this out. You were gonna let the military—”

“That was over eighty-four thousand seconds ago, a lot has changed since then,” Buell added, chuckling as he joined us. “We’ll just turn it into a crazy-ass road trip if he isn’t there. I don’t want to wait here till those assholes cross the highway and find our little hiding place. Whadda we got, a day or two? If we sit as quiet as mice peeing on cotton, then maybe they will pass us by? Then what? Look at those fuckers,” Buell said, pointing to the monsters who were at the gate, reaching up at us after hearing the conversation. “They aren’t going anywhere. I am getting cabin fever. There are a lot of miles out there. Let’s go log some!”

“I wanna smoke some of these guys anyway, I am tired of hiding. C’mon, Rem, let’s make this our swan song. Don’t make us beg to have a purpose, man. I know you want us to go, dude, so just say it,” Max said as he lightly pinched me on the left nipple, then assumed a boxer’s stance. “Stop playing hard to get, it’s not sexy.”

Max was right. I honestly did want them to go, but the idea of them being killed or hurt for my crusade worried me. Yet Max made a valid point, what were we truly living for? Maybe the military would eventually take control, but it was still never going to be the way it had been, least not in our lifetimes. Thinking rationally, I wondered how realistic it was that Paul from Campbell was going to eventually pick up his hunter green Jeep Cherokee? Would he ever pay me the eleven hundred dollars for the replaced freeze plugs and water pump? Would Buell be writing video game code anytime soon? How about Max? I didn’t see a ton of paychecks coming out of the downtown county office. I certainly wasn’t going to be paying him anytime soon.

You know what, fuck it, I thought. I had officially convinced myself to get off the fucking cross.

“Okay, guys, you want in, I would love for you to be in, and I am not afraid to ask for your help. I love you, guys. You are my family. Let’s go hunting for a crooked politician!” I proclaimed as I embraced Max and patted him on his back. Damn, he squeezed hard.

I felt as if a burden had been taken from my heart. My concern for everything else in this life melted away. We had a quest to go on, and a purpose to ride. I was going to follow through, no matter where it took me, or how far I got. A shot of adrenaline coursed through my veins.

“I don’t need much motivation to hunt Democrats, Remy, especially this one,” Max added.

“That’s what I am talking about, Rem,” shouted Buell. “You hear that, you stinky fuckers?” Buell yelled, looking to his left, over the roof and down to the parking lot. Subsequently, he threw what was left of a can of Diet Mountain Dew in the direction of the dozen creatures mobbed against the fence. “We’re coming for you! And we are bringing soap and deodorant! How do you like me now, bitches!”

Buell laughed and went back through the hatch to the garage. I watched him disappear, and my eyes immediately went to Max. He was watching the approaching swarm. He looked somber.

“Protein bar for your thoughts?” I said as I tossed him a Fibre One bar. He caught it seemingly without taking his eyes off the horizon. “You good, brother?”

“I am glad to be getting the hell out of here. I am tired of sponge baths and
Shawshank Redemption
. Who knew you could get tired of that movie?” said Max.

Not me, ’cause I wasn’t.

“You’re not just saying that, are you, Max?” I said.

“I was being honest, Rem, stop asking me about it,” he said with a stern look as he walked over to the roof hatch. Looking down the hatch, he yelled. “Hey, Buell, we leave first light tomorrow!”

“Fuckin-A, sounds like a plan!” came a voice from inside the garage.

After Buell’s
Big Lebowski
reference, Max shot me a very deliberate look, and we locked eyes. I blinked first. I didn’t think Max wanted his level of commitment questioned again. The look was
“get the fuck over your martyrdom, and let’s focus.”
I couldn’t have agreed more.               The plan was to leave at first light, so all the packing was to be done before bed. We scoured my entire garage for anything we thought would be useful. We were aware of what we could comfortably carry on the bikes. Optimal handling became more important than comfort though. Being nimble and not putting much load on the suspension was paramount. I wanted to be as agile as possible, so canned goods were out of the question, though I did take one can of chili. I could eat chili cold, and it had real sustenance, as opposed to breakfast bars and junk food.

Unfortunately for Max, he did not have tank bags for his Ducati, as he had come to the garage just to work on his bike on that fateful Sunday. Improvisation was necessary. But never one to disappoint, he got creative with his bag design, Max used his ingenuity and silver duct tape. The tape was to cover the Justin Bieber image on the backpack someone had left in one of the customer’s cars.

“Why the pretense, Max? Who is gonna see it?” Buell asked. “You got a hot date?”

“I will know it’s there,” Max replied.

He had a point. Buell nodded.

Max’s motorcycle, while not a KLR, was not entirely unsuitable for this journey. It was a Hypermotard, Ducati’s version of a dual sport, sans the knobby tires. It was undeniably more sophisticated than my KLR in powertrain and frame design. However, it was not quite as reliable. It needed a little more TLC to perform at an optimal level, a reasonable trade-off considering how good that thing looked. Quite simply it was a more expensive, sexier version of the KLR—damn, it was one good-looking motorcycle.

The distance we had to travel was just over a hundred miles, according to the GPS, which was still working, thank goodness. I guess the zombies weren’t in outer space yet.

Knowing we would encounter roadblocks and might have to detour out of our way, we brought a filled two gallon gas jug. If there were no gas stations available, we would not be stranded. I couldn’t imagine there wouldn’t be opportunities to siphon a car, but better safe than sorry. Just the same, we were going to take some side roads, and there might not be vehicles on the fire roads. All in all, fuel should not be the problem. I guessed the problem would be the monsters, call me crazy.

“We are out of bourbon, guys,” Max said, turning an empty bottle of Maker’s upside down.

“Somehow I have a feeling bourbon will cross our paths again,” said Buell with a wink. “Besides, Maker’s is for the guys who drink vodka martinis, in lieu of gin.”

“Dude, you brought it,” Max retorted.

I walked into my office, then came back out, holding a full unopened bottle of Buffalo Trace in my right hand.

“Told ya,” Buell said with a smirk on his face.

I smiled at the both of them. We were about to travel over a hundred miles through an undead-monster-infested landscape, and Max was worried about the booze.

“I guess I don’t need to tell you guys to check over the bikes for anything loose or missing, right?” Buell asked.

“Hey, Rem, you got a flat repair kit here somewhere?” Max asked.

“I have one on my bike,” Buell and I said in unison.

“Hah, should have known.”

A few hours later Max was again up on the roof looking out as I sat on an upturned bucket staring at my packed-up bike. I liked sitting at this level with my bike. I could look eye level at the front tire, forks, motor, chain drive, and rear tire. I could smell the bike. For anyone who rides, they know the smell. It is a combination of burnt chain lube, oil, gas, and a slight hint of burnt plastic when hot. No different than a wine connoisseur with the color, bouquet, and vessel. I ran my finger along the chain, checking for moisture and tension as I had done a thousand times before. But never with the same concerns. I should always be this diligent.

Was this for Emily? Not entirely for damn sure, I decided. This was about far more than Emily, but she was undoubtedly the spark. Even on the verge of death and becoming a monster, Emily helped make me a better man. But I was starting to understand that Emily was a catalyst, not my conscience. This was the ultimate purpose to ride. My life suddenly had a meaning that eclipsed everything else and I felt compelled to push forward, to put my skills and mettle to the test. My friends and I were about to take an all-terrain road trip through perilous conditions with a noble purpose.

I stood up and looked across the garage; all three bikes were loaded up and ready for action. Buell was in the waiting room, lying on the couch watching Andy crawl through five hundred yards of shit-smelling foulness Red could not even imagine. I could hear Max coming down the catwalk from the roof.