Riding The Apocalypse (7 page)

“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 boring after a while. Even for the most passionate motorcyclists, endlessly riding up and down the highways and back roads can become monotonous. When you have a purpose and a reason to ride—for example, a destination—it is more enjoyable than simply riding for the sake of riding. I assume you have heard the expression “getting there is half the fun”? This applies to motorcycling as well. The quest Buell and I were on gave legitimate purpose to the ride. For a few fleeting moments, it felt like any other day Buell and I were riding together. On many a sunny day we would find ourselves riding in town and taking the corners quicker than law enforcement would prefer. Only this time instead of going to the motorcycle dealer for plugs, advice, or even a new helmet, we were going for supplies to survive an apocalypse.

It felt right though.

“Let’s take Campbell Ave, Rem, Hamilton looks like shit,” Buell said over the intercom.

“Yeah, good call, I’ll be right behind you.”

Of course I would, even during an apocalypse, he wouldn’t let me pass.

Hamilton Avenue is a main artery in Campbell and it led almost directly to the Kmart on Saratoga Ave, a mere five miles away. As we left the garage’s more industrial district, the roads became exponentially more crowded with cars, military vehicles, and pedestrians. Campbell Avenue ran parallel to Hamilton, but was more residential and therefore less crowded. The trade-off of more intersections for fewer cars and monsters seemed a reasonable one.

As we turned left off Hamilton, I saw a distinct change in my surroundings. The residential neighborhood was quiet and looked almost abandoned. Houses on one side of the street were boarded up, and I could see what I guessed to be rifles moving back and forth in between the sheets of plywood. We passed more private homes, and I saw a few people running in and out of their homes from their cars or other houses, but there was remarkably little movement overall. I assumed people were hunkered down inside, or had attempted to flee. In some way, the stillness seemed more sinister than the military presence, chaos, or sirens. Many homes had garage doors open, and the garages were empty or disheveled. Debris was strewn in the streets, and in front of one home, I saw bags of spilled groceries all over the driveway. Maybe someone had left their goods on top of the roof of their car in their haste?

As we rode slowly, side by side down Campbell Avenue, we saw a dozen monsters clamoring at the front door of one of the homes. As we rode past, a few peeled off toward us, but the rest remained at the door, pounding and moaning.

“There must be someone in there,” I said into my helmet microphone.

“Yeah, but not much we can do with a baseball bat and a crowbar against those fuckers,” answered Buell.

I felt a twinge in the back of my neck as we passed by. Chills ran down my back because we weren’t stopping to help. Sure, we had a job to do, and for all we knew, there was only a television left on in the house, and the monsters were attracted to the sound. Still this was the first decision we had to make for self-preservation, and it didn’t feel good.

We reached Saratoga Avenue without further incident and made a right. Almost instantly we were back on busy streets, complete with sirens and frantic pace.

With more people and cars packing the streets, we were forced to lane split to keep moving. Thank goodness for two wheels instead of four, or I don’t think we would have hit the Kmart parking lot before dark. The ability to ride our bikes between the cars was a blessing and a lifeline. We made it safely, albeit slowly, to Kmart soon after.

The lot was ringed with police vehicles protecting the Kmart and adjacent shopping mall. We also witnessed a few skirmishes as we approached, but the area seemed well under control, considering the circumstances. We saw no visible signs of carnage or blood in the parking lot and everyone appeared human and uninfected. It was as if this particular area had so far been spared the influx of monsters. Then I noticed a car door open to my left, and blood outside the vehicle, but there were no bodies present so—although I will never get used to how red blood is in the light of day—I stayed positive.

I half expected to see the military trucks and armed guards in front of Kmart, policing a free-for-all with looters and gunfire galore. Instead, what I saw was something quite different, and even more shocking. It appeared the police were a bit lenient on the Martial Law order while people got what they needed. If the military had desired, it could be shooting people on sight, but what I saw was something different. I saw people working together, and the police looking the other way, watching their backs.

I smiled under my helmet to the point my cheeks pushed on the inner padding.

I had always had trust issues but my faith in humanity in general had reached something of a low ebb recently. It seemed like the world had become a more selfish and a less community-minded place to live, at least compared to my youth. So when I saw this scene, I was both humbled and gladdened. I might have to rethink my stance on the moral decay of society, which I had been a staunch believer in. It was an altogether different form of decay now.

A large bed sheet marked with block letters hung on the facade of the Kmart:

“HELP US HELP U, TAKE ONLY WHAT U NEED!”

There were at least twenty people keeping order in front, most still wearing the blue vests. Many of them were handing out food, cases of water, and other supplies. There was an orderly line of people waiting off to the side. As I looked closer I saw police officers shouldering rifles and squad cars parked nearby. But then I realized they were actually unloading a semi trailer rather than actively keeping the peace. My eyes welled when I saw how considerate and practical these people were acting on both sides. Instead of a free-for-all with every man for himself, people were working together. I realized as we got closer they were actually letting people into the store. We pulled the bikes up onto the sidewalk, because we could, and endured the cross looks from the car drivers.
Cagers
are what we like to call them, at least we do when we aren’t in our cars. Anyway, we went to the back of the line of people who were waiting to get into the store.

We had decided beforehand what we needed and made a list which included toiletries and assorted dry goods. Max was back at the garage filling buckets with water while the plumbing was still working; water was not a concern and others seemed to need it more.

“Have you heard the latest? You get the radio on that thing?” asked a man line who was pointing  to the antenna on my helmet.

He had an ear bud in one ear, which was plugged into his phone, and looked to be seconds from shorting the phone out from nervous sweat.

“It is more for talking to other riders, so not really,” I answered.

“They’re coming, man,” he said with a grim look on his face.

“Who?” I replied.

“The zombies, dude, get all you can and get the hell out of here. Radio says there are tens of thousands of them coming from downtown San Jose, and they are spreading like wildfire. A whole shitload of ’em just shut down 280 South, look!” he said, pointing in the direction of the freeway.

I could see smoke in the distance, but it looked miles away. Downtown San Jose was about ten miles southwest of here, and we hadn’t planned on heading that way, so I mostly felt relieved it wasn’t from our direction.

At least not today.

“How is it spreading so damn fast?” asked Buell. “Jesus, they are so slow, can’t people just move out of the way?”

“I know, it’s like an inferno jumping the fire breaks,” the sweaty man said emphatically. “I sure hope it isn’t airborne or some shit like that, ’cause then we’re all fucked for sure!”

My heart skipped a beat when he said “airborne.”
I hadn’t considered that, but it sure made sense now that he’d said it. What else would make the virus spread so quickly? I looked at the people around me. Were we all infected? How would I know? Was I already infected? Should we even be here? Maybe we should not have left the garage? I took my gloves out of my helmet and put them back on.

I looked at Buell, and as if he read my mind, he said, “Dude, we are almost to the front of the line, let’s get some shit and bolt.”

I nodded.

I asked around and was told people were filling a basket or taking whatever they could carry, then exiting the other side of the store. This was actually pretty impressive as well as encouraging. I did not know how long the restraint and good will would continue, but for now, people seemed to want to cooperate.

At that moment I swore I would never make light of retail employees again. These Kmart employees were making a tremendous sacrifice and had taken a tremendous risk staying, probably accomplishing more than people making ten times their salary were doing today. I know they were doing more than I was.

The guilt began to creep into my consciousness again, but was interrupted when a heavyset woman with a far-too-tight blue smock tapped me on the shoulder. I realized why the garment was ill-fitted when I saw the name stitched on the left breast pocket. It said
Rocco
.

“Alright, guys, take about ten minutes, please consider others and take only what you need. Oh, and if you don’t have any kids, don’t take the toys, others are gonna need them,” she said as she hustled us into the store.

The children, my God. She was right, any distraction they could have would be a godsend. I sure hoped there weren’t people grabbing every Gameboy and handheld device. Just at that moment I became more thankful than ever I did not have any children.

“Thanks, Rocco,” Buell quipped as we squeezed past her.

I laughed and looked at her. She was smiling at him, and did not mind the joke at her expense. Wow, some people are so kind. Again and again, as we navigated the disaster, I was surprised by the kindness of others but the Kmart was my first exposure.

After clearing the doors, and per prearrangement, I split from Buell and ran straight to the pharmacy and grabbed aspirin, a first-aid kit, and assorted miniature hygiene supply bottles. I love all those little containers of shampoo, mouthwash, toothpaste, etc. Plus, you can carry a ton of that shit on the road. I ran for protein bars next, figuring this was the best way to get all the protein and vitamins I would need until this shit got under control.

Next I headed to the sporting goods section. I grabbed some rope, a patch repair kit, and some road flares. I then grabbed a Faraday flashlight and lantern in case batteries became an issue. A Faraday flashlight is the kind you shake to generate electricity so it powers itself. Fortunately, most people don’t know this so there were a few left.

As I was picking up various items, I considered what people behind me were going to need and decided I had taken enough. All in all, we had a good setup at the garage and there was such an atmosphere of altruistic behavior, in spite of the terrible situation, that I didn’t want to be a dick. This “help your fellow man” stuff, which I didn’t think really existed any longer, was catching. I actually felt good about myself for not taking a whole case of Clif Bars. It was hard though, I love the peanut butter flavored ones.

I met up with Buell toward the back, near the exit. He had tons of junk food and a board game called Settlers of Catan.

“Dude, are you kidding me?” I said, pointing at the game box.

“Boredom may become our worst enemy. I can only listen to so many stories about World War II from Max before I wish I was a casualty in it,” Buell replied.

He had a point, I guess. Max was a massive military buff and fascinated by World War II in particular. He could regurgitate statistics for hours and put us in a coma without even taking a breath.

We got back on the motorcycles, half surprised to see them still upright, and headed for the garage. Taking the same route back, we again saw the same monsters at the doors and windows of that one home on the backstreet.

“Damn those things have some serious dedication!” Buell yelled into the mic.

I nodded. “Yeah, that should work to our advantage. I seriously doubt the ones following us turned back around. If we can avoid picking up many new ones, we should be pretty clear getting back.”

There seemed to be a bit more activity in the residential streets now. People were appearing to fight back and took pride in their efforts. As Buell and I passed one house, there were a few guys outside smoking cigarettes, they waved at us and pointed proudly at their kill. And I shit you not, there had to be at least a dozen slain monsters dragged into the gutter. The blood running from them went at least a hundred feet until it hit a sewer drain.