Apocalypse Cowboy: Futuristic Romance with Zombies by Eve Langlais Page A

least it didn’t have a bell. He had a vague idea about who might own a motorcycle and headed straight for Joe Franton’s home with its large two-car garage. Brody remembered Joe swaggering into the diner one day, bragging about the sweet deal he got on a Harley.
    Bingo!
    The garage door swung open with a noisy creak. Just in case it brought visitors, Brody had his gun gripped in one hand, bat in the other. It seemed he wasn’t going to be on any zombie menu today.
    And his luck held. Covered by a tarp, which he whisked off with a flourish, he found a motorcycle and not just any bike: a Harley Ultra Classic. The ultimate guy boner bike.
    With reverence, Brody ran his hand over the fat tank and shook his head at the bells and whistles. On-board GPS, built-in speakers, an oversized seat for the driver, and the just as comfortable one for a passenger, replete with arm and backrests. Like riding a couch.
    Brody couldn’t help grinning. While he loved his Harley Sportster, the Ultra Classic was a motorcycle made for two, and he knew just the person to sit behind him. Holding tight and breathing sweet nothings in my ear.
    Grabbing a gas jug, he jogged down the road to the gas station, only to find the pumps dry. Hannah hadn’t been kidding when she said she emptied the place. Generators were fuel pigs. Luckily, Brody had learned a trick or two on his cross-country trip. He quickly found a length of hose that he used to siphon the derelict cars that littered the town. Pouring the gas into the tank, and having to fight off only shambling zombies who, at best, had only weeks to survive, Brody then faced a new dilemma.
    Keys?
    Bracing himself, he entered the tomblike home, almost sneezing as dust motes floated in the air. Luck on his side, Brody found the bike keys on a pegboard, along with others. On the way out, he noticed a framed image of Joe, straddling the very same motorcycle in his garage, a big grin on his face. He felt a moment’s pang for Joe who hadn’t gotten to enjoy much of a retirement.
    So many people had found their lives cut short, and even now the world was not a safe place, something he should have stressed more to Beth. But, given her headstrong, spoiled nature, he doubted it would have had an impact.
    The bike, of course, didn’t start when he turned the key, the battery long dead. Wheeling it out into the sunshine, Brody rolled it a few blocks to the one decently sloped incline in town. He pedaled the ground with his feet, Flintstone style. When the bike gained some forward momentum, he pulled in the clutch and popped it into second.
    With a coughing stutter, the engine roared to life, and Brody cranked the throttle, clearing dust from its workings. The growling sound of the bike brought a shambling zombie out of hiding. It lurched to the road, and Brody, having done this more than once on his trek across the country, drew his gun and fired.
    Another one down, but where the hell were they coming from? Why here? Why now?
    The roar of the motorcycle’s engine brought Hannah running out of the house. He couldn’t help the tightness in his chest, and a swelling of his groin, at her appearance. He loved her so much, even with her tear-streaked face.
    “I’ve packed some food and clothes,” she said, gesturing to some bundles piled on the porch.
    “You should go with him,” said Fred as he wheeled out onto the porch, joining them.
    “Go?” Hannah’s face creased in puzzlement. “I can’t go. I’ve got to stay and take care of you.”
    A moue of annoyance creased Fred’s face. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, girl, I’ve been taking care of myself a lot longer than you have. Go with him. Find your fool sister and that Amish village. I can take care of myself for a week or so. Besides, if you stay here, you’ll just drive me nuts with your worrying.”
    “Are you sure?”
    Brody could see Hannah’s need to care for her uncle warred with that of finding her sister and keeping her safe.
    “But what of