something we were all sorely lacking in this sunless void. The approaching vehicle backfired again, sharp as a gunshot, and underneath it I could hear even more vehicles—motorcycles, maybe, or smaller cars.
Is this how it’s always going to be? Running away from loud noises? What are we, mice?
“So the biker gangs…fight?” I asked the younger guy escorting me. He was probably in his mid-thirties, and he shook his head as we hurried. His spiderweb tattoo climbed up past his ear, and I couldn’t help staring at it; getting it drawn on must have hurt like hell.
“Everyone’s been fighting over territory since the military retreated to Elderwood.”
“Why the hell did you stay? ” I asked.
“A lot of us stayed behind,” Graybeard had to shout over the engines. “Didn’t feel like living under a tyrant.”
“And this is better…how?” Tony asked.
Graybeard shrugged. “I love a little irony in the morning.”
“It’s afternoon,” Tony said.
“How can you even tell?”
“Circadian rhythms.”
Graybeard pushed open two doors, leading us into a vast stockroom. I actually stopped to take it all in, which should probably go on the list of things to not do after the zombie apocalypse.
Something moaned quietly from the left, and the three Elderwood refugees spun around, guns at the ready.
Well, I had my backpack at the ready. The rifle was still over my shoulder, dangling uselessly behind me. Dax tightened his grip on Evie's leash, keeping her from rushing the thing in the corner.
A lone revenant clawed at the collar around its neck and stretched for us, sounding a hell of a lot like the dog. “That’s Fredrick,” Graybeard said. “He’s the loudest. He’s a pretty good alarm if someone breaks in the back way.”
Frederick whined again, jerking at the makeshift harness they’d fitted him with. Several lengths of rope held him to one of the giant shelving units bolted to the wall. It seemed secure enough, although it wasn’t the most eye-catching restraint in the world.
Dax had to hold Evie’s leash with both hands as she snarled and snapped. “So…do you feed him?”
“He doesn’t really need to eat,” the youngest companion said.
Graybeard snapped his fingers, pushing us further into the stockroom. One set of the overhead lights still worked—without them, navigating this place would be a nightmare—and we passed giant units of toilet paper, bottled water, and what looked like basic cooking equipment.
“Please let us stay,” I said. “I promise I won’t brain Frederick.”
“We’ve got enough trouble to deal with now that Blair’s dicking around.” Graybeard glanced back long enough to meet my perplexed stare. “Do yourself a favor, kiddo. When a dude on a bike shows up claiming he can make your life better if you’ll keep his gang stocked, just run.”
I added that to my growing list of mental notes.
“And don’t ever let his sidekick draw your blood in some creepy binding ritual,” the companion nearest me added.
I’m sorry to say I barely even blinked at that comment. Once the dead started walking, creepy blood rituals just didn’t pack the punch they used to.
We reached the end of the warehouse, and Graybeard pulled open a narrow door set into the wall. “Get moving. Where are you headed?”
“Hastings.” Tony stepped outside and gestured to us to follow. Dax had to shove Evie through; she still wanted to go after Frederick. “Any recommendations?”
“Stick close to shelter. Avoid the open road. Most of the living out there doesn’t seem friendly. And try to stay quiet. Some of these fuckers…they hear things, I swear. Maybe even your thoughts.”
A biker gang with superpowers? Damn, some guys get all the luck.
The door shut behind us, and we began our long, exhausting trip from one part of the empty world to another. Tony pulled out his map and studied it as we walked, making disappointed noises every now and then.
“We’re going
Is this how it’s always going to be? Running away from loud noises? What are we, mice?
“So the biker gangs…fight?” I asked the younger guy escorting me. He was probably in his mid-thirties, and he shook his head as we hurried. His spiderweb tattoo climbed up past his ear, and I couldn’t help staring at it; getting it drawn on must have hurt like hell.
“Everyone’s been fighting over territory since the military retreated to Elderwood.”
“Why the hell did you stay? ” I asked.
“A lot of us stayed behind,” Graybeard had to shout over the engines. “Didn’t feel like living under a tyrant.”
“And this is better…how?” Tony asked.
Graybeard shrugged. “I love a little irony in the morning.”
“It’s afternoon,” Tony said.
“How can you even tell?”
“Circadian rhythms.”
Graybeard pushed open two doors, leading us into a vast stockroom. I actually stopped to take it all in, which should probably go on the list of things to not do after the zombie apocalypse.
Something moaned quietly from the left, and the three Elderwood refugees spun around, guns at the ready.
Well, I had my backpack at the ready. The rifle was still over my shoulder, dangling uselessly behind me. Dax tightened his grip on Evie's leash, keeping her from rushing the thing in the corner.
A lone revenant clawed at the collar around its neck and stretched for us, sounding a hell of a lot like the dog. “That’s Fredrick,” Graybeard said. “He’s the loudest. He’s a pretty good alarm if someone breaks in the back way.”
Frederick whined again, jerking at the makeshift harness they’d fitted him with. Several lengths of rope held him to one of the giant shelving units bolted to the wall. It seemed secure enough, although it wasn’t the most eye-catching restraint in the world.
Dax had to hold Evie’s leash with both hands as she snarled and snapped. “So…do you feed him?”
“He doesn’t really need to eat,” the youngest companion said.
Graybeard snapped his fingers, pushing us further into the stockroom. One set of the overhead lights still worked—without them, navigating this place would be a nightmare—and we passed giant units of toilet paper, bottled water, and what looked like basic cooking equipment.
“Please let us stay,” I said. “I promise I won’t brain Frederick.”
“We’ve got enough trouble to deal with now that Blair’s dicking around.” Graybeard glanced back long enough to meet my perplexed stare. “Do yourself a favor, kiddo. When a dude on a bike shows up claiming he can make your life better if you’ll keep his gang stocked, just run.”
I added that to my growing list of mental notes.
“And don’t ever let his sidekick draw your blood in some creepy binding ritual,” the companion nearest me added.
I’m sorry to say I barely even blinked at that comment. Once the dead started walking, creepy blood rituals just didn’t pack the punch they used to.
We reached the end of the warehouse, and Graybeard pulled open a narrow door set into the wall. “Get moving. Where are you headed?”
“Hastings.” Tony stepped outside and gestured to us to follow. Dax had to shove Evie through; she still wanted to go after Frederick. “Any recommendations?”
“Stick close to shelter. Avoid the open road. Most of the living out there doesn’t seem friendly. And try to stay quiet. Some of these fuckers…they hear things, I swear. Maybe even your thoughts.”
A biker gang with superpowers? Damn, some guys get all the luck.
The door shut behind us, and we began our long, exhausting trip from one part of the empty world to another. Tony pulled out his map and studied it as we walked, making disappointed noises every now and then.
“We’re going
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