After Gary recovered from the initial shock, he opened his door and grabbed his rifle. At least one motorcyclist had met his demise, and the rest still didn’t know what was happening through the kicked up dust. Gary fired three shots—the last of which caught the front of the motorcycle or possibly the driver, either way the driver planted his bike into the nearest tree. The gang banger behind him had been following too closely and crashed also. He was not dead, but his cries of pain most likely put him out of this battle.
Then it was quiet as the rest of the gang discovered the ruse. The bikes throttled down from their surge to an idle. The bike that had gone past was now slowly coming back. The roadway was settling and the carnage was visible to all. The man who hit the tree was twisted with his legs bent backwards and up over his head; the world’s most flexible gymnast could not have struck that pose.
“Ah fuck, Teets and Dogger are dead,” one of the men said.
“Come and get me.” The one that had wrecked yelled. “My arm and my leg are busted.”
One of the trailing men got off his bike.
“Don’t!” the man up ahead yelled. “It’s a trap.”
“Fuck man it’s Deuce. I’ve got to get him,” The first man replied.
“Give me your rifle,” Mrs. Deneaux said softly to Gary. The words were barely out of her mouth when she grabbed it from him.
“What are you doing?” he asked as he handed it the rest of the way over.
“I’m giving Deuce’s friend a little incentive,” she said as she fired a round off that caught the fallen man in his broken arm.
“Oh fuck!” he screamed. He was writhing in agony, the intense pain from his shattered elbow all he could think about. “Help me!” he screamed again. “Get me out of here!”
“Q-ball, I’ve got to get him, we go way back,” the man on the left said.
“Come on, come on,” Mrs. Deneaux whispered as she kept her eye to the rifle’s aperture.
“You sure are one cold bitch,” BT said as he came up alongside her.
“The Viet Cong were famous for this,” Deneaux replied.
“What is she talking about?” Gary asked.
“The Viet Cong would wound a soldier and lay in wait until other soldiers would try to rescue him, then they’d kill them all,” BT explained. “It was some pretty sick shit.”
“That’s what’s going on here?” Gary asked incredulously.
“Mike understood the value of a well-placed ambush,” Deneaux said.
“Not like this,” BT said.
“Really?” she asked finally looking up at BT long enough to arch an eyebrow. “Michael knew the aspect of our fair advantage.”
“This is murder,” BT said.
“How are you so dense?” she asked. “It is our survival or it is theirs, by any means necessary.”
“She’s right, BT,” Gary added. “Mike understood that. There are more than just zombies now. It is a struggle of good versus evil. The zombies have just marked the lines of delineation. Instead of scouring the earth of the scourge of humanity, those same lowlifes have risen to the top and are taking over. While the good people stay hidden protecting themselves and their own, these assholes take whatever they want and destroy whoever they want.”
“That man is defenseless.” BT pointed to the wailing figure on the roadway.
“And if he wasn’t?” Gary challenged.
“That’s not the point!” BT said, letting anger begin to inflect his voice. “He’s a human being and we’re treating him like a zombie.”
“You mean like this?” Deneaux asked as she drilled the man’s forehead with a shot. His head snapped back and his crying ceased.
“Q-ball they killed Deuce!” the distraught man yelled.
“How would I have missed that, Digger?” Q-Ball yelled. “We didn’t want to hurt you,” he added.
Deneaux started laughing in response. “Neither did we.”
“You’ve killed six of my men, this isn’t over!”
“It could be,” Deneaux said. “Just step into the clearing.”
“Yo, bitch, what is your problem?” Digger yelled. “That was my friend.”
“Well now I gave you a reason to pour some of your forty ounce beer on the ground. Isn’t that what you do? Kind of as a homage?” Deneaux cackled.
“I’ll fucking kill you!” Digger screamed as he began to run to the clearing, his rifle chattering from the multiple rounds he was expending.
BT shot him before Deneaux had an opportunity. The bullets had come dangerously close to their location.
“And then there were two little Indians,” Mrs. Deneaux said cheerily.
“Fuck you all!” Q-ball said as he hopped on his bike and headed down the dirt path. It was moments later and the last remaining man got on his bike and headed back the way they had come.
“Well that was fun,” Mrs. Deneaux said as she began to brush broken bits of glass from her hair.
BT was still at a loss for words. Gary was approaching the dead men.
“What are you doing?” BT asked him.
Gary bent over and grabbed the assault weapon.
“Oh,” BT said as he came over, “any ammo?”
“Check the bikes. At least one of them had saddle bags.” Mrs. Deneaux reloaded her pistol and Gary’s rifle. “We’ve got a problem.”
“Huh?” BT asked.
Gary was opening the bike’s bags. “Damn, looks like a brass factory in here!”
Mrs. Deneaux pointed to the ground where a spreading pool of liquid was emptying from the bottom of the Pinto.
“Shit,” BT said as he ran back to the car.
Mrs. Deneaux was going over to Gary. “Help me lift this bike,” she said to him. Him helping turned out to be him lifting it.
Mrs. Deneaux straddled the machine; she held the clutch in and pushed down on the starter. The bike stuttered and died, she pushed again the bike started up. She got off and started to inspect the front end. “It should be fine,” she told Gary.
“Fine for what?” he asked her.
“For you or BT. I’m taking Digger’s motorcycle,” she replied.
“Taking it where?” Gary asked, obviously still confused.
“The Pinto is dead, so unless you want to walk, this is our option.”
“I don’t know how to drive a motorcycle,” Gary replied in alarm.
“First off, one does not ‘drive’ a bike, they ‘ride’ it, and you’d better hope BT can, then.”
“You’d really leave us then?” BT asked as he came over.
She didn’t reply as she went over to Digger’s bike and gave it the once over.
“And you do?” BT asked in reference to her knowing how to ride a bike.
“I belonged to a motorcycle club back in the late sixties,” she said with a smile.
“Of course you did,” BT responded. “This bike has some front end damage.”
“It’ll be fine, it’s just going to be a bumpy ride for you is all.”
“You know how to ride then?” Gary asked BT hopefully.
“I’ve had experience, I’m not great. With my size and the damage to the front end you should ride with Deneaux.”
“Fantastic!” she cackled. “You will be my bitch!”
They grabbed their meager supplies out of the Pinto and stuffed every available pocket and saddle bag with it and started off. Gary was reluctant to wrap his arms around Deneaux, but when she started and he almost pitched off he thought better of his hesitation. Deneaux was laughing madly as they started for the road. BT was cautious on the rough dirt road and was already a few miles behind Deneaux as she was screaming down the highway.
Gary had his head huddled into her back and was holding on for dear, dear life.
