The Dead Jesters
The highway was littered with abandoned vehicles, some with their doors hanging wide open; some with windshields cracked, thick lines across the glass that looked like spider webs. Many of the cars and trucks had dead bodies in them, heads smashed open on the dash or steering wheels. Some of the bodies’ heads were intact though, so the corpses moved, opening and closing their jaws, their tongues fat and black and dry. Big Mack cruised slowly with his fellow Dead Jesters, swerving this way and that, his head constantly turning like it was on a swivel. The only way to survive in the world since the green light was vigilance. That fucking green light bathed the entire earth for three minutes or so according to the talking idiots broadcasting the news. No one knows exactly what the hell it was but ever since that happened, the dead began to walk the earth as zombies craving flesh to eat. Society had completely broken apart, only the strong and smart groups like the Jesters had managed to survive. Big Mack saw a child in a car seat, his chest was caved in, the shirt he wore had once been blue but was now mostly dark reddish brown, reminding Big Mack of his favorite sauce at Barbecue Bob’s back in Texas. Just another thing he would never have again.
Big Mack slowed his Harley, pulling softly on the brake with his strong fingers, unable to quit looking at the boy. The child had three ribs jutting from his shirt and the skin beneath. One leg was broken as well, bent at the knee in the wrong direction, the skin there purple and inflamed. The child turned his head towards the biker as Big Mack passed, and Big Mack noticed the kid was missing one of his eyes. Big Mack shuddered, hoping none of his crew noticed, and hit the throttle, sending the bike from the child as quickly as possible.
“I’m running low on jerky!” Bard yelled as he pulled up along side Big Mack during a long stretch of the highway with fewer cars and undead in the way. Big Mack couldn’t help but grin when he looked over and saw his oldest friend with three long tubes of beef jerky sticking out of his mouth while he rode. On Bard’s back was the ever present guitar case, holding his prized acoustic guitar. Bard was a hell of a player and had entertained the Dead Jesters many nights over the last thirty-two years.
Big Mack had formed the Jesters technically, but Bard had been the first member, and he had helped design their logo patch. The men had known each other since grade school, and had bought their first bikes together in high-school. There wasn’t anything either of them liked more than cruising across the country, and it just wasn’t the same when they weren’t doing it together.
In over three decades the Dead Jesters had grown to include branches in ten states, and had over three thousand members. The charter branch in Texas had over three hundred by itself. Only ten had made it out of Texas, as far as Big Mac knew, and they had been riding with him in the months since the dead came back to life and started eating the living.
“Well shit, we can’t let that happen,” Big Mack replied to Bard. “We’re running low on a lot of things I reckon. Start checking the exits.”
“I’m out of condoms,” a voice called from Big Mack’s other side. He laughed and turned to Tim. “That hot little thing back a few days ago made me burn through my last three.”
“You got to be the only person I know practicing safe sex when the world has gone to shit like this,” Big Mack said.
“Well fuck,” Tim replied. “We got enough shit trying to kill us now we don’t need to help it out by having our dicks fall off.”
“That’s why I ain’t got a dick!” Shelly yelled from the back of her husband Bill’s bike. The whole gang had formed up and was riding together, and Big Mack couldn’t help but fantasize that they were riding like they had in the old days.
It was harder to keep up that illusion as they neared the next exit. The road became thick once more with abandoned vehicles and the walking dead. Three undead were crouched in the middle of one of the lanes, ripping and biting furiously at a screaming girl. The girl screamed for them to help her as the biker gang passed, but not one of them looked in her direction. Big Mack thought she sounded like a teenager, but couldn’t be sure without seeing her clearly. Bard pointed ahead and called to the others. “There’s a Wal-Mart!”
“I hope it has gas,” Viper called from behind everyone else, thumping his hand against one of the many empty gas cans strapped to his bike with bungee cords. All of the riders had made some quick modifications to their bikes since the world had gone to Hell. Each bike was covered with containers for fuel, each biker kept a gun on them at all times, and they had a small arsenal piled up in Toga’s side car, unused since his old lady had been killed a few months back when the Jesters had broken into what they thought had been an abandoned house, only to find a small group holed up in one bedroom and heavily armed. The battle for the house had been brief but intense and left all of the squatters dead along with Eileen. She hadn’t been the first that they had lost and Big Mack doubted she would be the last.
He was hopeful though, and as The Dead Jesters made their way onto the exit ramp, heading for the Wal-Mart, Big Mack let his mind wander to their destination. They had banded quickly together in the aftermath of the first attacks, living the life
