Bard ate his fill of the girl, her meat falling down into his stomach where it would rot and bloat his belly. He stood up then and for a moment turned to the north until some instinct only the undead will ever know forced him to turn around and continue south. Behind him the girl came back, so ravaged and ruined that she could do nothing more but lay on the ground and groan, working her broken jaw crookedly against her upper teeth.
The ghoul that used to answer to Bard walked tirelessly, step after step as the moon sunk in the sky and gave way to the sun, burning bright as it climbed and moved overhead. Bard kept walking even as what was left of the Dead Jesters moved on from the convenience store, making good time as they drove down the middle of Florida, coming closer and closer to their destination with every mile they rode.
Bard neared the same destination, moving a lot more slowly than the men on motorcycles. The sun had dipped below the trees to his right once more by the time he stepped past the large welcome to Florida sign. Still he continued on, even as the wound that had killed him festered and stank, even as the large black flies that had prospered in this new world buzzed around him in angry clouds, landing everywhere his flesh was exposed and taking minuscule chunks out of him. He was eaten, he decayed, he fell apart and still he kept on.
Bard passed other undead on the highway, one woman who had been run over by a car, her entrails dashed along the road with wavy tire patterns in them, a man with no bottom jaw, a little boy missing one eye an most of his cheek. Bard met these zombies and more as he continued to the south, and they were drawn to him, somehow they sensed that he had a direction, a purpose he strove for, a destination. They sensed all of this and they sensed that it was a rarity, and that if they followed along something good might come out of it from them, so as Bard walked others joined him, and with each mile he plodded along he formed a new gang.
The Dead Jesters were running on fumes, but the last five places they had stopped at were as dry as they almost were. “What are we gonna do?” Toga asked while they stood around the latest barren gas station.
“We may need to find a car we can get running.” Big Mack answered.
“And leave the bikes?”
“You want to roll them down the highway while we walk, Toga?”
“I know Mack, but shit, this bike’s lasted me longer than any of my wives. I’d hate to see her go,” Toga said.
“Maybe we could find a truck or something. Something to get them on and go with us. We gotta find some gas somewhere,” Willy spoke up.
“Hey, look,” Big Mack said, pointing down the road. Coming up fast was a line of cars and trucks, at least ten in all.
“Shit,” Toga said. “You don’t think that’s…” he trailed off but his meaning was clear. Were the Jesters about to run into the men who had so decimated them at the overpass?
“’We’re about to find out, I guess,” Big Mack said, hefting his shotgun up into his arms. The line of cars was unmistakably making its way to the gas station, and the Jesters had no where to hide. They were readying themselves to make a last stand when the lead vehicle, a large black pick up truck stopped in front of them. The window rolled down and a fat man with a red face stuck his head out to speak with them.
“Well it’s been hell catching up to you boys, we saw you some ways back, just as we were getting on the highway. We honked but I guess you couldn’t hear.”
“Bikes are loud,” Big Mack said in a way of answer, not bothering to lower his weapon.
“Yeah, I guess they are. Well, you boys aren’t heading down to Covington, are you?”
“We are,” Toga said before Big Mack could stop him.
“Well good. Us too, and we’ve been getting this big caravan together while we head down there, because I think there’s a lot of good in having a big group, you know? I mean, shit, just three of you, I can’t believe you’ve made it this long, to be honest.”
“We had more,” Big Mack said, letting the barrel of his gun point to the pavement.
The red faced man nodded solemnly. “We all have, if you don’t mind me saying. I know what you mean is all. Well I’m Bobby, and we’d love for you to come with us. There don’t happen to be some fuel in these pumps, do there?”
“No, there don’t.” Willy said. “And we’re about dry.”
“We’re getting there,” Bobby said. “But I’m sure we can spare some for our new friends, and get us all down the road to the next stop.” As Bobby climbed out of his truck and moved to the bed, rummaging around amidst a pile of supplies back there Big Mack took in the rest of the caravan, noting that there were all types from what he could see; men, women, children, a few teens. Everyone seemed well supplied and more than a few of the cars had been modified, fence links anchored over the windows, one small hatchback had a large scoop welded to the front, useful in sweeping swaths of zombies out of the way.
Bobby came over with a red gas container, offering it to Toga, who took it with a thanks and got to work refueling each bike. Big Mack took
