Zombies VS Bikers

cut off. Big Mack enjoyed a good laugh before bed.
****
Here’s how it’s going to go,” Big Mack said, his shot gun pointed at Scott’s chest. The Jesters had woken early and had armed themselves long before anyone from Scott’s group was awake. Now they were tired and standing against the wall under the flat screen TV. “We’re going to take some of this shit, as much as will fit on our bikes to be honest with you. You’re going to get your people into the bathroom and stay there until we tell you to come out.”
“Fuck you,” John said, stepping forward with his fists clenched. Big Mack took note of the man, calmly swiveling at the hips and pulling the trigger of his shotgun when the barrel aligned with the big mans chest. John collapsed in a crimson spray, and his sister Hallie fell quickly to her knees beside him, screaming.
“God damn it, he was black, and I’m a biker in leathers with long hair and a big beard. I know what you’re thinking and I ain’t no racist, okay? I’d hate for any of you to think I shot that man because he was black.”
No one spoke up as John lay dying on the floor, his blood bubbling in his own throat as he choked on it. A few of the Dead Jesters moved Scott and his group to the bathroom, after shooting John in the head before he could come back. Then they had their guns trained on the closed door while the rest began loading their bikes and Toga’s sidecar with canned and non perishable foods. They restocked their ammo supply and within an hour they were ready to get back on the road.
“Why don’t we just stay for a while?” Shelly brought up to her husband, who shrugged his shoulders and let Big Mack answer.
“We don’t want to miss the boats,” he said.
“We’ve got plenty of time from when the boats are coming, if they’re even coming at all,” Shelly countered.
“We got to believe their coming Shel, else our lives are going to be nothing but cruising up and down these highways waiting to die. And I’d rather be early for them than to pull up to the ocean and see ‘em disappearing down in the horizon, you know? Now, no one told these folks about the boats, did they? I don’t need them getting the idea to follow us. It might make for an uncomfortable cruise with old Scott shooting me dirty looks the whole time.”
“I uh, I mentioned it to that one armed fella,” Tim said, causing Big Mack to roll his eyes.
“Damn it. Okay then, you guys start working on clearing that shit out from in front of the door. I’ll take care of Tim’s fuck up.”
The Jesters did as they were instructed, working together to quickly remove the barricade. Big Mack borrowed a handgun from one of his crew and entered the bathroom. The shots were loud and echoing in the hall. Big Mack came back out of the bathroom with a fine dusting of red splashed across his chest and up over his chin and lips. “Let’s go,” he said cheerfully.
Soon the Dead Jesters were cruising once more, heading south on a highway choked with abandoned cars and littered with shambling corpses. Their bikes were heavier and they ate better each night than they had in a long time. When the world had first gone to shit Big Mack had found it hard to sleep peacefully, or even through the night. Now though he slept like a baby, grown so used to the world around him that it no longer bothered him. Even though he had done horrible things to other, living people, and scattered the rotting gray matter of more than a few zombies to the wind he could no sleep for ten hours or more, if he could get away with it. Big Mack tried not to think about what that said about him.
Five days past the stop at Wal-Mart found the Jesters cruising down a sparse four lane highway, each way two lanes separated by a grass filled median. Big Mack was in the lead, with Bard cruising to his right, and Toga to his left. He had one hand on the bike, the other resting at his side. He could relax a bit when there were few cars left on the road. As they neared and overpass, Big Mack suddenly wished he had been more vigilant. A few feet from the overpass a heavy concrete block fell just in front of Big Mack’s bike. He swerved to avoid it, dropping the bike to one side with his leg underneath it, shredding the shit out of his leathers and jeans and leg as well as he slid to a stop.
Around Big Mack was pandemonium. He lay on his side, head swiveling to take in the details. Bard had been unmistakably hit by a falling block, he was still upright on his bike, blood pouring from a wound in the top of his head, obscuring his vision as he went flying by Big Mack, only to cross to far to the right and lose his balance when his bike shot up the steep incline at the edge of the road under the overpass.
No one else had been hit, but a few other Jesters had lost control, while the rest stopped. Viper had been cruising at the rear, and had managed to pull up well short of the overpass. He kicked his stand down and began to dismount his bike when his head exploded in a spray of blood and bone and brains. Big Mack pulled his leg from under his bike, looking up to the overpass where he saw a number of people with guns. One looked straight down and sighted him, but Big Mack was quick to his feet and dove under the overpass just as a bullet slammed into the spot in the road where