Zombies VS Bikers

wet smack and Big Mack screamed, arching his back and directing his fury at the men he knew were still above him.
“They’re going to wait us out,” Bard said an hour after the attack, after the Jesters had waited for each body that could reanimate to do so and then working together to put them back down.
“We don’t know what they have up there,” Toga said. “They might not have food. We have some, they may come here to take it, but we’ve got a lot of guns. Of course, they’ll want that too.”
“What the fuck happened?” Willy said, sitting up. The Dead jesters had patched up their friend the best that they could, but he had remained unconscious for the last hour.
“We’re in bad shape,” Big Mack told him.
“Where is everyone?” Willy asked.
“Dead, except for us,” Bard answered.
“Who?”
“Assholes.” answered Big Mack. “They’re still above us, were betting. We’re going to make sure they regret fucking with the Dead Jesters.”
Big Mack and his three friends sat together under the overpass, guns in their hands, two facing each way to keep an eye out for anyone foolish enough to come down after them, but no one tried to. The afternoon sun fell, splashing brilliant oranges across the sky that faded to purple as it dipped under the horizon.
“They may come in the night, and we’d have a pretty damn hard time seeing them,” Bard said suddenly, after hours of silence.
“You’re right,” Big Mack agreed.
“What can we do?” Toga asked.
“We can run for it,” Bard replied. “Is everyone’s bike working?”
“Mine isn’t under here,” Willy said. “But I think its running.”
“That don’t do us no damn good,” Big Mack said.
“We need a way to get their attention off us, maybe going the other way,” Bard said.
“We could rig my bike to go, and it would stay upright cause of the side car,” Toga said.
“Yeah, but we’d lose the sidecar as storage,” Big Mack said.
“It doesn’t matter, I think we got to try,” Bard said, standing.
The sky was a dark and inky black when the Jesters were ready to attempt their escape. As much of their supplies as possible had been taken from the sidecar and distributed amongst Big Mack’s and Bard’s bike, and they had come up with a way to keep Toga’s bike revving with a length of rope tied tightly around the handlebar and anchored to the bike itself. Once they started the bike, it should continue rolling until it hits something.
“Alright, remember Florida is straight on down this highway, and we got to be close, if we get separated somehow. Just stay on this road, get into Florida. Hell, Covington seems like it’s basically a straight shot down too, if the atlas is to be believed. Don’t stop for anything,” Big Mack said as he straddled his bike. Bard, who had his beloved guitar strapped to his back once more climbed onto his own bike. Willy was on Double D’s bike, which had rolled just far enough to get under the overpass when she was yanked off it by her attackers. Toga was going to set his bike in motion going north on the highway, and then hop onto the hog behind Willy, where the Jesters would fly southward.
“Okay, get ‘em running,” Big Mack said, and three bikes came roaring to life, sounding like wild animals on the hunt. “Go Toga!” Big Mack yelled, and Toga kicked his bike to life and it shot off like they had planned. He turned and jumped up behind Willy just as the man hit the throttle, sending the bike forward while above them three shots rang out, targeting Toga’s unmanned bike.
Big Mack was in the lead, with Bard a foot to his left and three inches behind him. “Go, go, go, go,” Big Mack was saying to himself, barely audible over the roar of the engines. He could just hear the booming of the guns coming from the overpass, which was rapidly being left behind. They were going to make it, Big Mack allowed himself to breathe as he neared a bend in the road that would put them out of sight of the shooters.
Bard felt a searing pain in his back, on the left side just under his shoulder blade. His bike swerved as he jerked forward, forced into such a motion by the impact of the bullet that spun through his flesh and pierced his heart before exploding outwards from his chest, bathing his bike in his blood. The bike fell and Bard along with it. He was dead before he slid to a stop on the pavement face first.
“No!” Big Mack yelled as his friend went down, but he didn’t dare stop. He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw Willy and Toga still hot on his tail, and then Big Mack was around the curve, and the other two men with him, but he had left his best friend to die. Big Mack didn’t feel comfortable stopping until they had ridden for what he thought would easily be an hour. When they finally did though he was still furious, the shock and pain of losing Bard had seemed to be chasing after him while he sped on his bike, but here, standing on the side of the highway under the large sign that said Welcome To Florida, it caught up with him, and his fists became miniature wrecking balls and he pounded them into the sign until blood ran between his fingers from split flesh and Willy and Toga both pulled him away.
“Fuck!” Big Mack yelled, over and over again, up at the sky, over towards the trees, turning on his two remaining friends and yelling it at them. Once they were sure the big man was done busting his knuckles they busied themselves digging cans of beans and a can opener from DD’s saddlebags, and let Big Mack work through his grief in his own way. Eventually he quit yelling and came to join them, sitting on