Rebel Radio by Boyd Craven III

Author:Boyd Craven III
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2015-08-06T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Z –

I bit my lip and held on tight as we got on the motorcycle. I was almost positive that the bikers would hear this monstrosity fire up in the quiet city. Hell, they were probably already coming back for it, but I didn’t make any of these words come out. I was on a Harley Davidson! I would have been more enthusiastic and excited if I wasn’t a bit worried. I was pretty sure Don was drunk, or close to it.

The bike firing up startled me. The noise and vibrations were a living thing, and it was all I could do to wrap my arms around his waist as he took off. Suddenly all my travel by foot seemed trivial. Once again I had a motorized form of travel. Miles passed in minutes as we weaved through the stalled out cars that hadn’t all been pushed to the sides of the roads by the military transporters.

We passed the safe house I’d been staying in and in a few more minutes, he was killing the ignition and letting us coast down a gentle road. I was impressed to be alive to say the least. I was almost expecting him to swerve and splatter me across a windshield in the worst case of GTA style. My stomach felt half exhilarated and nervous and the other half relieved. This time, he had saved me.

The bike stopped in front of an old Muffler Man that had probably been closed up when the EMP hit, judging by the broken windows and boarded door.

“We’re going to stash this,” Don told me.

“Cool,” was all that came out.

In truth I was relieved. We still weren’t safe yet, but getting this monster parked took my stress levels down to a more manageable level instead of the screaming memes. I looked around the garage for a moment and saw in the shadows of one bay the golf cart and trailer. Shaking my head at the empty trailer, but marveling at the sheer effort of will it had to have taken to unload the boxes of liquor and canned goods with a badly beaten body.

“So uh… you live here?” I asked finally.

“No, I just stash stuff here from time to time. My place is a little,” he paused as if considering his words carefully, “unconventional.”

“Oh. So it’s like another garage then?” I asked, out of curiosity more than anything else.

“Like I said…”

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