Zombies VS Bikers by Gnarly Bart

Author:Gnarly, Bart [Gnarly, Bart]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-11-20T08:00:00+00:00

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A hundred miles away from Covington Bard was still making his way steadily south along the highway. A mass of well over eight thousand zombies walked with him, shuffling and bumping into one another, devouring any living thing that they came across. They resembled a parade from hell. Thousands of feet, rising and falling, all of them on a collision course with the small sea side town where humanity’s last hope had gathered.

In Covington they were just days from leaving, and the ocean was teaming with boats. Personal yachts, small speedboats, more than one giant military ship. Supplies were being loaded now non stop, and Big Mack was pulled from wall duty to help with this task. He worked from sun up to sun down, and then for a few hours more, stocking each ship with food, weapons, and medicine. It was a daunting job and the various stockpiles of goods around town barely look like they had a dent in them.

A week later Covington was just two days out from their evacuation. Big Mack found himself on the deck of a persona yacht, looking out toward the ocean. A little over a hundred boats had arrived, and Covington was currently housing around five thousand people. Five thousand was relatively nothing, but they had all been enclosed in the six square blocks the early Covington settlers had managed to wall off, and tensions were high, and fistfights were a common occurrence. Big Mack watched smaller boats run out to the boats too large to dock so close to the shore, each one loaded down with supplies. It seemed to Big Mack that they would be able to stay at sea for years, if not a full decade.

From behind him came the sound of a trumpet, picked up by another horn, and then another. Big Mack new every few sentries on the wall had a trumpet or similar instrument. As more and more joined the call Big Mack understood it could only mean one thing, trouble. Big Mack spun around and leapt onto the dock, and then headed through the streets to the main gate.

The biker ran up makeshift stairs leading to the top of the ten foot high wall, pulling his handgun from his waistband as he did so. The view from the top of the wall caught Big Mack’s next breath in his own throat. His heart skipped a beat, maybe two, maybe a hundred. Spilling up and over the small crest, heading straight for the wall were hundreds of zombies. As Big Mack watched hundreds turned into thousands, and still they came. The top of the wall was alive with gun fire, bullet whizzing through the air and finding the rotting flesh of their targets, but for every zombie that was downed three appeared to take their place. Big Mack came to and pointed his own weapon, beginning to pick off the ghouls nearest the wall.

This tact was apparently shared by everyone else on the front of the wall, but still the zombies reached the gate and the wall surrounding it.

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