Road's End: Apocalypse Riders by Britten Thorne Read Free Book Online Page B

were you before?" he asked.
    I’d been lost in my thoughts, and his question surprised me so much that I actually answered. "A teacher."
    He chuckled. "Little kids?"
    "Yeah. I did a year of 1st grade and a year of kindergarten before... you know. Why?"
    He shrugged. "Just curious. When you were out of it, you were mumbling about glue sticks and lunch boxes."
    I stared at my feet. I didn't want to think about those kids, that time. Not ever again. "I was there," I whispered. "When it started."
    He reached out and took my wrists in his hand. He tugged on the end, loosening the knot. "What happened?"
    "They locked us down for three days. The parents tried to storm the doors. They were the first real herd of the dead. An enraged mob, already in a violent frenzy... Half of them had been killed and turned before anyone even realized anything was wrong with them."
    The twine fell away. My wrists were raw and sore, and he rubbed them gently, soothing away some of the discomfort.
    "I was there when the kids started turning."
    He released a breath as if he'd been holding it and squeezed both my hands tight. "I was on the highway with my brothers when our town turned. We were away when it started, off at some chapter meeting, I don't even remember. We tried to rush back. We could see the fires from the road."
    I could picture it. Him on his bike, surrounded by other bikers, Van, Preacher, watching the billowing smoke from afar and being helpless to stop it. Being unable to save anyone because it was already too late. I squeezed his hands back.
    "Why the bird?" I asked. "The mark. Is it ‘cause your buddies called you Lark?"
    He smirked. “You’ll laugh.”
    “I won’t.”
    “It’s my road name. The guys used to tease me because I could sing well.”
    I didn’t laugh, but I did sputter. “Sing?” I couldn’t even begin to picture it.
    “Yeah. Like playing a guitar and doing cover songs at bars. For pretty girls. Holidays.”
    I bit back an impulse to ask him to sing me something. I’d opened up more doors that morning than I wanted to already. I didn’t need him to think I was trying to flirt or anything silly like that.
    "Come on." We took a quick inventory of his bags. One held our weapons and other supplies. I asked him why he wasn’t wearing his gun, and it turned out he’d taken a second pistol from the man he’d shot. Another bag held clothes. The third held food - our last three cans. We would need to scavenge very soon.
    “Today,” he said. We shared one of the cans - some sad and soggy green beans - before he climbed onto the back of his bike. My wrists were still untied. I rubbed them as I considered what this meant. What my options were.
    “Get on,” he grunted. And I did. The further we got from the city, the more afraid I was of being alone. If I can find a vehicle, or a bike, or something to help me travel faster, then I’ll go. I knew I was fooling myself. Getting on the back of that bike voluntarily was the first step towards giving up. Giving in. There just aren’t any good options.
    We’d barely gone a few miles before he stopped. We were on a dirt road through a sparse forest. Trees lined the road, but they were spaced far apart. “What is it?” I asked.
    “The dead.” He pointed. There, a corpse shambled up the road ahead of us. It had heard us and was now slowly heading in our direction.
    “It’s just one,” I said, “Give me my knives and I’ll take care of it.” Stabbing it in the brain was one way to kill them, but it had to be done right. A simply knife to the gray matter wasn’t quite enough. You had to dislodge or destroy the brain stem. I preferred burning the things myself. Easier.
    “He could just be preceding the herd.” I squinted up the road. No movement. But Adam was right.
    Still, this one would have to bite the dust. I turned and pulled my knives from his bag. “Josie…”
    “If there’s more out there, we don’t want to shoot this one and attract their