Riders of the Apocalypse (Book 3): Eat Asphalt Read online

  EAT ASPHALT

  RIDERS OF THE APOCALYPSE, BOOK 3

  ALEX WESTMORE

  CONTENTS

  Copyright

  A Free Book for You

  Eat Asphalt

  More from Alex Westmore

  About the Author

  Bonus Offer

  © 2016, BROAD WINGED BOOKS

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only; it may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or the author has used them fictitiously.

  Editor: Megan Harris

  Cover & Graphics Designer: Mallory Rock

  Proofreader: Falcon Storm

  BROAD WINGED BOOKS

  PO BOX 72

  BRIGHTON, MI 48116

  So you’ve just scored your very own copy of Eat Asphalt. Awesome! Hey, you know what’s even more awesome? I want to give you a present as my way of saying thanks for checking me out. Yes, indeed, I’ve written a free short story just for my newsletter subscribers. You can grab your free copy at www.AlexWestmore.net/Newsletter. Happy travels!

  ALEX

  EAT ASPHALT

  “Heads up people, we’ve got company,” Roper announced, shielding her eyes from the bright Texas sun. A drop of perspiration slid down her spine as she squinted into the harsh glare of the sun. The cracked earth longed for rain that seldom fell. “Three, no, make that four vehicles at two o’clock.” Roper kept her eyes on the road as she reached for the binoculars at her feet.

  Life—any life—tended to be far more dangerous than the man eaters were. They’d found that out the hard way.

  Dallas clenched the wheel of the Fuchs military carrier, her palms wet with perspiration. They hadn’t seen any living humans since they left Angola State Prison the day before. There were plenty of moaning, shuffling undead around, but not one living person.

  Now this?

  Dallas wiped her hands on her worn jeans. People made her nervous. “Churchill?”

  “I’m on it, Boss,” Churchill climbed to the machine gun turret on top of the Fuchs—their home away from home.

  Fully amphibious, the Beast, as it had been christened, had kept them alive when the virus first broke out over a year ago, and so far, was the best offensive weapon they had against zombies and man alike.

  The steel hull of the Beast had protected them before and Dallas prayed it would once again. They had shed blood before to keep the Beast and Dallas hoped they wouldn’t have to again. Ever since the outlaws and marauders started taking over, it was every man for himself and that made every man dangerous.

  “Well?” she asked, not taking her eyes from the road. The hackles on the back

  of her neck rose.

  “Shit.”

  Dallas wiped away the beads of perspiration gathered along her hairline. “What is it?”

  Roper lowered her binoculars. “Stop for a second.”

  Dallas slowed the Beast to a stop. Dust from the road wafted past the window. “I don’t like this,” she said, glancing into the mirror. Behind them was a bus full of the rest of their people. The bus, while full of shooters, didn’t have the kind of protection they had in the Fuchs.

  “Yeah, a welcoming party is never a good thing.” Roper handed Dallas the binoculars. “They’ve formed a reception line and it doesn’t look too friendly.”

  Dallas peered through the lenses for a moment and reported what she saw. “Military Jeeps. No one is getting out. They are just idling there. Waiting.”

  “Recon?” Einstein asked from the back of the vehicle. At seventeen, his voice had finally stopped cracking and he sounded more like a young man now than a young boy. Of course, a year of living through a zombie apocalypse would age anyone. “That’s my guess. They knew we were coming.” He held his hand out for the binoculars.

  Dallas handed him the binoculars. She, Roper and Einstein had been together since the very beginning, day one, and had it not been for his intelligence and knowledge of zombie lore gleaned from years of computer games and Walking Dead novels, they’d have been eaten or killed like the rest.

  But they’d made it.

  They’d made it only to watch as the rest of the world not only turned their backs on the United States, but formed a security ring around the large nation in an effort to prevent the virus or those infected from escaping and threatening all of mankind.

  Einstein studied the vehicles through the binoculars. “Roper’s right. They’re ready for us. Looks like we’re probably going to have to fight for the Beast again,” he said.

  “Feels like it may be a trap.” Dallas reached over and squeezed Roper’s hand. “You want to run back and tell the bus what’s going on?”

  Roper kissed Dallas’s hand before she grabbed her rifle and machete and hopped out of the Fuchs. “Don’t go anywhere without me.”

  “Not now, lover. Not ever.” Dallas leaned back in her seat and yelled up the ladder.

  “You see movement while she’s out there, Church, shoot first, ask later.”

  “Roger that,” he called in his deep baritone voice. “Finger on the trigger, Boss.”

  Boss.

  Dallas had been their group’s leader now for over a year. She’d seen more death in that year than she would in a hundred lifetimes. Every day since that first moment she saw people eating other people had been a struggle. Every day, there was a new threat, it seemed, or a new danger to face. At first, it came from the zombies who gathered to eat human flesh. Then, they had to fight marauders and those mobs of humans who had devolved into the lowest common denominator. Finally, there was what was left of the military. No one could be trusted, and there were always dangers lurking around every corner.

  This, she feared, was just another in a long string of dangers to come.

  “Military vehicles, but not military personnel,” Einstein said. He handed the binoculars back to Dallas, who put them to her eyes once more. “No uniforms. Weapons are mix and match.”

  “Good catch, Kid. Looks like they’re waiting for our move.”

  “Bogeys behind us, Boss,” Churchill yelled.

  The Beast’s passengers turned to look out the back windows.

  Half a dozen undead hobbled out from a broken down RV. It looked like they were a family that had only recently been turned. Their clothes did not bear the age of time or the bloodstains of a long death.

  Roper took care of the first one with a machete to the head. As she pulled the machete free, the other five walked past her as if she wasn’t there. The food they wanted was on the bus behind the Fuchs—the bus carrying people who were not immune to the virus as Roper was.

  “We got it,” came a voice from a man on top of the bus.

  Roper heard the familiar thwup, thwup, thwup as arrows and crossbow bolts took out the remaining zombie family.

  “Nice shooting, Hunter,” Roper called to the bowman sitting on top of the bus.

  Hunter saluted and notched another arrow, his shoulder length blonde hair resting gently on his shoulders. “They look fresh from up here.”

  Roper stared down at the truly dead zombie. “They are.”

  “Fresh ones mean more to follow, Roper. Why we stopped?�
�

  The accordion doors of the bus opened to reveal a short young woman sitting in the driver’s seat. She sported the remnants of a pink Mohawk, leather pants, and a black leather vest with an array of knives attached. She stood all of 5’4” but her attitude was twice the size.

  “Everything okay up there?” Zoe asked.

  “Not sure. Four vehicles waiting for us to make a move. My guess is we’re gonna go up and take a look- see. Something about the way they’re just waiting there doesn’t feel right. You guys be ready for anything and stay back here until you get the all clear.”

  Zoe nodded. “Ten-four. Hop to everybody. You heard the lady. Stay frosty.”

  Everyone on the bus sprang into action. They locked and loaded and waited for their orders.

  “We’re good to go, Rope.”

  Roper looked over her shoulder at Hunter and his father, Fletcher. They worked together to pull the arrows out of the now truly dead zombies, wiping the black gore on the zombie’s clothes before putting arrows and bolts back in their quivers.

  Roper wiped the sweat from her forehead. “Stay on your toes, Zoe, and keep everyone sharp. With possible hostiles ahead and nasties all around us, I don’t want to lose any ZB’s.”

  A ZB was their term for Zombie Bait, or heterosexual. One month into the epidemic, Dallas and Roper had discovered that the virus had been caused by an American military bioweapon gone wrong. Everyone bitten or scratched by a man eater would then have the virus and be turned.

  Everyone except gays.

  In the country’s epidemic, Dallas and Roper discovered homosexuality was encoded in our DNA, and as such, they were never attacked by the zombies.

  “We aren’t losing any ZBs on my watch,” Zoe said, as she looked back at the nineteen survivors on the bus. They held up their weapons to show they were ready and unafraid.

  Roper grinned, even as she heard another thwup and the sound of a body hitting the ground. “Stay on your toes, fellas. I’ll keep you posted and let you know what our next move is.” Roper went back to the Fuchs, where the tension was palpable. “What is it?” Roper asked as she took her seat.

  Dallas adjusted her ponytail. “They’re just sitting there. Waiting.”

  “And?”

  She shrugged. “And that’s their message. They’re challenging us to come to them.”

  Roper turned to Einstein. “What’s your take on this, kid? You think they want the Beast?”

  His nod was almost imperceptible. “They want something, that’s for sure.”

  Dallas handed the binoculars to her. “Given the mix and match of their rides, it looks like they collect vehicles. So, yeah, I’m thinking they want our baby.”

  Roper shook her head. “Well, they aren’t getting this one.”

  “We got movement ahead,” Churchill yelled down.

  No sooner had Churchill warned them than the Jeeps inched toward them, men shooting from the windows. Bullets pinged all over the Fuchs, with no damage. Even armor piercing ammo couldn’t damage her hull.

  “Hold your fire!” Dallas yelled. “Get the bus out of here.”

  “Roger that.” Roper jumped up and ran to the back of the Fuchs as the back ramp lowered. Once it hit the ground, she was waving and yelling at Zoe. “Go! Go! Go!”

  Zoe jammed the bus into reverse and floored it. Hunter flew forward. Arrows tumbled from the quivers hanging from his body. He hit the windshield, but his rope tether kept him from falling any further. Hunter scrambled back to the roof with the help of his father who was still clutching his crossbow.

  Roper was back in the Fuchs the instant the bus started backwards. “We have to protect the bus.”

  Dallas pulled up the Fuchs’s ramp just as the Jeeps surrounded them. Bullets continued to bounce off the Beast as Churchill slid down the ladder and stared at Zoe’s hasty retreat.

  “What the fuck?” he said. “Why these assholes shooting at us?”

  “Where’s the bus?” Dallas asked, as she inched the Beast forward. The nose of the Fuchs was now only a few yards from the military vehicles.

  “She booked out of here,” Roper said. She watched the bus through the small window on the back of the ramp as it disappeared out of sight. “She’s doing a helluva job, too.”

  “I hope she escapes them,” a young girl named Cassie replied. “We’re surrounded, aren’t we?”

  The pinging of bullets stopped. An eerie silence filled the air for a few moments, followed by the high- pitched sound of a bullhorn firing up.

  “Come out with your hands up and no one will be harmed. We are safe. We have food, water, and shelter. We do not wish to harm you. I repeat, we do not wish to harm you.”

  “Right. That’s why they were shooting at us,” Einstein said.

  “Arms ready, people.”

  The crew prepared their weapons. Roper nodded to them and said, “Stay calm. Nobody lose your head.”

  Dallas wiped her brow again before gripping the wheel. “I’m going to ram them—see if they’ll back off. Everyone hang on.” Dallas waited a moment, the air thick with anticipation and anxiety. She laid on the gas pedal. The Fuchs crashed into the Jeep directly in front of them and pushed it to the side, revealing what lurked behind the Jeeps.

  “Oh, fuck me.” Dallas slammed on the brakes. Everyone grabbed the nearest thing to hang on to so they didn’t fall into the cab.

  Rolling toward them like a lumbering turtle came a green and brown tank, its cannon aimed straight at them.

  “Holy shit,” Roper said. “A tank.”

  The bullhorn came back to life. “Come out now and live. Stay inside and you’ll be blown to bits. We don’t want to harm you or your vehicle.”

  Dallas and Roper exchanged glances.

  “Like hell.,” he said.

  “We have to get out,” Dallas said. “I don’t think we can withstand a round from a goddamned tank. Leave your weapons inside.”

  “We leave our weapons and we’re screwed,” Churchill said.

  Dallas nodded. “I know. They got us by the short hairs, Church. We stay in here and we’re screwed, too.” As she pressed the ramp button, Dallas grabbed Roper’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Keep your head, baby.”

  “You do the same.”

  As the ramp lowered, Dallas addressed her small cadre. “Everyone keep calm. Cool heads. They obviously want the Beast. Maybe we can convince them otherwise.”

  “Without weapons?”

  Dallas shrugged. “Don’t have much choice, now, do we? We’re not dying for the Beast. Our first goal is to stay alive. We’ve fought for the Beast before, but we can’t outgun a tank. Even if we could, the damage we would sustain might make her useless anyway. Don’t be afraid. I’ll do the talking and see if we can’t find a way out of this…whatever this is.”

  “And you’re certain we should leave our weapons?”

  Dallas and Roper both nodded. “I’d rather not give anyone a reason to shoot at us.”

  Once they were out of the Fuchs, a big bellied man wearing a camouflage hunting vest and carrying an M-16 rifle climbed out of the first Jeep. “Nice ride ya got there.”

  No one said anything.

  “Where ya’ll from?”

  Again, nothing.

  “Now, there’s no reason to be rude or disrespectful.” He motioned once with his hand, and a half dozen more rifles pointed at the group. “You in charge here?” he asked Churchill, walking in front of him and standing with his arms akimbo.

  Churchill had been a baker before the epidemic. His massive forearms and large hands were ill- proportioned with the rest of his body, but he was an imposing figure nonetheless, and in the post man eater world, might have been mistaken for the leader of any group.

  “I am,” he said, as he gave a warning look at Dallas.

  “Churchill—” Dallas started toward him.

  “Trust me,” he said under his breath before turning back to Big Belly. “You’re not plannin’ on leavin’ us out here without
weapons, are you?”

  Big Belly frowned. “We’re not leaving you out here at all, son. We’ve got a safe section in the warehouse district with more than enough food to share, beds to lay your head, and best of all, safety. Almost five hundred of us live there. If you folks would just hop in the back at that transport over there, we’ll take you to it. Give you some supper. Tell you about our plans and what we’re doing.”

  Roper stood closer to Dallas, their hands barely touching. “No,” she whispered. “I don’t like it.”

  Dallas gave her hand a quick squeeze. “I know.”

  “We wouldn’t want to be rude,” Churchill said, “seein’ as you’re pointin’ rifles at us and all. You aren’t leavin’ us much of a choice.”

  “Purely precautionary, Churchill, is it? As in the great Winston? Surely you understand our position, what with marauders and bandits lootin’ and all.” He motioned with his rifle for them to get in the truck. “We don’t know who you are or what you want, so we tend to err on the side of caution. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Stay together,” Dallas said under her breath. “Nobody be a hero. Stay calm. We’re going to be okay. Trust me. We are going to be fine.”

  As they climbed into the truck, one of the other Jeeps sped off in the direction of the bus. “Oh shit,” Dallas muttered. “I hope Zoe can get everyone to safety.”

  “What are we gonna do?” Einstein asked, sidling up next to her.

  “Do? Nothing we can do except wait this out. See where it goes.”

  “I don’t know where this shit is going,” Roper grumbled, “but I hope these bubbas go to hell on the A train.”

  Zoe and Ferdie left the bus on a side road and made their way to an outcropping of boulders just in time to see the Fuchs pull forward.

  “Jesus Christ, is that a fucking tank?” Ferdie asked, squinting into the midday sun. His corkscrew curls caught the sunlight like a dream catcher.

  “Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. Come on.” Zoe took off toward the bus, never looking to see if Ferdie was behind her. She yelled for everyone to get out of the bus. “Get off the bus! Take off. Breeders stay with a CGI. Plan B! Move out!”