Walter Greatshell - Apocalypticon

The Xombie was much too quick. Before Sal could strike, it whirled at him, knocking him onto his back with the bicycle crushing his chest. Powerful blue arms snaked for his throat. As he tried to fend them off with the handlebars, he realized he was inadvertently twisting the Xombie's head-its neck was lodged between the prongs of the fork. In desperation he wrenched the handlebars all the way around and heard the creature's neck snap with a sickening, cartilaginous crack. The force of its fury weakened for an instant, long enough for him to kick it off him and pin it to the floor by the fork. "Help me!" he shouted.

"Here!" Derrick said, handing him a bike chain.

Are you kidding? As Sal whipped the thrashing thing, feeling like a circus lion-tamer, some of the other boys found the nerve to join in. Immediately it became a hyper-caffeinated, junk-food-fueled frenzy, all of them fighting each other to get a lick in. Tools were located and put to use-crowbars and tin snips and hacksaws. A bunch of old golf clubs turned up. In less than a minute, the Xombie was chopped and pounded to quivering purple hamburger, its severed joints kicked around the room.

While this was going on, Sal had a moment to step back and wipe his brow. He knew they didn't have long-more of those things could show up any second. It was a miracle they hadn't already. He looked up at the row of used BMX bikes hanging from a rack. There were some okay ones there. Nothing as cherry as his custom Diamondback stumpjumper, but not bad. Choosing a metallic blue Trek, he took it down and checked the feel. It would have to do.

Wheeling the bike to the door, he said, "Guys. I'm going."

The others were shaky from their bloodlust, some puking, the rest shocked and not quite in their right minds. "What…?"

"Listen to me. You see that cross street out there-Transit? I'm gonna ride up that and make as much noise as I can. Give me a minute to draw them off, then you go the opposite way. Go fast, but stick together and don't stop for anything. I'll loop back around and meet you on the other side, where Transit meets Gano. On the map there's another highway underpass down there that we can use to get back to the docks."

"Say what?" They were sobering quickly, realizing what he was saying. "You gotta be-"

"I'm gone. Don't wait too long!"

Then he was out the door and riding hard. As he turned the corner, they heard him singing at the top of his lungs: "Riders of the storm!-Riders of the storm!-Into this world we're born!-Out of this world we're torn!-ner, na-nyer ner ner…"

"Damn," said Russell.

Kyle scoffed, astonished, "Boy be trippin'."

"Trippin' or not, he's clearing the way for us to get out this shithole. I ain't about to waste it." He grabbed a silver Peugeot mountain bike. "Move ass, all of you! Grab a bike and follow me!"

"Dog, where you think you goin'?"

"You heard what the man said: Gano Street! That's all I need to know-I been here before. Hurry up! Once I go, everybody else gotta be ready to follow, one after another like clockwork! We ain't slowin' down for nobody."

There was no shortage of bikes; in a few minutes all twenty-nine boys were poised to go, crushing into the doorway. Though the coast looked clear, no one wanted to be first. The Xombie was fresh in their minds.

"Fine. Everybody back the fuck up," Russell said. "If I'm taking point, I gotta have room for a running start, least be a movin' target."

As the others jockeyed for position behind him, a fight broke out: "No way, man!" "I ain't bringin' up the rear!" "Yeah, why don't you go last?"

"Hell, I'll go last." The squawk of Russell's strained throat shut them up. "Get in front, whichever one of you wants to be first. You, Freddy? Derrick? Come on up, dog-I'm savin' the best place for you. I already had one of them things on my neck, I'll let you have the next one. I'll gladly kick back at the end of the line, watch everybody else take the heat." Nobody moved. "We straight, then? A'ight, back up, motherfucker."

Kyle, who had been wavering between standing by his brother or defecting to the naysayers, now said, "Get back, fools!" As they cleared away, he gestured for silence, then cautiously opened the door and peeked both ways. Satisfied, he whispered, "Go."

Russell nodded and kicked off into the sunlight. As he raced across the street, he could still hear the receding echo of Sal's singing… and something else: a deep, rushing sound as of the wind through autumn leaves, comprised of rapid footsteps and ghastly massed voices. He shuddered, nerves wilting with horror. Don't let 'em catch you, man.

Kyle went next, flubbing his pedals as he jumped the curb, followed in quick succession by all the others. Getting their rhythm, they formed a ragged line, zipping unobstructed along the narrow side street. There were no dead cars here, only parked ones, and they made good speed. All that prevented them from going even faster was the incline-they were pedaling uphill. None of the boys had had any cardiovascular exercise in months, trapped on that submarine, and as they forced their bikes up the rise-emaciated bodies already starting to crash from the sugar binge-it became abundantly clear that they were in truly terrible shape. Their lungs were on fire, their wasted legs flimsy as rubber bands. Many of the boys had been athletes; it shocked and dismayed them to be so weak.

"Damn, man, I got no game," Kyle said, struggling to keep pace.

"Me either," Freddy Gonzales said. "Slow down, I am dying."

"Shut up, you guys!" Russell hissed back.

Turning to face forward again, Russell found himself staring into the face of an onrushing Xombie. It was a big woman with flaming red hair, her open mouth a black grotto that seemed big enough to swallow him and his bike whole. Heart exploding, he instinctively ducked, trying to swerve, but the thing hooked him around the neck, and they spun together in a horrible pas de deux before crashing to the ground.

Seeing Russell in trouble, Kyle made a flying leap from his bike, trying to knock the creature off his brother with a large crescent wrench. Freddy came next, with a claw hammer, followed one after another by the rest of the boys. Having so quickly dispatched the Xombie in the bike shop, they were now much more willing to jump in.

But no matter what they did, they couldn't seem to pry the hideous thing off Russell. Its body was practically fused to him, arms and legs wrapped whipcord tight around his limbs, mouth mashed against his face as it sucked the breath from his lungs. Worse, their mouths were joined together from within by a rootlike mass of flesh. The boys could hear the sickening, hopeless sound of Russell's rib cage crumpling.

"Cut it off him!" Kyle cried tearfully, but some of them were already doing that, dismembering it and hacking at the tough, slippery umbilical as best they could. They just weren't doing it fast enough-Russell's popping eyes were already glazed over, staring blankly through them. He had stopped struggling.

A sudden eruption sent the ring of boys scattering: "Look out!" someone screamed. "Heads up!" There was another Xombie in their midst. It was a boy about their own age, a feral thing still wearing a tattered Patriots shirt. Flying after them, it plucked Nate off his feet, taking the boy in a headlock and capering away with his thrashing body slung over its back. Several boys gave chase, but almost immediately two more Xombies appeared, striking like spiders at them as they left the main group. In an instant, Rick and Carlos were down.

Now things dissolved into panicky confusion, people tripping over bikes trying to escape. How could they fight these things and watch their own backs at the same time? Russell was beyond saving; Kyle miserably knew that unless they did something fast, his own brother would bounce back as a demonic Xombie. So would the other three boys, meaning the number of unstoppable monsters they had to deal with would effectively double. Meanwhile, more Exes were popping out of the woodwork like cockroaches. Roy Almeida was hit as he watched, limbs flailing. Kyle was stunned to be so suddenly helpless and alone-there was no one in charge! Without Russell or even that goody-goody Sal, he felt completely lost.