Free Apocalypse Aftermath by David Rogers

us.  You ain’t.”
    “You ain’t worried about them bringing zombie plague in?”
    “They know better.  And I know them.”
    “At least give us a ride.” one of the women in the group said.  “We’ve got kids with us.”  She had a pair of children by the hands; the oldest couldn’t have been more than eight or nine.
    “We got kids in here too.  That one won’t wash.  We busy staying alive.”
    “You’ve got to be kidding.”
    “Longer you stand around arguing, longer it gonna take you to get under cover.” Bobo pointed out, not entirely unreasonably in Darryl’s opinion.  The houses on the other side of the lake were all vacant by now, and those were only ten or fifteen minutes’ walk from the clubhouse.  There was even a car parked in front of one of them, assuming someone in the group knew as much about stealing as EZ did.
    Darryl was in complete agreement with Bobo on a number of things, least of which was Dogz first.  It wasn’t that he didn’t care about others, but the bikers were already desperately short on room for themselves and what of their families and girlfriends they’d been able to gather before things went from worse to apocalypse.  And they were working hard to gather food for that many without needing to feed every straggler that wandered by.
    “You’re really not going to help us even a little?”
    Bobo shook his head.  “We ain’t bothering you, don’t bother us.  Too much going on for charity to be nothing but a risk.”
    One of the men, one who’d been silent during the back and forth, shifted.  Darryl’s eyes flicked to him automatically, then he frowned.  The man had a pistol stuck in his belt.  So did two others in the group.  Something about the one moving lit his instincts off, and Darryl started to bring the shotgun down off his shoulder.
    The man’s hand closed around the gun and brought it up and around, holding it and turning to face Darryl like he knew what he was doing with it.  Darryl got his shotgun down and pointed vaguely in the direction of the group with both hands on the weapon, but not before the pistol was centered on him.  The pistol wasn’t that large, but looking at it pointed straight at him made it seem a lot larger.
    Darryl froze, not sure if continuing to bring the shotgun up to a proper aiming position against his shoulder would provoke the man enough to fire.   He was kicking himself for not being more ready for something like this, but it was a distant voice at the moment.  All he could think about was getting shot.
    “All we’re asking for at this point is a ride.” the man said loudly.  “That’s not asking for much, especially considering what’s going on.  Now there’s two trucks here, and we’ll all fit in the back.  If there’s a town five miles from here, it won’t take long for your guys to get us there and be back.”
    “You done been told no, and now you’re threatening my man.” Bobo said, his tone trading its edge of dangerous patience for just plain danger.
    “You, get in the truck and get ready to drive us.” the man said, jerking the pistol slightly at Darryl.
    Before Darryl could begin to formulate a response, the man’s head abruptly shattered in unison with a booming gunshot that echoed across the landscape.   The bloody spray of bone and brain erupting from the side of the man’s skull was one of those frozen moments in time that he knew would stick with him for a while.
    Darryl flinched as the man’s hand on the pistol jerked and started dropping, and Darryl dropped into a crouch, finally getting the shotgun into position where he had a chance to put it properly on target.  The man with the pistol was collapsing, his head a shattered ruin that was barely recognizable as a person.  People were screaming and yelling.
    “Oh my God!”
    “John!”
    “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!”
    “Drop them guns!”
    A series of gunshots cut through all the noise.  Darryl saw Bobo with his