Dallas nodded solemnly as she watched her team decimate the horde of man eaters prowling the base of the Seattle Space Needle. They were good. Very good. Well-trained. Fast. Efficient. Her eight zombie killers were the best she'd ever seen. With swords, crossbows, bats, and the occasional gun, they could tear through a horde like the proverbial hot knife. She was always confident they could clear an area without loss, but not so confident that she would take unnecessary risks...

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Francis Drake slowly surveyed the crew surrounding his men as he calculated the slim chances of success. Then he motioned for his men to keep their swords up. 

"Parley it is." Grace grinned. "Yer not as dumb as ya look, Francis. Come aboard. Alone." 

His men muttered loudly, and Drake held up his hand. 

"Fine. I'll come alone... on one condition." 

"And that is?"

"That you stop calling me Francis."

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I landed in the dry, almost oppressive heat of Africa with a suitcase full of broken dreams and unkept promises. That battered suitcase was getting heavier by the minute as I stood there sweating to the oldies while waiting for a Mrs. Westfield to arrive to take me to the village co-op I'd only recently volunteered to help.

Actually, volunteer isn't the right word. It makes me sound magnanimous or philanthropic, which isn't really the case. I wish it were, but I've never really been one to donate anything more than the almighty dollar. This was more of an emotional safe house for me as I navigated through the shark-infested waters of a divorce court bent on making sure I walked away with pennies in my pocket and my self-esteem in the gutter.

I needed some place to clear my head - some place other than the ruins of a carefully constructed life that had succumbed to the wrecking ball of infidelity. I could have escaped to New York, Chicago, or even Seattle, but our very large country was suddenly not big enough for me and my pain to share with my disloyal husband, who had notions of me exiting our marriage with just the clothes on my back...if even that.

What a total rat turd.

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Standing taller than almost any man Quinn had ever met, red hair flowing about her like a lion's mane, sizing Quinn up with eyes that looked like they were piercing her soul, Grace O'Malley was everything Quinn had heard about and more. She had a commanding presence that made you know that she was royalty, that she was a leader, that she demanded your respect or your head. She was, in a word, self-possessed, and Quinn hadn't been at all certain if gaining access to the ship was the right thing to do.

She'd nearly fainted that first day when Grace O'Malley tilted her head this way and that before asking Quinn if she'd been weaned yet. She made a remark about Quinn's soft skin and asked if she'd ever shaved. Grace had eyes like a hawk, and when they locked onto Quinn's face, she felt as if this woman was seeing right through her.

But Quinn had needed this ship. She had needed the likes of this pirate queen who could get her where she needed to go without fear of being molested or badgered by men.

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Escaping a broken heart isn't easy. Putting the pieces back together is even harder.

When Harper finds her husband in bed with another woman, she flies as far away from her crumbling life as she can. Although she signs up to volunteer for a village co-op in Egypt, a mishap lands her instead in the untamed wilds of South Africa. With new dangers lurking around every corner, Harper’s heart may not be the only thing that ends up broken, burned, and bruised.

She soon finds companionship in the company of a baby elephant who needs rescuing even more desperately than she does. But the unforgiving landscape and determined poachers could mean risking her own life to secure a better one for this new friend. Will Harper find a way to move to the rhythm of Africa? Or will this prove to be yet another off-beat adventure in her uncoordinated life?

And, most of all, why do her insides twirl whenever Sam draws near? For Harper, the answer could mean the difference between life and death, love or loneliness.

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Kindle World is a great place to get noticed...to get in the game...to get on the board.

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Well, my Kindle World is the first ever LGBTQ world based on my pirate series, and here's how it works:

You take my characters and you put them in your story. The story does not have to be pirates or even historical.

When you join the world, Amazon contracts with you, they sell your story, and if you get enough sales and get noticed, you might be offered your own world!

You have nothing to lose. You can write a story that is 2500 words or 85,000. Amazon sends a contract, you sign it, you submit your story with cover, and then you get people to not only buy your story, but perhaps write in it as well.

You story does NOT have to be gay. If you follow the link, you'll see just how different some of the stories are. Put them on the moon. Make them be dinosaurs. There is no limit to what you can do. Best of all...you get paid! Not only that, there is a 250 buck bonus for having your story ready for the June launch.

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Kindle World is a great place to get noticed...to get in the game...to get on the board.

What is it?

Well, my Kindle World is the first ever LGBTQ world based on my pirate series, and here's how it works:

You take my characters and you put them in your story. The story does not have to be pirates or even historical.

When you join the world, Amazon contracts with you, they sell your story, and if you get enough sales and get noticed, you might be offered your own world!

You have nothing to lose. You can write a story that is 2500 words or 85,000. Amazon sends a contract, you sign it, you submit your story with cover, and then you get people to not only buy your story, but perhaps write in it as well.

You story does NOT have to be gay. If you follow the link, you'll see just how different some of the stories are. Put them on the moon. Make them be dinosaurs. There is no limit to what you can do. Best of all...you get paid! Not only that, there is a 250 buck bonus for having your story ready for the June launch.

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Kindle World is a great place to get noticed...to get in the game...to get on the board.

What is it?

Well, my Kindle World is the first ever LGBTQ world based on my pirate series, and here's how it works:

You take my characters and you put them in your story. The story does not have to be pirates or even historical. 

When you join the world, Amazon contracts with you, they sell your story, and if you get enough sales and get noticed, you might be offered your own world!

You have nothing to lose. You can write a story that is 2500 words or 85,000. Amazon sends a contract, you sign it, you submit your story with cover, and then you get people to not only buy your story, but perhaps write in it as well. 

You story does NOT have to be gay. If you follow the link, you'll see just how different some of the stories are. Put them on the moon. Make them be dinosaurs. There is no limit to what you can do. Best of all...you get paid! Not only that, there is a 250 buck bonus for having your story ready for the June launch.

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Demons are nothing at all like we imagine.

They seldom sport horns or spiked tails, no cloven hooves or red skin.

They come in all shapes and sizes, and aren’t anything like Hollywood portrays them. Hollywood casting agents erroneously cast demons as some sort of evil specters or dark spirits lurking in the shadows seeking retribution or revenge. They connect them to Satan or some other demonic leader as if they were the antitheses to angels.

But Hollywood seldom gets the supernatural world correct when it insists on offering up a set of fangs or a pair of claws. For added spookiness, there’s often a trench coat or dark glasses added.

Of late, Hollywood demons are Japanese girls with wet, stringy hair who hide in the dark to creep us out with their open mouths and scary sounds. They are frequently characterized as men wearing masks or mysterious revenants who need to feed in order to survive.

Outside of the Hollywood caricature of the evil spawns, demons can be either spiritual or corporeal. They can be violent or just plain annoying. They may be after a certain individual, or trailing anyone who walks into their path. Demons are young and old, adept and clumsy, smart and stupid. They can be many things and take on different forms. The only aspect of these insidious creatures Hollywood got right is that all demons have one thing in common:

They are evil.

Pure evil.

Evil personified means evil walking and talking as a human being. Hitler, Manson, Jeffrey Dahmer, and Jim Jones held the kind of evil in their hands that only a true demon possesses. People who shoot at school children or hold young girls hostage for ten years are the worst kinds of demons.

And they are everywhere.

I know.

I’m a demon hunter.

Part of my therapy for my relatively new job involves journaling about my experiences, though I’m pretty certain my therapist believes I’m a insane. We are conditioned in this Christian society to believe in angels but not their counterparts. It’s okay if we believe in miracles, but not magic. It’s fine to get your past lives read as long as you don’t walk around telling everyone around about it. Some guy walking on water, or a chick chatting with a snake is acceptable, but anything else is blasphemy?

Hardly.

I’ve seen them. I’ve hunted them. I know what they look like and where they hang out.

My therapist probably believes I have delusions of grandeur at the very least, and have possibly broken with reality. At this point in my short life, anything is possible, I suppose.

Who knows? Maybe I have. I mean, given my life lately, it’s entirely possible.

I used to be a normal––wait, make that a semi-normal––college student. Semi-normal because I was raised by two oddballs whose last name was Silver.

My parents loved to laugh and were always doing the word jumbles together in the morning. They loved words. They loved pubs. They were goofy and silly together and one night after a party of some sort, they decided their children would be so much more interesting if they had thought-provoking names. So, they named my older sister Sterling, my younger sister Pure, and my brother Quick.

Me?

My name is Golden. Golden Silver. Get it? Oh, I’m sure they had lots of laughs over that one. Parents who give their kids crazy names set them up for all sorts of battles, and we’ve all had our fair share. I mean really. Quick? The girls in high school used to have a field day with that one. Poor guy.

I go by Denny for obvious reasons, though my mother and older sister prefer Golden. Any idea how mean kids can be with different names? Denny was just safer at school, but seldom used at home. Mom and Sterling believed calling me that would somehow bring a light into my world, but they were wrong. So very wrong.

Denny Silver is my name and I’m a demon hunter.

This is my story.

They were out there. Lurking.

Waiting.

Chomping their broken and rotting teeth in anticipation of a meal she would make sure they never tasted.

Ever.

Dallas stood at the foot of the bed and gazed at two people she had only recently met, but was now inexplicably willing to die for. Roper lay on her side with her back to Einstein, who, like most teenage boys, took up more space than he should. Incapable of finding the peace they seemed to so easily crawl into and fall asleep with, Dallas turned and stared out the window into the penetrating darkness...the calm before the bloodshed.

“Where are you?” she whispered under her breath. Her eyes scanned the dimly lit gravel road leading to a ranch house whose owners lay dead at the foot of the driveway, half-eaten by the once-human creatures roaming just outside the fence line.

Were they ever sated or could they just eat and eat, endlessly tearing meat from the bones of the living?

She shook her head. She knew the answer. These...things...these undead carnivores would never stop. They would never rest. They would be relentless in their pursuit of the living. Like a machine needing no fuel, the undead would roam the countryside forever until they ran out of food.

Food. Human meat.

Them.

It had become a daily battle to stay one step ahead of creatures that never tire. Dallas and her small gang of survivors would run then fight, fight then run, and struggle to win the daily...no, hourly melee to survive.

It was a war Dallas wasn’t certain they would win.

####

Two Weeks Ago

Dallas backed her 2003 Harley Ultra Glide out of the small garage beneath one of Berkeley’s infamous Victorians. The lavender and white-trimmed Painted Lady stood in stark contrast to the cherry red and white paint job of her beloved motorcycle with her name airbrushed across the tank in a stylized cursive.

“Going to the city?” Mrs. Horowitz asked, bending over to scoop up her cat, Vincent who had just tried to escape to the front yard. “Vinny could sure use some of that organic catnip you brought him last time.”

Dallas fastened her helmet and nodded, feeling like a bobble-head doll as she did. “Absolutely, Mrs. H., but I might be late. I heard the traffic on the bridge is worse than usual.”

The older woman stroked the gray and white cat and nodded. “No hurry, dear. We’ll be here when you get back.”

Dallas straddled the low-slung saddle and started the engine, the loud Reinhart pipes roaring to life like an angry bear. Pulling out onto the street, she felt the stresses of the day slowly melt away as the warm wind caressed her face.

As days went, this one had sucked. Royally. It had started out with her girlfriend of three years handing her the pink slip.

“We’re done,” Lisa had said as she carried two suitcases to the door. Dallas wondered if she was watching a show. Who really packed up suitcases when leaving their relationship and set them by the door? Who did that?

But Lisa wasn’t just leaving. She was peeling out. Burning rubber. Hitting the danger zone. She was...done. No discussion. No tears. No guilt or accusations. Not even an explanation. Just done.

“Did you feed the dog?”

Lisa whirled around, her eyes holding a mixture of anger and disbelief. “It’s so like you not to even fight for me, Dallas...for us.” Lisa shook her head sadly, defeated. “You never did know when to pull and when to push.”

And just like that, Lisa walked out of her house and out of her life.

Dallas doubted she would return. When Lisa was done, that was it. Whatever it was she’d wanted Dallas to fight for had died long before today.

So, it felt good to air it out on the short freeway ride to the Bay Bridge, even though the traffic was beginning to slow down to the inevitable bumper-to-bumper pace endemic to the Bay Area freeways after two-thirty in the afternoon.

Since splitting lanes is legal in California, Dallas slowed down just enough to squeeze through the traffic clogging the lanes to the tollbooth.

Once she motored through the toll area, the cool sea air reminded her of how cold it could get on the bridge, even in July. Only her face felt the sting of the salt air. Her flapping jacket and chaps kept her warm and dry. She loved her black leather Harley Davidson jacket. Lisa had given it to her last year for her twenty-fifth birthday. She went everywhere in that jacket. It would probably be the only thing from their failed relationship worth keeping.

It wasn’t Lisa’s fault, really. They’d grown apart over the last year or so—ever since Dallas had accepted her dream job as a firefighter...a job she’d trained hard for and dreamt about ever since 9/11. She loved her job, loved helping people, and enjoyed the wonderful camaraderie of her fellow firefighters. They’d accepted her right off, probably because she could cook, swear, and throw a mean curve ball. The guys were all right in her book and would be thrilled Lisa was out of the picture. They’d never really cared for the way Lisa spoke to them…as if being a man was a crime. Lisa never quite understood that disliking men in general made her as narrow-minded as those who did the same to them as lesbians.

The word narrow made Dallas realize the space between lanes closed up, so she came to a stop, firmly planting booted feet on the deck of the bridge. Nothing was moving. She leaned over and knocked on the passenger window of a minivan. The blond teenage boy rolled down the window.

“Yeah?” He wore black-rimmed glasses and a yellow collared shirt.

“Excuse me. Is there anything on the radio about the traffic?”

The boy turned and said something to the driver before turning back. “Overturned truck or something. Gonna be a while.”

“Thanks.”

He looked down at her bike. “Nice ride.”

Dallas smiled proudly. “Big fun.”

After about ten minutes, a number of people turned off their cars and got out. Some chatted about what it could be, while others paced around, talking on their cell phones. Then, ever so slightly, the ground beneath her rumbled…a not uncommon occurrence in the earthquake-laden Bay Area. The rumble seemed to make everyone stop what they were doing and listen. The Loma Prieta ’quake of ’89 had collapsed this bridge, the sound and ground movement heightened people’s nerves.

“Did you feel that?” she asked the teen, who was busy playing some game on his iPhone.

“Uh oh.”

The air became deathly, preternaturally still. Dallas looked at the boy. He lowered his phone and squinted through the windshield. Nothing moved. No sound could be heard—just that stillness.

“Oh shit.”

Dallas followed his gaze and watched a mass of people come running toward them, screaming and waving their arms in some sort of bizarre warning. A couple of people were bleeding, but most just stampeded toward them, eyes wide with fear.

As people around her jumped back into their vehicles, Dallas stood on the seat of her Harley, unsure if what she was seeing was really what she was seeing. A wall of people flooded toward them, the once still air now filled with screams and panic.

Looking around for some place to go to escape the crowd and what they were running from, she looked up at the cables of the Bay Bridge and knew that up was her only option.

But before the fearful crowd reached her, Dallas quickly made her way to the side of the bridge, leaving the Harley parked near the railing. She could go over the edge and down, but there was no guarantee she’d survive the fall. No. Up was the way to go.

Once she got up on the gray cable, she looked over the clogged artery of cars at the pack of people stampeding across the width of the bridge. At first, she wasn’t at all sure her eyes were telling the truth. There were people chasing the fleeing mob. People with their arms outstretched.

When she was finally high enough on the cable, she watched in utter horror as the mob of people chasing the others tackled them and bit at their necks and arms like some rabid cannibals. They ripped and tore away at exposed flesh.

“Oh my god...” Dallas covered her mouth with her hand as the chaos beneath her turned the deck of the bridge blood red. Everywhere she looked, people were not just attacking other people, but tearing their skin and ripping chunks of flesh from their necks. Fountains of blood spewed into the frenetic air. Those who stayed in their cars found themselves surrounded by those whose mouths and hands were stained with the blood of their victims. The biters pounded on the windows while emitting this horrific moaning sound that grew louder the closer they got to other people.

“What the fuck—”

A woman who had climbed to the roof of her SUV found herself pulled down by a tall man in a grey business suit who repeatedly bit her…no, not bit. He was…he was eating her? Could that be what she was seeing? The woman crumpled to the ground and the mob pressed forward on her, tearing her flesh from the bones, biting her right through her clothes.

That was when Dallas saw a young woman with long brown hair climb up on the other side of the bridge. She was pulling herself up, and one of the mobs stood beneath her, staring up at her before moving on to an easier prey. A young girl who had not gotten into her car fast enough soon became their next meal as they converged on her and attacked her with teeth bloodied from their last victims.

As the chaos neared her Harley, Dallas saw the blond teenage boy in the driver’s seat jump out of the SUV and run toward Dallas. Three of the killers turned their attention to him and started moving after him, arms outstretched like he would be a great meal. The boy stopped to help an elderly woman to her feet before casting a worried glance back over his shoulder.

He wasn’t going to make it.

Dallas scrambled down the cable carefully to where the kid was, reached down, and grabbed his wrist. “Take my hand!” The mob was ten feet away when Dallas looked into their faces marred with blood and fleshy debris. “Come on!” she yelled, pulling the kid as hard as she could. At five feet eight, Dallas possessed a firefighter’s strong physique. Fueled by fear and adrenaline, she yanked the kid so hard she almost lost her balance on the cable. The kid grabbed the handrails and backed away from the men and women reaching up for him with bloody fingertips, safe from harm.

The old woman wasn’t so lucky. They descended on her, taking bites from her and ripping the flesh from her bones.

That was the first time Dallas heard the moaning up close, and it froze the marrow of her bones. Each one of them was making the exact same sound; part moan, part grunt, all creepy. She felt like she had just fallen into a horror movie.

“Thank you,” the boy said, moving higher up the cable.

“Where you going?”

“Higher. They can’t climb. Climbing is a higher level brain function, and they’re dead.”

Dallas didn’t move. She could barely hear him above the wind that buffeted the screams, groans, and car horns. Did he say they were dead? “What do you mean dead?”

“Come on. Trust me. Higher is safer. For now.”

Trust him? He was, what, fifteen? Sixteen? He believed this murderous attack was by a bunch of dead people? Too much Walking Dead.

Dallas stopped to look at the carnage below. Bodies and body parts were strewn all over the deck of the bridge, and the attackers wandered about the blood in search of the living. The way the attackers walked...the way they tore into human flesh...and that moaning. Could this kid be right? Was she looking at some sort of apocalypse?

“Holy shit on a rice cracker, look at that!”

Her attention torn away from the macabre scene below, Dallas followed his gaze high up on the bridge. “What in the world—”

The woman who had been on the other side of the bridge had actually scaled the cable until she came to the crossbeam and was walking across it like a tightrope walker.

“That’s insane,” Dallas said, amazed anyone could be courageous enough or crazy enough to walk across the steel beam several stories above the bridge deck.

“Oh man, I’d wet myself,” the teen said. “Heights make my palms sweat.”

“Maybe she’s coming to attack us.”

The kid turned to Dallas. All he was missing to be a flashback to the seventies was a puka shell necklace, and she was pretty sure he had one at home. “Nah. She definitely isn’t one of them. I told you—”

“They can’t climb. Yeah. But how—”

“Come on. We need to get higher. As long as they can see us, they’ll try to get to us.” The kid moved up the cable, hanging on to the handrails as he moved.

The higher up they went, the less she could hear the screams of the victims but the destruction and mayhem below came into sharper view. The dead were everywhere and the mob seemed to grow larger. Vehicles were blood-smeared, and those still inside were often surrounded by those beating on the windows on the Oakland side of the bridge. They were wreaking havoc and killing everyone in their path. Young and old, men and women, people of all races chased after those who ran for their lives.

One man caught Dallas’s eye as he weaved through and around cars until he stood trapped by three of the mob. They weren’t attacking him, though. They just stood there staring at him like they were unsure of what or who he was. Dallas hoped he would climb up on the cable, and he did...only to hurl himself off the side of the bridge and into the choppy bay waters below.

“What’s...what’s happening?” Dallas turned to the boy, who was waving to the young woman.

“What are you doing?”

“Calling her over here. I told you, she’s not dead.” He moved up the cable and helped the woman down to where they stood. “That was amazing!” the boy said excitedly to the woman, who wasn’t even winded.

“Didn’t see I had much choice. I didn’t really want to be alone up here.” She shrugged. Dallas saw no fear in this woman’s clear eyes. She was stunningly beautiful, standing there in Wrangler jeans, Frye boots, and a brown leather bomber jacket that had seen better days. Attached to her belt was a ring of rope. Her hair color, up close and with the sun reflecting off it, was more auburn than brown, and she stood slightly taller than Dallas.

“What the hell is going on down there?” the woman asked, turning her gaze to the carnage below. “It’s like a zombie flick.”

“Well, I know I’ll sound like a crazy kid, but you’re not too far off. I’m pretty sure those moaning people are dead.”

“I can see the dead ones on the deck, it’s the living I don’t—”

“That’s what I’m saying. They are all dead.”

The woman and Dallas quickly looked at each other. “You mean...just like zombies?”

He nodded. “These people are a lot like the undead in a video game I’ve played called Man Eaters of the Living.”

Dallas looked more carefully at the victims who had been attacked. Most of them were no longer where they’d fallen, but had managed to stagger to their feet to join the crowd. Torn and tattered flesh hung from their bones.

“I know it’s hard to believe, and you probably think I’m just some stupid gamer with an over- active imagination, but just watch. Those who have been attacked...they rise again, only to join the horde.”

“The horde?”

He shrugged. “Well, that’s what they’re called in the game.”

Dallas said nothing, but kept her gaze on the woman who had been attacked by the man in the gray suit. It didn’t take long for her to rise up, her throat half torn from her body and her cheek ripped open from multiple bites, to slowly stand, look around, and wander toward the horde.

“What else do you know?” the young woman asked.

“Well, they can’t climb because things like that and swimming are higher level activities and they are, for the most part, brain dead.” He pointed. “See, look. That guy over there is missing his arms and yet, he’s still walking around.”

Dallas shuddered. “So basically, you’re telling us those...things...are dead.”

“Or undead, as they’re called in the gaming world. Just note, climbing to higher ground is usually the dumbest thing you can do because these things can out-wait us for weeks. They never get tired, never need to sleep, and will never give up. Don’t do whatever you’ve seen in the movies. No roofs, no trees, no attics. We’re safe for now only because they can’t see us.”

“What are you, some Zombie Einstein?” the woman asked, smiling at him.

The boy shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”

“Well, Einstein, what’s our next move?”

He scrunched up his face as he thought. “Obviously, they came from the city, so that’s out. We can’t stay up here very long, but we’ll need them to clear out first. We can’t afford to go down there as long as one is still there. Once you are bitten, you’re toast.”

Dallas wrapped her arms around herself, feeling both internal and external chills. The group of undead was moving toward the east bay. “Where are they going?”

“Wherever the living are. If they aren’t stopped before they get to Oakland—” He paused and shook his head.

“What? Then what?”

“Well, it’ll be like the plague, and a lot of people will die...or not die, as the case may be.” Einstein suddenly looked out toward the water, as if there was something he couldn’t bear to see.

“You okay?”

He blew out a breath. “That man eater down there in the jean jacket is...was...my friend. We were going to get tattoos today.”

“What happened?”

“We both decided to make a run for it. He...he didn’t make it.”

The woman put her arm around him. “I’m so sorry.”

Einstein slowly turned around. “We’ll all be sorry if we don’t get off the bridge soon. We’ll be trapped between those who’ll go toward the city and those who’ll go toward Oakland.”

“Surely people must have called the police.”

“Or the news. Where are the news helicopters?” Both Dallas and the woman looked to Einstein, who shrugged.

“In the games and movies I’ve seen, the government shuts the press down because of the panic that could ensue.”

“You think that’s what is happening here?”

“You know people videotaped this with their cells, so yeah, I think someone shut them down.” He pulled his phone out. “They won’t want people to panic, so they’ll take over the news.” He looked at the device. “Yeah, no signal. It happens fast. The shit is gonna hit the fan right quick.”

“Won’t we need to evacuate Oakland and Berkeley? If those things get into the East Bay—” Before Dallas could finish her sentence, two Blackhawk helicopters appeared on the horizon.

“Get down!” Einstein cried, flattening himself onto the cable.

Dallas and the woman followed suit. “What the fuck? Aren’t they the good guys?” the woman said.

“Thank God the military has arrived,” Dallas said, hugging the cable.

With snipers perched on the decks of the helicopters, the Blackhawks hovered above the blood-soaked bridge while the snipers put bullets into the heads of the man eaters. One-by-one, the zombie heads exploded as bullets ripped through their brains.

“I’ll be damned,” the woman said. “Einstein was right.”

As the undead fell—truly lifeless—to the ground, those living people still in their vehicles got out and waved at the snipers, who then promptly shot them in the head as well.

“What the fuck?” the woman said, mouth agape as the snipers shot anyone who moved. Even those who had remained in the safety of their cars were shot with high-powered bullets through the windshields and side windows.

“Keep your head down. They’re not taking any chances,” Einstein said. “They’ll kill everyone they see.”

Dallas watched as one of the Blackhawks peeled away. “Don’t you think the smartest thing to do would be to blow up the bridges leading to San Francisco?”

The woman and Einstein stared at her.

“Cut off the main arteries like we would do in a state emergency? I’m a firefighter. It’s what you do to contain any spreading.”

“You’re right. We need to get the hell out of here.” The woman rose just as the helicopter moved further down the bridge. “But we’ll never make it on foot.”

“We don’t have to,” Dallas replied. “We can take my Harley.”

“Your bike will never get through the horde,” she said, zipping her jacket up. She had these piercing eyes that reminded Dallas of a hawk’s eyes by the way they took everything in.

“Maybe not, but the snipers will have a much harder time of hitting us on the back of a motorcycle.”

Einstein nodded. “I’m in, but we’d better get going.”

Dallas didn’t make a move as she stared down at the dead bodies of the hundred or more people the snipers’ bullets had found. “I’ll get to the Harley and get her started. Once I get the bike turned around, Einstein, get on behind me and...” Dallas hesitated, looking at the woman.

“My friends call me Roper.”

“Roper, hop on behind him. It’ll be a tight squeeze, but you’ll need to give me room to shift and ride. Have either of you ever ridden on a bike?”

Roper nodded. “Rider and bitch.”

Einstein shook his head.

“Lean with me. If I lean left, so do you. If I lean right, so do you. If it looks like we are going to crash, stay with the bike. Don’t try to jump off. Stay. With. The. Bike.”

They both nodded and, together, all three moved as quickly as they could down the cable.

When they were low enough to be able to jump down, Dallas did, her Harley boots making a solid sound as she landed on the deck. Roper wasn’t far behind, and they both caught Einstein who, like many gear-heads, wasn’t terribly agile or physically confident.

“Oh crap.” Einstein pointed in the direction of the city.

Shielding her eyes from the sun, Dallas saw three more helicopters in the distance. She threw her leg over the saddle and backed the Harley up. She was almost completely turned around when the now familiar moaning came from behind her.

Without taking her hands off the handlebars, Dallas glanced over her shoulder. An older man with half his face missing was walking toward her. It looked like he was grinning with only one side of his mouth.

“Get on!” Dallas ordered the others, starting the bike.

Einstein leapt on so fast and hard Dallas was barely able to keep from dumping the bike. As she pulled it back to center, she looked in the rearview mirror in awe as Roper drove a Buck knife into the man’s eye socket and pulled it out, blood clinging to the knife.

The man eater crumpled to the ground, and Roper hopped on behind Einstein as three more came toward the loud roaring of the motorcycle. “Go! Go! Go!”

Dallas wrenched on the throttle and had to swerve to miss one of the undead coming back toward them.

“Control, Dallas. Keep control,” she muttered to herself. Up ahead, she could see blocked lanes and hundreds of dead people, most of whom sported a bullet hole in their heads.

Torn between getting off the bridge before it exploded and zigzagging in and out of the stalled traffic, Dallas slowed down as she approached the now dispersing horde. If she crashed, they were dead anyway, either from a bullet, a bomb, or a bite from one of these hideous creatures.

“Wait. Slow down a sec!” Roper cried. “That cop car!”

Dallas had been focusing so much on the road she had almost missed it.

“We’re gonna need a weapon,” Roper said, “or we’re sitting ducks.”

Dallas slowed to a stop, and Roper hopped off and carefully looked in, knife poised. “Damn. Shotgun is locked up.”

Dallas took her left hand off the grips and pointed. “The release is on the floor next to the brake. Just step on it.”

Roper put her knife away so she could feel for the release. After three unsuccessful attempts, heard the click as the shotgun holder released. Just as she grabbed the gun, a face popped up on the other side of the wire mesh.

“Oh my God! Thank God! Please. Get me out of here!”

Roper jumped, breathless as she gazed at the wild-eyed man sitting in the back seat. He reeked of alcohol and stale body odor.

“You can’t leave me in here. Please. Please let me out!”

Roper leaped out of the car and racked one into the chamber.

“Let him out,” Dallas said.

Roper shook her head. “Bad idea. We don’t know why he’s in there.”

“I’m with Roper,” Einstein said. “We don’t need the hassle.”

“Then I’ll do it. I can’t just walk away from this.”

“Wait. We gotta get out of here. Stay on the bike.” Five creatures were bearing down on them as Roper opened the rear door and backed away, pointing the shotgun at the prisoner. He had greasy black hair and a worn and dirty jean jacket.

“You’d just shoot me?” he asked incredulously.

“If I had to, yeah. Step away from the bike.”

“How am I gonna get out of here?”

“Not our problem.” Roper raised the rifle, keeping one eye on him and one on the slowly advancing corpses.

“Come on, Roper, get on.”

Just as Roper started to climb on, the man lunged for Dallas. “Give me the fucking bike!”

Dallas fought to keep the bike upright as the butt of the shotgun crunched into the side of his face. He staggered back, blood pouring from his nose and mouth, and he stood motionless for a moment before falling to his knees.

“Go, go, go!” Roper cried, getting back on the bike.

As Dallas pulled away, she looked in the rearview mirror and saw two man eaters bearing down on the guy. In a few minutes, he would become one of them...or be their dinner. She wasn’t sure which, and she no longer cared.

As she wove around the graveyard of bodies and cars, she realized the snipers had only been able to put down about half of the walking corpses. The other half were walking toward Oakland, creating more like them along the way.

Einstein was right. The only way to protect the rest of the population was to blow the bridges, and Dallas was pretty certain that’s what those helicopters were about to do.

She pushed herself and the bike as fast as she dared, narrowly missing the undead as they plodded along in search of more flesh. Twice, when Dallas thought they would surely collide with the corpses, Roper had fired the shotgun and knocked them out of the way. Dallas could hear nothing but a slight ringing in her ears, and then there was a huge explosion.

“Floor it!” Roper yelled as she looked behind them.

All three helicopters released missiles that blew the bridge up at the end of Yerba Buena Island, which connected the western and eastern spans of the bridge. They could still effectively cut off San Francisco from the East Bay by leaving the main bridge alone.

As this section of the bridge shook, Dallas gave her everything she had, and the bike’s front tire lifted slightly as she did. She had to get them off the last stretch of the bridge or they would go tumbling into the bay, along with thousands of dead, undead, and dying.

Dallas felt as though she was racing against the falling sections quickly collapsing behind her. As she zoomed past immobile, slack-jawed creatures and around half-consumed corpses, she didn’t think they were going to make it.

Leaning low over the gas tank and beneath the windshield, Dallas knew she’d reached eighty- five miles an hour. She knew her bike well enough to know what she felt like at certain speeds, and the vibration indicated they were well on their way to ninety.

“Look out!” Einstein said as they neared the stretch of bridge that would turn into freeway.

Two more helicopters with snipers hanging off the sides hovered directly above them and were putting bullets into living and dead brains alike.

The moment the Harley was free from the collapsing bridge, Dallas zigged and zagged in and out of more stalled cars as bullets pinged all around them. The extra weight from her passengers took a moment to adjust to, but once her adrenaline kicked it, she barely noticed.

One bullet shattered her Plexiglas windshield, but Dallas just kept pushing her limits until she could get off the freeway and into the more industrial areas of Oakland.

As Dallas flew down the freeway, she noted fewer and fewer cars in the gridlock, but only a dozen or so of the man eaters. The helicopters had turned back to the bridge to continue firing on those creatures that had made it off the bridge.

Way up ahead, she could see cop cars on their way, so she took the next exit into the warehouse district.

“Dallas, slow down. It’s okay. We’re not being followed. The choppers are busy elsewhere,” Roper said.

Dallas gripped the handlebars so tightly that slowing down took longer than normal. When she finally came to a stop and turned to look at her passengers, she realized Einstein had wet himself. He was incredibly pale and needed their help to dismount.

Roper had Einstein on one arm, the shotgun butt on her hip, and for the most part, she didn’t appear the least bit phased. “Easy, kid. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

“I’m...I’ve never...” He blushed, his cheeks revealing his shame.

“Don’t sweat it,” Dallas said. “I’ve seen grown men barf on their own shoes before. We’re all scared, Einstein. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Dallas walked around the bike and inspected it from every angle. She found two other bullet holes: one in the sissy bar, and another in her saddlebag. “You guys didn’t get hit?”

“Hell no,” Roper said. “You were awesome! Mario Andretti has nothing on you, man. That was brilliant riding.”

Dallas knelt down to check the engine. There was something about the silence of the warehouse district that made her skin crawl.

“Did you guys see the man eaters off to the side of the road?” Einstein asked.

Roper nodded. Dallas was still examining the engine.

“Unless those cops and snipers can kill every one of those undead, our problems have just begun.” Einstein said.

“I saw at least three dozen once we got off the bridge,” Roper said, pulling out her knife once more. “We’re going to need every kind of weapon we can find just to make sure we always have a way to protect ourselves.”

“Uh...you always carry a huge knife around?” Dallas asked over the gas tank.

She nodded and lifted the leg of her jeans up to reveal a sheath attached to her boots. “Never leave home without it.”

Dallas could only grin. “Well, it sure came in handy.”

Roper peeked around to the other side of the motorcycle at Dallas before tracing her fingertips over the personalized license plate. “Your name really Dallas?”

Dallas nodded and wiped her hands on her chaps. She’d found no more holes. “It is. My parents thought it was cute to name me for where I was conceived.”

Roper turned to Einstein. “And your name is?”

He smiled. “Einstein will do.”

Dallas tried her cell phone, but received a message that the circuits were all busy. “What are the chances that those things will spread in the East Bay?”

Einstein looked up in thought. “I saw a ton of them moving parallel to the freeway. I don’t think the snipers saw them all or could get them all. This got out of hand right from the get-go.”

“Well, at least a good number of them sank to the bottom of the bay.”

Einstein shook his head. “That’s just it. That won’t kill any of them.”

Roper and Dallas cut him a look. “What?”

“Look, everyone knows the only way to kill the undead is to shut down the control center...the brain. Now, I’m not saying these things are zombies, but they sure as hell are man eaters. We all saw that.”

Roper shook her head. “Whoa. Wait. You’re saying they’ll what, just up and walk out of the bay?”

“They don’t need oxygen. They’re dead, so water doesn’t really change anything for them.”

“So they’re going to just walk out and start attacking more people?”

Einstein dug the toe of his sneakers into the gravel. “The mass of the horde grows exponentially with each populated area they pass through.” “Oakland.”

“And Berkeley.”

“And Alameda.”

“Shit.” Roper paused a second to listen. “Do you hear that?”

The other two listened. “What? I don’t hear anything,” Dallas said quietly.

She nodded. “Exactly. Where are the cars? Where are the sounds of life? We need to get out of here.”

“Wait. No cell phone use, but the news is reporting it.” Einstein held out his cell phone and started watching the local news. “This will probably be the last real newscast we get. In all of the zombie and virus movies I’ve seen, the government has to shut them down for fear of panic.”

All three crowded around the tiny device. “Oh God...” Roper muttered.

The disheveled newscaster was being force-fed paper after paper, and she couldn’t keep up. Before she could read the first one, the emergency warning sounded and the red ticker tape crept across the bottom of the screen warning everyone to stay inside their homes.

“Terrorist attack?” Dallas asked as she read the tape’s explanation.

“Shh.”

The ticker tape warned everyone of a poisonous gas released on the bridge and that everyone—everyone—needed to stay indoors until further notice. If you were home, stay home and only allow military medical personnel into your home. If you were not home, return home as soon as possible. It appeared that martial law would go into effect at dusk.

The buzzer continued for another ten seconds before returning the stage to the newscaster, who read the warnings:

“The United States is under attack in several major cities from a toxic gas from an as-of-yet unknown terrorist cell. This bioweapon causes a violent reaction in those who breathe it in. If you come in contact with the infected, do not attempt to engage or help. The virus is transmitted through bites, much like rabies. Do not try to help or subdue the victims. Do not try to cure them or allow them into your homes.”

The ticker tape came across the bottom of the screen and named the ten cities that had been infected. Before they could read the ten names, there was the sound of a chopper overhead.

“Come on!” Dallas pushed the Harley up against the building, and they all tried several doors before opening a service door. Once in, they closed the door and looked at each other.

Dallas walked over to them as the now familiar sound of bullets hitting things replaced the chopper sound. “Get down!”

All three dove for cover.

“They’re not shooting at us,” Roper said.

“No, but they’re shooting at something, and that’s never a good thing.”

Einstein scooted closer. “They don’t want to take any chances. They’ll kill everyone who is in the general vicinity. They’ll kill everyone who is outside. They have to.”

“Who?”

“The military. It will be their job to contain this...virus.”

“Then how do we get out of here?” Roper asked.

“The Harley. I live in Berkeley.”

Roper’s eyebrows rose. “Going to Berkeley is a bad idea.”

Einstein nodded. “The infection, or whatever it is, is already on its way there. This stuff spreads like wildfire. Cities are the restaurants of the undead, to be avoided at all cost.”

Dallas waited for the shooting to stop before rising and brushing off her chaps. She put her hands out to help Roper up. “Until we know otherwise, I say we consider Einstein an expert on all things zombie and let him take the lead.”

Roper brushed herself off as well and turned to him. “Agreed. I have to say, I’m just a cowgirl at heart. I don’t know jack about monsters or movies or man eaters. So, what now?”

Einstein rose and gulped. “In the games, as well as in the movies, the biggest mistake people make is trying to go home to their loved ones, who are usually already infected or dead. Berkeley is definitely out and we need to get the hell out of here, so what about you, Roper? Where do you live?”

“In Livermore, on a forty-acre ranch.”

Einstein’s eyes brightened. “Perfect. Guns?”

She cocked her head. “I’m a cowgirl. What do you think?”

He smiled. “I say we head to your place. See what lies the media has spread and the government’s spin on this, and then we can go our own ways or figure out what our options are.”

Dallas cracked the door open and peeked out. “What are our options, Einstein? Really. What can we expect to see?”

He tapped his chin as he considered the answer. “By this time tomorrow, if the snipers didn’t kill every single one, you can safely assume that for every man eater alive tonight, there will be at least twenty more tomorrow.”

“Twenty new ones for each one who made it across the bridge?”

Roper shook her head. “And besides the three dozen or so we passed—”

“They’ll be coming out of the surf as well,” Einstein said.

“So basically, we’re fucked.”

Einstein shrugged. “At this point, it’s all about containment. They’ll have their hands full containing it to the city, but if they don’t stop them before they come through the tunnel or through Oakland...”

“What?” Roper asked anxiously. “What will happen?”

Einstein shrugged again. “It will be apocalyptical...it could very well be our death knell.”