Becoming the Rider

As far as Jack was concerned, he had two options for mobility. The first was his right-hand neighbor's motorcycle. Sleek, stylish, and well maintained, it was a old-fashioned chopper, the baby of the former resident. A man in his 60's, he had ridden religiously and even built a small shed to house the machine in his front yard. Jack was even pretty certain he had killed the gentleman in his cleaning spree this morning, so he could search his home for the keys with relative ease. Probably. He had kind of repressed the human aspects of the undead in that moment.

Jack could imagine himself fitting the classic trope: Cool, badass motorcycle apocalypse man. Rugged yet free, he would find a pair of aviator sunglasses (and a cooler looking leather jacket than his current baggy mess of pleather) and never take them off. Every third statement from him would be a Duke Nuk'am style quip and he would somehow never need to reload his shotgun. At least until he wanted to do that for dramatic effect. Chick-CHAK. Badass.

However, one massive barrier to that was his total non-understanding of how to ride a motorcycle. Jack wasn't even that daring of a driver, so his odds of ending up a pancake were pretty high. He needed something more his speed, if his imaginary audience caught his drift. Jack chuckled. Drift. But anyway the motorcycle wasn't his best option. That's where Ronald came in.

The Ron-man had been a pretty cool dude. Too large to walk past his mailbox, but an emblem of cheer none-the-less, probably the closest thing Jack had to a friend in the neighborhood. Big frame, big personality, he'd gossip and joke with anyone who passed by. When he talked he'd put so much EMPHASIS on the things he LOVED that you couldn't help but listen. He was just FUN. Big Ron couldn't fit into a car, but he ADORED machines, so his mobility scooter was CRANKED and he let everyone know it. SLEEK, red aerodynamic frame, FULLY electric, it had a top speed of almost 25 MPH, and could easily go 50 MILES at max charge!! The motorcycle neighbor thought his chopper was his baby, but he had NOTHING on Ronald and his "Red Candy". He had just been kind enough not to rub that in the older gentleman's face.

If Jack could get the Red Candy he'd have something faster than the undead but less likely to smoosh him. It was fully capable of handling Ronald's weight and more, so it would also be able to carry another person and/or cargo. Charging it would be a problem once the area lost power, but so would be getting gasoline (no one ever remembers that gas stations need power too). However, there was a downside to this option as well.

Jack was very sure he had not killed Ronald's corpse this morning. No amount of repression would have made him forget that. Which meant that his house on the southern corner of the street likely contained a very large threat.

Jack wasn't necessarily afraid of what he might find there. The man could barely perform physical activity before he turned, and it was far too early for the virus to change that. But much like murdering a child zombie, he hadn't killed a friend before, and he really didn't want to. But he also did want to. Ron had been more or less a friend to him and, if he felt the same, he should help the man... not be a monster. Also, maybe, just maybe, Ron was still alive and hiding in his house or something. The man wouldn't necessarily be an easy ally in the end of times, but Jack wouldn't leave him to die.

He seemed to have made up his mind. Jack had to have the Red Candy for his apocalyptic mount. He got up from the living room couch he had absentmindedly sat on to contemplate. The dryer was done. Absentmindedly emptied the contents, folded them, and brought the up to his bedroom door.

"Lily. I have your clothes here."

Silence. Maybe she had fallen asleep?

"I have to go get something outside."

"NO!"

Oh shit.

"Listen I have to. I won't be gone long. But I have to."

"…No."

"…I have to. I'll probably be fine, but even if I won't be I have to go."

"…"

"…I have a friend I want to check on."

"…"

Jack would take silence. Silence wasn't a fight. Even half a step towards acceptance.

"…Ok! Listen get dressed and I'll be back soon. I'll need your help then, once you are ready."

"…Ok."

Well, that was less fun, but mission successful! It's crazy how one day you can be totally comfortable existing as a social being, but the next you dread every interaction. Jack had had that experience his whole life, so he guessed it was just like that sometimes.

Anyway, that was enough thought for today. He was sick of thinking. It was time to act. Jack armed himself fully in his battle gear and snuck through his backyard towards the front of the house. Peering towards the street, he saw that the being looming on the southern corner had retreated towards the busy central blocks of the suburb. It would be lucky if it wasn't a bit predictable. To quote the popular sports movie, "Field of Streams"- "Do nothing and they will leave".

Jack started shuffling for the house right before that southern bend of the road. He wasn't ready to give up the acting defense quite yet, but he also wouldn't mind a fight if it came to him. He was bored and full of vigor damn it! He might not be in his 20's anymore but he was still young and hot blooded!

This mood lasted about a third of the distance to Ronald's (former?) home. Then the power of silence started kicking in. This neighborhood wasn't meant to be this quiet. There were supposed to be sounds. Lawns mowing, kids playing, cars passing, trucks cutting the air on the highway not too far away. Instead there was only the same type of quiet which existed right before a cat pounced on a mouse, toy, or foot. Things were looking for him. Maybe watching him. Waiting to strike when his guard finally fell. Jack stated to hate the sunlight, and how it made him so visible, so naked, on the dead road.

Two-thirds of the way to the house Jack just wanted to go back home again. He had fought a lot today, been brave, faced a lot of monsters, but he had always been the hunter. Knowing that he was the prey, and that those hunting him had the advantage, chaffed Jack's already worn mind. But the safety of home was further away than Ron's house now, so even if he turned back it would just be a greater risk.

He kept going. Creeping forward, now in a walk as lopsided and jaunty as he could muster. He let out his trademark, patented, zombie-brand groan, but it felt hollow. Timid even. Just one more thing to draw them to him, and even the groan knew it. But nothing happened. He reached Ronald's front door. Locked. Shit. But also, of course. He hadn't seen Ron leave the house, so why would he have NOT locked his own door the night before?

Jack did a quick check of his surroundings and found nothing. He reminded himself that nothing was good, brandished his weapons, and started creeping around the side of the house. Hopefully Ron had felt pretty safe in the neighborhood and had failed to lock his back door, as many did.

Trudging through the alleyway between the two houses, he could hear each of his footsteps on the grass and twigs of the ill-maintained lawn. As he was passing the cellar doors of the house, he heard something. A faint rustle? Maybe he was afraid of his own footsteps? This had happened to him before in dark alleyways even before the end of the world… Still, even so, it was best to retreat unti-

A shadowy figure burst from behind the edge of the fence blocking the neighboring yard. Knee-tall and screeching like a rabid beast- it was going for his legs! Using the power of panic, Jack jammed the pot lid in its path, allowing the being to smack its own head into the clear glass. It was a child. A little boy. Gnawing and hungry for him. He had blocked its teeth but its nails reached for him, ripping at his pants. The jeans held, but Jack felt the pressure of them, attempting to cut through, and his adrenaline spiked.

Using the pot lid as a wedge, he shoved it backwards, sending it stumbling on its heels. Then, before it stabilized itself, he pushed forward to smack its forehead with the same tool. It finally fell on its back, seeming stunned. When it regained its awareness, the last thing it saw were the bottoms of Jack's snow boots. He had leapt forward, landing on its head with his full weight. He had to stomp a few more times for it to finally stop struggling.

Jack first confirmed there weren't more coming before looking at the black, pulpy corpse. So much for not killing "kids". This one had actually been more dangerous than what had been adults. Jack felt… very little outside of his own calming panic and his heart beating in his ears. Fuck kids. He had one now and he didn't need more. Also the remains he was standing in were gross. He felt that. And the same sense of danger that had been weighing on him this whole trip. Jack gingerly stepped out of the mess and went towards the back door.

He hadn't had time to put his mask on before the fight, so he spat a few times on the ground as he went, hoping not to swallow any residue. The infection field in his status (which had taken him far too long to realize was useful) was normal, so he figured he was alright. Ronald was waiting.