Biker- Dawn of the Dead Fan Fiction

I wrote this in 2000, as a continuation of George A Romero's Dawn of the Dead. Specifically the novelisation. 

I don't like the novel at all, it was written poorly by Susanna Sparrow from the movie's script and assumes a great deal. Worst of all it portrays the bike gang from the movie's climax as psychotic sadists who, despite working together as a functioning army with an established hierarchy, make no attempt to assist one another when attacked by zombies and, most gratingly, at one point actually laugh their tits off as one of their number gets torn apart by the undead. The film version of the group shows them actually working together and the infamous "blood pressure biker" even getting scolded for wasting time. It's also clear that they had no beef with the main protagonists and were only there to loot the shops. They got riled ONLY when Flyboy threw his teddy out the pram and began taking potshots at them. In the book they shoot at the survivors on sight.

This story is a continuation of the bikers from THAT perspective, assuming one guy was left behind and had to try and make it out. In the movie they are clearly in the process of leaving when Peter faces off against a few on the balcony ("Get me a bike!" for example).

I was inspired to write it from a line in the novel where Peter is thinking "unless it was a raider's gun, which he truly doubted" after hearing Stephen's pistol as he fights off the ghouls in the elevator.

Enjoy. 

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Biker

Tossing the drawer full of junk onto the floor he looked around in the office furtively, his bearded face scanning quickly and thoroughly. The room was bare of anything worth taking. The only thing he'd found was 25 dollars in 5 dollar notes in the bottom left-hand desk drawer. He sidled up to the doorway and stuck his head round the frame, keeping his old pistol at face level, cocked and ready to fire. Nothing left, nothing to the right. The machines whirred at a distractingly high level. More difficuilt to hear footsteps or any voices.

He moved down the corridor with the gun brandished before him. The distant sound of engines and gunfire thick in his ears. Jeez, this area was hot. The neckerchief stuck to his skin. This was the main power supply for the entire place and his skin was crawling, with the heat plus the adrenaline and fear, a lousy combination. He knew he shouldn't have come this far out of the central mall but after getting lost in the myriad corridors leading off the shops he'd felt, what the heck and had decided to check out the offices that led off the lane he ran into. Nothing, even the zombies were absent. Too preoccupied with the excitement in the main zone. How the hell did he get back, the fuckers wouldn't wait for him and, glancing at his newly purloined Cartier watch he didn't have much more time before they would be moving off. The area was clear ahead of him, just a network of pipes and machinery criss-crossing the area. Moving lithely constantly checking the floor for anybody he made it to a white door, ajar in the wall directly opposite him. Glancing in he saw it led into the rear of the department store that sat on both first and second floors. This end looked clear.

He slid through the door. The gunfire stopped suddenly and the sound of bike engines could be heard moving away. Shit! No time to hang about now.

With the raid over it would only be a matter of a few minutes before they drifted back in. He'd seen one or two of his comrades fall and while that might keep the cunts happy for a short time, once they began to get bored they'd wander aimlessly back into the stalls. There were about 20 of them at the front of this floor of the store. A smaller group were gathered around something on the floor. Presumably this was why the back of the store was clear. No need to guess what it was. Some poor sap who was too slow on his feet. The group crouching on the floor were squabbling amongst themselves, pulling stuff between them and stuffing handfuls of things into their mouths. He ducked down behind a row of shirts. Looking around he flipped the cylinder of the gun open. 4 shots left. Plus 25 in his pockets. Nothing bigger. Christ! The engine noises were gradually dissipating. There was one gunshot and the sound of something crashing over, then the engines began to get fainter. If he ran into the mall now no matter how much he dodged and ducked he'd never make it. They were everywhere and he'd either be pulled down or trapped within minutes. His bike was outside the Pharmacy on the left corridor on this floor. But that was a good hundred metres away. Glancing up he saw the grill of a shaft above him. If he could reach it he could pull himself up. Looking around quickly he saw the counter for the cash desk to his right. Too heavy, the cunts would hear him moving something that heavy. But there might be another grill in the area he'd just left. Keeping crouched on the floor he scuttled backwards, his gaze flicking left and right. The zombies still hadn't noticed him. They were too busy at the main entrance to this store. As he passed an aisle of fancy men's jackets he was grabbed hard on his ankle. Stifling a yell he swung down hard with his gun at the pressure and connected with something. Wrenching away he glanced above the clothes racks to see if the noise had alerted any of them and then down at whatever had grabbed him. "Help me man". The figure was a biker, badly injured and dying, by the looks of the wound in his neck which pulsed visibly and oozed blood on the figure's grimy red teeshirt and torn denim jacket. "What the fuck?" he hissed. "What the shit happened to you, man?"

"Fuckers caught me and Jake-o at the front" the man said through clenched teeth. "It's him they're with...don't let them find me" he hissed. "Do something".

He looked at the bleeding Hell's Angel. Christ. He couldn't have given a rat's ass for this guy but if he didn't move him the man might alert them to this part of the store which was clear at the moment.

The man slumped against the shirt rack, he wouldn't last long now. Reaching out he touched the dying man on the shoulder "OK man, just try and stay quiet and I'll move you out back". Glancing again to the front of the store he reached over and unhitched the man's machine gun from his shoulder. The man grunted as the strap brushed the wound in his neck but didn't resist. "This thing work?" he inquired.

The wounded biker coughed. Blood flecking against his chest from his mouth. "Y, Yeah. It…it does".

"Hang on, I'll pull you out back" he assured the dying man. Moving behind him he put his hands under his sodden armpits. "Keep the fuck quiet or I'll leave you" he hissed in the man's ear. Taking the strain against the dying figure he made to pull him through the open doorway. Suddenly there was a crash and a display of suit trousers crashed to the floor. A ghoul staggered over it, moaning and reaching out. It was the zombie of a child aged about 14, most of the left side of its face was missing. Backing away quickly he backed through the open doorway. The biker was almost bled out by now, but he managed to move in fear at the sight of the zombie. "N, no!" he croaked liquidly, fighting with his useless limbs to find the strength to get away. Ignoring the standing man the zombie knelt towards the helpless, soaking raider. Dropping awkwardly to the floor it sank its teeth into the wound in the guy's neck. The man gasped and then gurgled as the creature buried its face into his flesh, shaking its head like a dog holding a rat. The standing man took one look towards the front of the store and backed through the open doorway. The child zombie ignored him, concentrating its attention on the now very dead feast before it. The raider slunk back into the maintenance zone. Other zombies were moving towards the back of the shop, attracted by the disturbance. He shut the door as quietly as possible behind him and moved into the maintenance area. He had been right, there were several hatches in the ceiling of this area. Hope that they all lead to where we need to go, he thought. He grabbed the turn lever of one of the large junction boxes and hoisted himself up. The grill was grim with rust and dust. It pushed away with a dull scrape and he swung himself up into the shaft, not bothering to check for zombies as he doubted any of the fuckers would have been bothered to take the trouble to crawl into the network of pipes.

Both left and right looked identical but up ahead to the left was a junction that led off in the direction of the store he'd just been in. He needed to get in the general direction of the pharmacy and if he could get over the main area of the mall proper he could orient himself. The rest of the group were heading east after the raid so if he could get to a working bike he could get after them. He knew his only chances were with the group. On his own he stood no chance, and they'd be glad of an extra gun and someone to take turns of a night watch.

Wriggling along the shaft he maneuvered into the shaft that led off to the one he was in and came to the first maintenance grill. He could see directly down to the remains of the biker he'd just met. A dozen or so zombies were gathered around the body. They groaned and snarled at each other as they fought for the choicest portions of the dead man's body. He winced and crawled further along.

The second and third grills both looked down into different parts of the same store but then there was a junction veering left and right. Shit! Which one? He took a chance and lucked on the right hand tunnel. Coming to the next grill he peered down onto the concourse outside the shops along the corridor to the left of the department store entrance. Several zombies lurched aimlessly along, one or two with gunshot wounds or holding raw pieces of flesh. Something caught his eye and he saw a figure he recognised. It was Damien. His top half was bare except for the gore soaked remains of a teeshirt attached to his neck and hanging down his back like a cloak.

His stomach had been torn open and his intestines hung like ribbons from the gaping cavity in his torso. He shuffled along with the rest of the zombies, glancing left and right and stumbling every third or fourth step on the ribbons of his insides. He knew he'd have to keep sharp now. Several of the crew had fallen to the zombies in the 20 odd minutes they'd been inside the store and he knew some would be coming back as zombies. He'd seen people get caught like that before, seeing others they couldn't or wouldn't accept were now not only dead but also lethal, or not realising the guy was dead until it was too late. In their game they were occasionally shooting those they raided and zombies at the same time and sometimes their own bought it and came back before the fight was over. He'd seen two guys both get bitten by their former mechanic Sullivan a few days ago. He'd fallen in a firefight with some saps in a fortified barn. They'd tried to stop the raiders breaking the barricades down and the Sullivan must have fallen without anyone seeing because what seemed like seconds he lurched up and took the nearest man's ear off in one big bite. Another had tried to pull the ghoul off and got his index and middle fingers removed for his trouble. Hatchet had put all three down with head shots. They all knew what happened once you were bitten. Too many times, the constantly changing members of the group tried to cover up bites but the others always found out sooner than later when they got weak.

He inched along the tunnel, the dust clogging his nose and making him want to sneeze. Quiet, if those fuckers decided to investigate any noise in the pipe it might make it harder for him to get out where he wanted to.

As he passed over the next hatch it strained under his weight and then collapsed with a sickening lurch. The grill clanged noisily off the floor and he managed with the adrenalin of utter terror to grab the edge of the newly yawning hole and keep a grip with his forearms and elbows inside the tunnel. Glancing down he saw the grill below him and the railing for the edge of this area of the floor to his left. Jesus! Heaving, he tried to pull himself back inside. There was a snarl and one of the zombies grabbed one of his flailing feet and tried to pull him down to the floor. If he managed to stay where he was he'd be ok but if they pulled him out he was virtually finished. Another zombie staggered up alongside the first and fought for a grip on the other foot. He managed to kick it in the face, dislodging its eyeball from the socket in the process and heaved with all his strength to get back inside. No joy. Glancing down he saw that there were now 4 zombies beneath him, pawing the air and snarling hungrily. On the edge of his vision he could see more coming up on the 3 open sides. Lengthening his right arm out as far as it would go he took a chance and reached down for the pistol tucked into his belt. Freeing it he aimed in the general direction of the zombie pulling at his shoe and glancing down so he didn't blow his own toes off fired at the creature's head. The shot missed and put a hole in the floor next to the creature. The recoil jerked the gun from his hand and he heard it skittering away across the floor and clattering off something. The zombie reacted to the sudden noise and let go startled. Feeling the sudden lack of pressure he heaved with an insane strength born of utter fear and managed to heave himself almost completely into the pipe again. Giving it one more try he managed to twist on his side and brought his legs up and into the shaft. Breathing deeply he cursed the loss of the gun and inched to the edge of the hole. More than a dozen zombies were gathered below what might well have been his final resting place. Damien was amongst them, his ravaged innards trailing away behind him. They pawed the air futiley and growled gutturaly, shoving each other. Grimacing he pulled back all the way into the shaft and began worming his way along the shaft again in the general direction of the pharmacy.

At the next hatch he looked down directly into a severe drop. Jesus, must be right over the main stairwell. A drop of about 90 feet was below him. Not wanting another hatch drop in this place he spread his body weight as much as possible over the grill and inched his way forward. It held. Shuffling along he made it into the next fork. The nearest hatch was on the right. Moving along as quietly as possible he glanced down onto the floor below. There was a row of shops below him with the pharmacy just to the left. Bingo! His bike was still outside it along with Damo's machine, the engine of the large Harley still kicking over as it idled. Damo was nowhere to be seen but he doubted that he'd made it out of the mall. That machine was the dumb sap's pride and joy. He knew he'd have to remove the grill to inspect the area, it would be foolish to drop down and try to jump straight on the bike. His peripheral vision was screwed looking down like this. As quietly as possible he hooked his fingers through the grill and lifted it out of the hole. It slid free easily and he placed it gently on the floor of the tunnel while keeping his eyes on the floor below him. Bracing himself against the sides he poked his head out of the hatch and looked around. There were far too many of them around. Shit. They'd obviously got bored with the bikes and were now wandering aimlessly around. Two were mindlessly tipping over the displays of the perfume shop "Scent From Heaven" to his left. The smell of the colognes and perfumes was cloying. At least a dozen others were shuffling along the corridor vacantly. None had seen him, so pulling back he decided that the only way to get on the bike was to try and distract them.

Replacing the grill just as quietly he squeezed along the pipe until he was 3 grills up above the same corridor. Reaching down for the mesh he placed it to one side and, taking a deep breath and making sure he was wedged tight into the duct with his feet braced against either side he lowered his head and left arm through the gap and shouted to the nearest one. A relatively intact specimen with what appeared to be a quite expensive suit adorning its body. The only visible sign of trauma was a big bite mark on the side of its neck. "Hey shit-for-brains" he called down to it, keeping his voice level, after all he didn't want the whole mall to hear him and come to check out the sound. "Hey mother fucker, up here". The zombie grunted and looked around, left, right, left for the source of the noise. "No up here you dumb-assed piece of shit" he hissed at it. A female zombie in a particularly ghastly dress looked up and groaned, moving toward him and reaching up to claw the air. The zombie he'd called to finally looked up and shuffled over next to the female. Then the zombie of what might have once been a jock, in running gear and expensive sneakers wandered over and they moaned and futilely reached up toward him. Glancing back to where his bike was he saw that the movement of these three had set off a reaction in the others further along. Some turned around and others began moving toward him. Waiting until there were about 20 he looked back. The area around the bike was free. Glancing down he saw them and for the first time the full picture struck him. The smell from them was intense when there were this many so close but the sight of them was awful. All bore signs of having been ravaged by others before they'd died. The wounds on some were hideous. Wincing he reached for the hatch and slid it back into place. Then, shuffling along he drew his legs up to his chest and twisted around in the pipe until he was facing back the way he'd come from. Moving over the grill he realised that they might hear him moving and follow him along the pipe leaving him back at square one. The longer he waited the further away the others would be. He looked back over his shoulder and stuck the toe of his left boot under the lip of the grill. On the second attempt he managed to loosen it and kicked it up. It noisily clanged against the side of the hatch and he maneuvered it with his feet until he managed to wedge it sideways into the hole. Bringing his leg up he brought it down hard on the grill which, after 4 blows, fell through the gap. He grinned as he heard it smack into at least one of the zombies, which grunted loudly at the impact.

As quickly as he could while they were still distracted he wriggled along the pipe until he was level with the hatch above his machine. Yanking the grill free and placing it down to one side he looked quickly from left to right. None directly below, a quick glance back told him they were still occupied with the hatch further up. In the opposite direction the concourse curved to the left to form a bridge over the drop to the ground floor. More zombies, attracted by the disturbance were beginning to move toward this area. No time to fuck about. He lowered his legs through the hole and glancing again from left to right gripped the edge of the hole and lowered himself fully out until he was about 4 feet above the ground. Letting go he bent his knees as he landed and quickly unslung the machine gun. Now or never, if he didn't make it now he was finished. Running the few steps to his motorbike, reslung the firearm and glanced rapidly around as he mounted the machine. The two in the perfume shop were still aimlessly wrecking the merchandise. They looked across at him disinterestedly and then carried on examining the products.

He kicked the bike and yanked back on the throttle. It started and he pushed it off the stand and, keeping his body as close to that of the bike as possible he pulled away from the pharmacy. Some of the approaching zombies saw him and began to move toward him. Further up on the right was the first floor entrance to the main car park, if he could make it he'd be clear. Accelerating he zipped past the shops and passed the bridge on the left. The undead reached out for him as he passed and then he was clear of them and one problem.

Further up the concourse forked against the wall, one side leading over the drop and the right route leading to the car park exit. Only a few zombies were on the left-hand fork and they turned towards the engine noise. As he approached the right hand fork he braked sharply and swung the machine in a skid to a standstill facing the new concourse. The zombies were packed around the entrance but there were many gaps. A large number were gathered around something about 50 metres further up, out in the open near the facing car park. Good. It'd keep them occupied that little bit longer for him to make it out, maybe.

Gunning the engine, he swung the machine gun down and pulled the magazine free with a jerk. It felt nearly full. Replacing it he swung the gun back over his shoulder and faced the 50 or 60 undead in the entrance area. They moaned and shuffled toward him, their stench rancid. Gunning the engine he pulled the bike an extra 20 metres nearer to the dead and he braked with a squeal of rubber and quickly unswung the machine gun. Holding it firmly in both hands he pulled the trigger. The gun made an ear-piercing splatter of sound as the thing chattered wildly in his hands. One thing that had kept him alive this long was a steady aim and he aimed for chest height, determined to knock as many down as possible. Most of the bullets found their mark and the zombies grunted and jerked wildly as the shells tore into them. Three or four of the ghouls took head shots and staggered back to fall crumpled on the floor. When the gun was finally empty he threw it to one side and taking a deep breath revved the engine, bunching his body as close into the bike's frame as possible and, releasing the brake, surged forward, the front wheel of the bike raising 3 feet off the ground. Almost instantly he was in to the main pack of zombies. Do or die time. He hardly had time to see them clearly as he sped past, fighting to force the wheel back down as he roared toward the entrance proper. With a violent jolt the tyre bumped down onto the floor and he could see that for the moment the way ahead was clear, the zombies too startled by the sudden movement and noise to react to seeing him.

Weaving to the right nearer to the shops to avoid a group of 5 bewildered looking zombies he leaned hard into the movement and then corrected the path so he was aiming straight at the car park.

A few of the group gathered around something on the car park floor turned to the noise as he approached them. Clear of the entrance now, all he had to do was make it through the car park and out to the highway. They'd come in off this road not half an hour ago so he could pick up the path they were supposed to take. One or two of the ghouls from the edge of the group staggered forward, arms outstretched to take him, moaning. Tough shit you dumb-fucks he thought as he veered to the left to circumnavigate the group. Shit, he thought. Whoever that was, there wasn't going to be much left. There must be 50 of the bastards fighting for a piece. Glancing left and right he spotted a familiar-looking machine lying on its side just to his left, diagonally across from the pack. It took a second before he recognised the bike. Thor! Well, well that old bastard had fallen. Only problem with that was that Thor was good when it came to taking them to where the best rich pickings were. Oh, well if he made it back to the others they'd just have to make the best of it.

The zombies were scarcer now, most were interested in the remains of what was probably Thor or the mall's excitement of a few minutes ago.

He roared to the car park entrance, only two lonely-looking zombies were there and he passed them with no trouble. Shooting up the access road from the car park he drove fast to the slip road leading to the highway. No undead here. Jesus, they must have all been in the mall from this immediate area. He'd been lucky, no doubt about it.

Glancing left and right several times to be sure he pulled over into the middle of the highway, straddling the white lines and looked back to the mall. He was on a small rise, the car park laid out before him and the eastern mall entrance clear in the moonlight and the light coming from the mall itself. It looked quiet from here, he mused. The ghouls wandering aimlessly, the mall itself still teeming with them. The only sign they'd been here from this distance was the truck they'd moved that had been blocking the entrance and the group still crouching around his former leader's remains.

Glancing to the mall roof he could just make out the blades and top part of the helicopter they'd sighted earlier that had given the mall's location away.

He wondered if the dumb saps inside who owned it were still alive. Maybe they'd wait until daylight to try and get away.

Glancing left and right again pulled away east in the direction the group were supposed to have taken.

He knew he'd have to make time now. Out on his own he'd last no more than a couple of days, he had nothing to show from the raid and now only a knife and he knew he'd be seriously screwed. Accelerating further he opened up the throttle fully and roared down the highway. He hadn't been able to hear any engine noise when he'd stopped to look back at the mall before, so it was safe to assume they were far ahead. Travelling together they didn't need to race unless they saw a large pack of zombies so he should catch up soon.

The road was clear and eerily silent bar the bike's engine noise. The view either side of the road was trees and fields. Stay sharp, he reminded himself. Watch the road, those dumb zombies had a habit of not moving in time if you drove straight at them. The highway was relatively straight, the road only occasionally curving gently to the left. Back west was the city, north the mall and south the main highway to other wrecked towns and cities. How far gone were they now, he wondered. This had been going on 5 months now, all the people they encountered were either hardened survivors or desperate and dying. Eventually in the distance he saw the lights of what looked like a convoy. Good, nobody else would be likely to travel in numbers in this area. He breathed a sigh of relief and slowed slightly, don't make the bastards jumpy by suddenly roaring up on them. Last thing he wanted after all this was to be shot at by his own side. As he approached them he flashed his headlights several times, slowing further, wary of post-raid nerves and over anxious trigger fingers.

He saw the group halt and approached at a glide stopping 20 metres from them. Squinting against the headlamps he held up his hand to ward off the glare. Jesus, accompanying their two vans there were only 7 bikes. This raid had cost their numbers dear. He saw they were all pointing guns at him, tense. "What do you want?" a voice he recognised called out.

"Hey! It's me Paul. You fuckers thought you'd got shot of me?"

The guns were lowered and laughs rose from 2 or 3 of the group.

"You gave us the willies man. What happened to you?"

"Got lost in the back offices, how many'd we lose?"

"Too many. Thor's gone. So's Hatchet and Nick. Any ideas on where we could go now?"

"There's a lot of farm country this way" he said hazarding a guess "We could check it out. Plenty of well stocked easy pickings"

"Guess we should let you navigate now heh?" one grinned. Turning to the others he said "Well?"

Grunts of indifferent approval greeted him. Paul looked at the van, Thor's former girlfriend Chickie was sitting in the front seat.

"I think you're in charge now Chickie" he shouted to her "Wanna take my advice?"

"Sure" she shrugged. "We're well stocked for the next few days though".

"Let's head on" he said to all of them in general. "We need to find somewhere to camp soon anyway."

"Right on" Chickie agreed, gunning the van's engine, to which the other bikers and the second van followed suit. "Let's get moving".

- THE END -