CH 16: Rider or Dier
Day 15. Noon-ish.
The road was cracked, crooked, and full of questionable smells.
Carl pushed the wagon.
Ellie sat inside reading a dusty copy of "Emotional Stability for Dummies" and occasionally underlining random words like "panic" and "granola."
Toby, from behind the wagon, yelled, "I found a pinecone! I'm naming him 'Detonator'!"
Nana walked ahead of them all, wearing sunglasses she didn't own yesterday.
---
They weren't heading anywhere specific. The apocalypse had a way of making every direction equally vague. East-ish had been good to them so far — fewer zombies, more old vending machines, and at least one hilltop where Carl swore he saw a goose commit tax fraud.
That's when they heard it.
Rumbling. Engines. Bass-heavy music.
Carl froze.
"That's either a boss battle… or a biker gang."
Toby popped up. "Can it be both?"
---
A swarm of modified motorcycles thundered around the bend.
They weren't sleek like TV bikes. These were covered in duct tape, beer stickers, and wild metal plating that looked like it came from a rejected Mad Max prop auction.
One bike had a flamethrower.
Another had a mailbox welded to the front.
The last one had a sidecar… occupied by a live goat wearing goggles.
They formed a circle around the main cast and skidded to a dramatic stop.
Dust billowed. Toby sneezed. Ellie squinted at the logo on their jackets:
> RIDER OR DIER
Underneath it: "Gasoline is temporary. Glory is forever."
---
The leader took off her helmet.
Short, buff, scarred, and chewing what looked like a piece of leather, she stepped forward.
"Name's Clutch. This is our turf. You freeloading?"
Carl raised both hands. "We're just wandering. No turf-freeloading here."
"Hmph." She looked at Nana. "You. What's your name?"
"Mildred," Nana said flatly. "You look like you lose poker games on purpose."
The bikers went silent.
Then Clutch grinned.
"You ride?"
"I shuffle menacingly," Nana replied.
"Close enough."
---
Before Carl could protest, Clutch tossed Nana a biker vest.
It had patches like "Eat Asphalt", "Turbo Granny," and "Voted Most Likely to Punch a Ghost."
Nana inspected the stitching. "It'll do."
---
Then came the screeching.
Zombies.
From the woods, a small horde appeared — a dozen maybe. More groaning than fast, but with that unmistakable rot-and-persistent-bad-attitude energy.
Carl instinctively pulled Ellie behind him.
"We've got company."
Toby held Detonator the Pinecone like a grenade.
"I'm ready."
But the bikers just grinned.
"Showtime," Clutch growled.
---
The gang revved up. Bikes peeled out in all directions.
One biker tossed a net made of garden hoses.
Another hit a zombie full-speed and shouted, "ROADKILL BONUS!"
The goat in the sidecar screamed.
---
Flames, tires, and chaos.
It wasn't elegant. It wasn't strategic. But it was effective.
Carl watched a biker use a metal lunch tray as a frisbee to decapitate a zombie.
Ellie was clapping.
Toby was taking notes.
Nana leaned on her walking stick like it was a war spear.
"This is oddly beautiful," she said.
---
When the dust settled, the horde was gone.
What remained was a pile of burned sneakers, some leaking goo, and a biker posing on top of a van like they'd just won Wrestlemania.
Clutch pulled up next to Nana.
"Told you. We clear zombies and host bingo night."
Nana tapped her chin. "You have sourdough?"
"Always."
"I'm listening."
---
Carl was still trying to process what just happened.
Ellie handed him a sticky note labeled "Apocalypse Points: +50 for chaos assist."
"We should travel with them," she said.
"Or away from them," Carl muttered.
Toby was now wearing three biker patches and had drawn a skull on his face with a marker.
"I've become what I was born to be," he whispered.
"A road gremlin?" Ellie asked.
"A legend."
---
The gang offered them lunch — canned meat and ghost pepper jerky.
Carl declined. Nana accepted, adding two more jars to her purse. Ellie traded a toy dinosaur for a spare helmet.
Then Clutch made it official:
"You all are honorary Riders now. Except the dad. He's too tense."
"I'm not tense—"
"See?" Clutch grinned.
---
As they rolled out, Ellie turned to Carl and whispered:
"This might be our weirdest day yet."
Carl shook his head.
"We once watched a duck rob a pharmacy. This doesn't even crack top five."
---
Day 15. Afternoon.
The roar of engines was addictive.
Carl wouldn't admit it out loud, but sitting in the back of a pickup-turned-parade-float while Nana stood in front holding a crowbar like a scepter? It was starting to feel... cool.
The "Rider or Dier" gang tore across the cracked roads, kicking up dust and zombie limbs, loud music blasting from someone's speaker rig. It alternated between heavy metal and a playlist labeled:
"Grandma's Workout Jams – Do Not Question This."
---
Toby stood in the sidecar with the goat, wearing goggles way too big for his face.
"I AM SPEED," he yelled as they hit a pothole the size of a refrigerator.
The goat bleated like it owed taxes.
Behind them, Ellie and Carl rode on a flatbed trailer tied to the back of a monster trike. Carl gripped the rails like a dad on a theme park ride he definitely didn't trust.
"We're going 40 miles an hour through zombie country."
"Yeah!" Ellie shouted, wind whipping through her hair. "Living our best life!"
Carl pointed to a biker who was slicing zombies with what looked like a lawn mower blade on a chain.
"That guy just decapitated something that had three arms!"
"Triple kill!"
---
Nana was thriving.
Wearing her vest, sunglasses, and a helmet with spikes, she stood front and center of the convoy, occasionally whacking zombies with a wrench like she was conducting a very loud and violent orchestra.
"Twelve o'clock, mild shamblers!" shouted Clutch.
"Let me at 'em," Nana growled.
She leapt off the vehicle like a WWE wrestler, slammed a zombie with a flying knee (Carl was 90% sure he hallucinated that), and used her cane to sweep the legs out from two more.
The gang whooped.
Ellie scribbled down a note:
"Nana: unlocked hidden passive – Wrath of the Matriarch."
---
Zombies swarmed out from a wrecked gas station up ahead.
The convoy didn't stop.
They accelerated.
One biker tossed out fireworks like confetti. Another hurled expired cans of beans, knocking heads off with terrifying precision.
"This is my anime arc!" Toby declared, standing up in the sidecar, wielding a plastic sword covered in duct tape.
The goat kicked a zombie.
Ellie handed Carl a crowbar and said, "Dad. It's your turn."
Carl hesitated.
Then stood.
Balanced.
And swung.
THWACK.
A headless zombie flipped backward into a ditch.
"Okay," Carl said. "That was kind of awesome."
---
They rode like that for almost an hour.
Laughing. Fighting. Celebrating tiny victories in a world gone mad.
Zombies became set pieces, problems to solve with creative velocity.
Ellie tied glow sticks to a baseball bat.
Toby threw packets of glitter "for dramatic effect."
Nana pulled out a folding chair and bonked an undead on the head while sitting in it, sipping instant coffee.
"Elegant," Clutch whispered.
---
Eventually, the gang rolled to a stop near an overpass plastered in graffiti.
The wall read:
"THE WORLD ENDED, SO WE MADE OUR OWN RULES."
They parked, set up camp, and passed around root beer and leftover chili.
Nana was declared "Honorary Road Commander."
Carl was gifted a sticker that read:
"ZOMBIE: ZERO | ANXIETY: 100"
Toby napped on the goat.
Ellie painted a mural with the gang—an image of all of them together, riding through the apocalypse like misfits on parade.
---
As the sun dipped low and the sky turned tangerine-orange, Carl sat beside Nana, watching shadows stretch across the road.
"This felt like a weird dream," he admitted.
"It was," Nana said. "A loud, gasoline-soaked, goat-screaming dream. But we needed it."
He nodded.
"We'll move on tomorrow."
"We always do."
Behind them, the bikers sang aggressively off-key karaoke to Bon Jovi.
Toby stood up mid-song and yelled, "WE'RE HALFWAY THERE!"
The goat bleated in tune.
Carl smiled. For once, not because he was pretending to.
---
Day 15. Dusk.
The sky was purple.
Not poetically. It was actually purple.
Some atmospheric something-something from the disasters weeks ago had given the clouds a slight grape-soda hue. Toby insisted it tasted like disappointment.
"We should bottle it," he muttered, sipping air through a silly straw.
The convoy had stopped for the night beside an abandoned billboard that read:
"BUY 1 GET 1 ZOMBIE-FREE"
Below it, the biker gang was packing up. Laughing, flexing, revving engines, tuning guitars that hadn't had strings in years. A bonfire burned in a trash can filled with expired romance novels.
Carl stood near the edge of the group, staring into the horizon.
Ellie approached him with two juice boxes.
"They only had grape and slightly grape."
Carl took one. "Thanks."
"You gonna miss this?"
"The goat? Definitely."
---
Nana was in the center of the circle.
Wearing her vest, sunglasses, a scarf she stole from someone named "Axel," and a necklace made of rusty bike chains, she looked like she'd been born in a biker bar and raised by gravel.
Clutch stepped forward.
"You ever change your mind, Granny Doom, you've got a spot with us."
"I don't ride," Nana said.
"You are the ride," Clutch replied, eyes gleaming.
Toby gasped. "That's the coolest thing I've ever heard."
The goat sneezed.
---
The gang held a short ceremony.
They knighted Toby with a foam pool noodle.
"Henceforth, thou shalt be known as 'Lil Engine That Screams,'" said Chainsaw Steve.
Toby bowed solemnly. "I accept this cursed honor."
Ellie received a sketchbook filled with biker gang stickers and one disturbingly detailed sketch of her suplexing a zombie in space.
Carl was gifted a half-burnt road map with one phrase written across it:
"KEEP GOING. THE WORLD'S STILL OUT THERE."
He folded it carefully and tucked it into his coat.
---
Goodbyes were loud.
A biker tried to set off fireworks but accidentally launched a grilled cheese instead.
One biker played a farewell song on a broken accordion.
Another just revved his bike in Morse code.
Nana gave Clutch a firm handshake, then stole her belt buckle "for sentimental reasons."
Carl waved awkwardly.
Ellie threw up peace signs.
Toby shouted, "NEVER FORGET ME," and promptly tripped into a bucket of motor oil.
The goat bleated. He would be missed.
---
As the bikes roared to life and the gang peeled off into the purple twilight, Ellie turned to Carl.
"So what now?"
He smiled.
"Same thing we always do."
"Survive?"
"Yeah. But with style."
Nana adjusted her sunglasses. "Also, I may have taken their chili recipe."
"This is the greatest heist of the apocalypse," Carl whispered.
Toby saluted the horizon. "Ride eternal, shiny and snack-filled."
They walked on, pushing their squeaky wagon of loot, weird memories, and half a bag of marshmallows someone had hidden in a helmet.
---
End of Chapter 17 – Rider or Dier
> The gang rolled on. The road stretched ahead. And somewhere between laughter, grease fires, and goat diplomacy, the apocalypse became just a little more livable.
---