Death and Biker Gangs by S. P. Blackmore

“This is a pretty good place for a trap, isn’t?”
    “The dead are setting  traps ?” Dax asked, still holding  Cab Ride of the Dead.
    I backed away, nearly tripping over the damned stilettos. “No, Dax. Not the fucking  dead .”
     

SIX
    Tony bolted for the sidewalk and nearly slipped in the ash. “Gray house on the left.”
    “They’re all gray!”
    “That   one!” He swung out a hand long enough to gesture vaguely at a house with a trailer overturned in the driveway. We scrambled for the house in a decidedly disorganized fashion, Evie racing after us.
    The whine became a steady hum. They must have been coming from a far-off place if it took them so long to get here—sound carries a lot further when there’s no background noise to dilute it.
    “Dude!” Dax pointed at the ground. “If they use their heads at all, they’ll see our tracks.”
    He dashed back to the piece of cardboard that had concealed the photo albums. “Help him with the gate. I’ll smush up our trail.”
    You ’ ll what?  I darted ahead of Tony to the wooden gate that ran from the garage wall to the unit next door. I stood on my toes and reached over the fence, fumbling around with the latch. I also felt something else: something big and square. My heart sank. “I think there’s a lock…”
    Click . Something gave way, and the padlock slipped off the latch.
    Holy shit, I never got this lucky. I opened the latch and pushed the gate open, swinging into what had probably once been a side yard strewn with tanbark. We had about eight feet of clearance between the side of the house and the fence, and everything  looked  clear, at least for the moment. Tony and Evie hustled through the gate.
    I looked back toward Dax, then had to stop and blink. “What’s he doing?”
    Tony joined me at the gate, pulling off his gloves. “Looks like an interpretation of  Lord of the Dance .” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Boy Scout! Quit stomping the yard and get over here!”
    Dax swiped the cardboard against the ground several additional times, then dragged it behind himself, leaping from side to side. Tony and I stood there staring at him as he backed his way to the gate. “You picked a hell of a time to brush up on your dance moves,” Tony said.
    Dax shut the gate behind him, pride evident in his eyes.
    “Nice job,” I said, although I wasn’t quite sure what I was praising.
    Tony nodded in agreement. “So what happens if they realize your little swishy trail leads to the house?”
    Dax’s smile faded slightly as he considered that.
    The motors abruptly cut out. Tony signaled us to silence and peered through the tiny gaps between the slats. A few seconds later, I copied him, getting a halfway decent look at our visitors.
    Six figures strolled through the debris field. Only one of them had a bike with him—a slender vehicle painted black and silver. I could just make out the others at the other bikes beyond it before the slats cut off my field of vision. “What kind of bike is that?” I whispered to Tony.
    “Can’t tell. Looks fancy, though.”
    One of the bikers knocked aside several items, including the box of zombie books. “Looks like they bugged out,” he said.
    “Shit! I told you we should have waited closer.”
    A third man looked around, and for a second I thought he’d spotted us. But his head continued to turn, inspecting each house along the block. “They could be hiding. We should search the place.”
    “You really wanna go through all these houses? They could spring anything on us if they’re inside.” The second man crouched in front of the zombie books and started shuffling through them. I couldn’t tell whether he was smiling or not, but they seemed to be keeping his interest. “Did they have a bike?”
    “I don’t fucking know, dude. I didn’t see one. They might’ve been on foot.”
    “How fucking stupid could they be?”
    Tony huffed quietly.
    Oh, you haven’t seen how stupid we can