Wild Strawberry: The Motorcycle Diaries by T.A. Donnelly Page B

news!”
                  “Just get on with it!” snapped Terry.
                  “This infection.  Those crazy people.”
                  “Yes?”
                  “They’re dead!”
                  “Fuck off!” shouted Terry.
                  “No, really - on the BBC - they said.  The virus thing is causing the brains of the dead to keep working.  But all they do is want to kill other people, and if they kill you, you become one of them.”
                  “I don’t know what you’ve been listening to, mate,” said Terry, “but it sure as fuck ain’t Radio Four.”
                  “I swear to God, it’s what the news said.”
                  “No,” said Jeffrey, “it makes sense.  Did you get a good look at those creatures on the motorway?  They were covered in blood, some of it their own.”
                  “Jesus,” muttered Peter, as he took off his glasses to clean them on the sleeve of his jumper, which he had pulled down from the sleeve of his leather jacket.
                  Joe shook his head.  “So what do we do now?”
                  “It’s seriously fucked up,” said Jeffrey, “but it doesn’t change our plan: find somewhere far away from the living, and where the dead aren’t likely to be around either.”
                  “The only difference,” added Joe, “is that when we find somewhere we make sure it’s secure, and we don’t let anything know we’re in there.”
                  “Agreed.”
                  They re-mounted their bikes and noisily kick-started them.
                  Joe was at the front of the group, and as he started his engine, he looked back to see Peter, at the rear, also kicking his bike to life.  Then he noticed, with alarm, a shape moving behind Peter, running towards him across the field with unnerving agility.  It was hard to tell the runner’s gender as its body, although naked, was caked in mud and blood and was distorted by dozens of bite-marks; chunks removed from the pale body.
                  Joe screamed for Peter to look out, but Peter could not hear over the engine noise.
                  Frantically, Joe tried to point, but Peter misunderstood the gesture and gave him a cheery ‘thumbs up’ in return.
                  Joe’s voice was hoarse with shouting, as Salman, almost beside him on his revving bike, finally heard the agitated cries and looked back towards the figure approaching Peter.  Troy and Terry only realised what was happening when the creature came within twenty feet.
                  Joe tried to dismount, but he was shaking, and tripped over, landing in the soft mud beside the road.
                  Peter had started to laugh and point at Joe struggling in the mud, but then began to realise that everyone was staring at somewhere just behind his shoulder.
                  He wheeled round when he felt hands on his him but the thing toppled him head-first into the mud before he had realised what was going on.
                  He heard the creature’s teeth scrape and crack against his helmet as he went down.  His visor was covered in mud, so he was blinded as he grappled wildly.
                  Then he felt biting at his leathers, on his shoulders and back.
                  Peter tried desperately to get back on his feet, but the mud was too slippery, and the creature’s weight was pinning him down.
                  With a push he managed to roll over, the creature still on his back; so now he was on top of it , face up.
                  It continued to scramble and bite at him, and as it twitched and turned, it caught home of his arm.
                  With a wild strength, the monster