The Walking Dead: Highway 85

Here is a story by one of our readers, Matt (aka YouTuber AMCTWD13). Warning – This story contains language and gore. It takes place before Tony and Dave encountered Rick, Glenn, and Hershel at Patton’s Bar.

By Matt (YouTube = AMCTWD13)

“Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about,” Tony chuckled as he revealed a full bottle of whiskey from under one of the blankets in the 1977 Cherokee Chiefs trunk.

Dave dragged the recently consumed corpse out of the driver’s seat and brought it to the ground. Pinkish blood splattered upwards and painted Dave’s Strafford Shark shirt as the carcass smashed against the hard concrete.

“Shit,” Dave grumbled as he wiped the muck off of his face.

Dave climbed into the driver’s seat and rummaged through all of the compartments.

“What you got?” Tony asked as he popped the cap of the vodka bottle and wrapped his lips around the top.

“This guy was packin’ heat,” Dave said sarcastically. “No wonder he couldn’t fight off these two assholes.”

Dave pointed to the pair of roamers lying on the ground with his knife. Both had suffered a dozen bullets to the chest, and one round into each of their brains.

“Yeah, they ain’t as good as we are,” Tony grumbled, taking another sip of the vodka.

The two continued going through the dead man’s supplies until Dave thought he heard the unmistakable groan of the undead.

“Shh, you hear that, Tony?” Dave asked, gesturing to be quiet.

“Hear what? We the only one’s here,” Tony spat as he leaned back to laugh.

Suddenly, a group of lamebrains appeared from a nearby bush just a couple meters away. Oblivious to his dangerous surroundings, Tony and his bottle of vodka took several steps back, right towards the group of zombies.

“Tony!” Dave screamed, alerting all of the stationary lurkers around him. “Look out!”

Tony, shotgun in hand, twirled around, dropping his bottle of juice. With no time to pump a shell into his shotguns chamber, he swung at the nearest zombie and knocked it to the ground. As the other three zombies moved up the hill, Tony retreated to his truck. Dave dove out of the survivor’s car, and smacked against the body he had taken out earlier.

In the worst time possible, the dead man came back to life as Dave lay on top of it.

“Dave, look out!” Tony hollered as he climbed into his truck and locked the door.

Dave reached for the switchblade clipped to his belt, but the dead man held his arm tight.

“Can’t move!”

With his remaining strength, Dave grabbed the zombie by its neck and slammed its slim body up against the truck. Even after suffering a forceful blow, the zombie was still lively active; ferociously snapping its teeth as it brought its greasy and decaying head towards Dave’s shoulder.

Black, tainted blood squirted onto Dave’s khakis as he drove his switchblade into the zombie’s upper leg. The lamebrain emitted a piercing shriek as Dave ripped the knife out of its flesh and rammed it against the truck. The zombies head made contact with the rim of the tire this time and brain matter covered Dave. Holding the zombie by its shirt, he dropped the inactive body to the floor.

“Son of a bitch!” Dave lunged back panting.

Blood ran down the trucks side as Dave retrieved his knife and crawled towards the truck. The eaters that had emerged from the woods were now just feet away from Dave, and the noise created by Tony had drew in over two dozen lurkers. They were no faced with a herd.

“Dave!” Tony cried in his Boston accent as he rolled down the window.

“C’mon, there’s roamers everywhere!”

He stuck the long barrel of his shotgun out the window and scattershot a dozen rounds into a nearby zombie.  The zombie was wearing a Subway employee collared shirt, and his faded skin tone showed that he was Indian. The Indian zombie flew backwards and smacked against the ground, but then, in a feeble manner, it got back onto its feet and continued to limp towards Dave.

Dave extended his right hand and reached for the door handle with all his strength. Before Dave could pull on the handle, the door flew open, almost smacking him in the face. Dave jumped inside and reached to close the door, but it was too late. One zombies hand was stuck in the door. Dave grabbed his knife and attempted to cut off the eater’s hand, but the door had caught more than his fingers. Dave tried to quickly amputate the lamebrains arm with his switchblade, but didn’t even make contact with the bone.

Several zombies smashed against the pickup of the truck, jolting Dave and Tony around the cab like bouncy balls. Dave’s body smacked against the dusty dashboard, and the switchblade flew out of his hands and into the backseat.

Dave and Tony dove back towards the passenger door and shut it before the zombie could pry it open. He grabbed the handle once and slammed the door, but the zombie stayed caught. Thick blood instantly covered the cars carpeted seats as the zombies lower arm began to squish. Blood squirted onto Dave’s chin as he leaned back and tugged on the door. The zombie moaned and groaned in what sounded like pain until several sickening crunches echoed throughout the truck’s cab.

“Pull, pull!”

Tony reached over and grabbed Dave’s arm and pulled. Suddenly, the zombie twitched as snapped bone ripped through its flesh and jaggedly busted out of its forearm. At last, the lurker broke free from the door and flew back, knocking over another three zombies. As the zombie flew back; blood spurting out of its compound fracture, it smashed against a deserted Honda, triggering the sensitive car alarm. Every single zombie in a mile radius came sauntering towards the two men.

Roamers were now surrounding the truck. Dozens pressed their oily and decaying faces against the dirty glass. Their teeth were snapping and their pale, creamy eyes bulged out of their blackened sockets.

“Yo Dave, what the hell do we do?” Tony cried. His face twisted in anger or fright. He looked almost as if he was about to cry.

“Drive man,” Dave spat. “We’ll go right over them, step on it!”

“They gonna get stuck on the truck, I’m tellin’ you!” Tony cried, still with that terrified expression on his face. “Trust me, It ain’t gonna work.”

“Well shit,” Dave mumble under his breath. “Well, I was saving it for this reason,” he added. Dave reached into his left pocket and pulled out a pack of Marlboros. He opened the pack and took hold of the last cigarette.

He shoved the orange side between his lips, grabbed a match and lit the cigarette. He took a deep breath in, held it, and exhaled.

“Yo, you gonna share that?” Tony asked in a childish tone.

Dave turned to Tony who was dragging his cigarette.

“How many shells you got for the Remington, Tony?”

Tony turned to Dave.

“Does that matter?”

Just as he spoke those words, the window behind him began to crack. A zombie in hospital smocks smeared its wrinkly face against the window until it shattered. Tony flew back into the backseat, screaming and cursing at the hungry lamebrain.

Dave placed on hand on the glove compartment and leaned in towards the zombie, berretta in hand. He shoved the handgun up against the eaters bloody forehead and clicked the trigger. Blood splattered all over the windshield and covered the driver’s seat. But shortly after Dave fired the handgun, he heard a loud click. He was out of ammo.

Several drops of sweat rolled down his temple as he panted heavily. Outside, two dozen roamers leaned against the truck, attempting to get inside.

“That was my last bullet,” Dave said, showing no emotion.

“We screwed man.”

Tony began to chuckle, still light-headed from the vodka he had sipped just ten minutes ago.

“Nah man,” Dave replied, shaking his head. “I got an idea. Hand me my knife?”

Tony reached down and scanned the floor for Dave’s switchblade.

“What you got in mind?” Tony asked. “You plan on stabbin’ every one of these things?”

Dave grabbed the knife from Tony and drove the tip into his own thumb. Fresh, brightly-colored blood ran down Dave’s hand. He rubbed his hand all over the broken window in the passenger seat and the one behind him.

“They smell blood,” Dave said, wrapping several napkins around his bleeding hand. “We’ll kill a dozen or so and then jump out the sunroof.”

“Then what?” Tony asked, still laughing. “We gonna run all the way to camp with a train of lamebrains behind us?”

“It’s a mile or two away,” Dave said quietly, looking at Ton. “Can you make that?”

“I ain’t that fat, am I?” Tony smirked at Dave with his weasel-like, Italian expression. “I got this.”

Tony reached into his pocket and took out his last ten shells. He placed eight of them into the shotguns ammunition socket and pumped one into the chamber. He then manually rolled down a window and aimed at a zombie smacking its elderly-looking palms against the glass.

Muzzle fire emitted from the shotguns barrel and quickly disappeared in a wave-like motion. Several rounds flew into the lamebrain’s skull and dark blood gushed out. Rotting brain matter bombarded the cars outer shell like heavy rain drops. The recoil sent Tony leaning back. He steadied himself, pumped another shell into the chamber and looked at Dave with and excited, yet terrified look.

One zombie leaned into the broken window and cocked its filthy head to the left where it smelt Dave’s blood on the steering wheel. Its purple tongue slithered out of its mouth and licked the blood. Dave leaned in and jabbed the blade into the zombies noggin. He screamed and ripped it out and blood ran down his dirty face.

In fury, Dave leaned outside the broken window and brought the knife close to another lamebrains face. He slashed at the face of the zombie, but did no damage. Instead, he loosened his grip on the handle and accidentally dropped the knife out of the car.

“Son of a bitch!”

Dave shrieked, reaching for the knife. Tony dragged Dave back inside the cab, lifted his Remington, and blasted several rounds into an approaching zombie. Dave reached for his handgun, which only contained four more bullets.

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