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</div><a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2Foriginals%2F1b%2F37%2Fd6%2F1b37d66b3d9c1cdcb0d034adaa18762a.png&amp;hash=7321674249144311c85c3aec906159cc" href="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/1b/37/d6/1b37d66b3d9c1cdcb0d034adaa18762a.png" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">SFC Nena Crawford</a>approached the badly vandalized BMW dealership on the edge of Montgomery, Alabama cautiously.  Either the vandals had no clue about how to drive a high performance automobile OR they just didn't care about the wreckage they left behind OR a herd of walkers had shown up as they were vandalizing the dealership.  There wasn't a fully intact car left in the place.<br/><br/>Not that Nena was looking for a car anyhow.  She was in the market for a motorcycle.  Not that there was anything wrong with her beloved Harley.  Well. . . . . other than the fact the bike was so loud that the walking dead could hear it coming from two counties away. Which had made it a liability.  She needed a quieter motorcycle.  BMW's were known to have some of the quietest motorcycles on the market. Other than of course the electric bikes.  But a lack of charging stations made the electric bike unfeasible.  So back to fossil fuels.<br/><br/><a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fultimatemotorcycling.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2021%2F11%2F2022-bmw-k-1600-b-first-look-bagger-touring-motorcycle-19.jpg&amp;hash=03c0aea8ad7b6e4a26e80504d76fe1c1" href="https://ultimatemotorcycling.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/11/2022-bmw-k-1600-b-first-look-bagger-touring-motorcycle-19.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">The BMW K-1600</a>was a beauty.  It had survived the vandalism of the dealership mainly because it was back in the maintenance department being worked on.  But from the papers on the desk, the work had been finished.  The keys were attached to the papers, so she started the bike up.  Much quieter than her Harley, but with power enough to get her away from trouble.<br/><br/>Nena quickly moved her gear from the Harley to the BMW.  Then she drove her Harley out into the woods back of the dealership and covered it with a tarp.<br/><br/>"Hopefully, we'll be together again someday," she murmured before walking back to the dealership.  She grabbed a battery-powered multi-band radio off the maintenance desk and a map from one of the drawers.  Not that she really needed a map.  She knew this area of Alabama like the back of her hand.  But maps gave her something to look at as she planned her movements.<br/><br/>Nena didn't like taking the main roads if she could avoid them, so leaving the dealership, she headed in the direction of route 231 headed north.  The old Tate farm outside Sylacauga was her destination for the night.  The farm was well-hidden back in the woods. And unoccupied, since the Tates had died years ago.  They were distant family and their children had shown no interest in taking over the farm.  And as long as she didn't mind all the doilies and colorfully knit blankets that Mavis Tate had kept the living room covered in, it was a good place for the night.<br/><br/>Rising early the next morning from a sound sleep, she caught the broadcast from Havenshire on the radio.  Idris Bellucci?  She knew that name from somewhere.  She spent some time trying to put a face to the name. Finally, she remembered a medal ceremony where she and a Marine Lieutenant Bellucci received medals for doing crazy things that no one cared about anymore.  Damn!  Had she become that cynical?  Still, she had absolutely nothing else better to do.  And she had a pretty good idea where Havenshire was.  So after a quick breakfast, she headed in that direction.