Empty, lifeless buildings whizzed by as Todd speed down the abandon streets of St. Louis. His long brown duster flapped in the wind, his cowboy hat barley staying on his head. He'd stopped believing in helmets. He figured if he had to go down, he didn't mind losing his head, better than being zombie chow and becoming one of the walking meat sacks.<br/><br/>He slowed as he heard the sound of another bike engine. As he made a left turn, he noticed another biker play mailbox baseball with a deady's head. He frowned at the familiar site of the head flattening and shattering easily, dark coagulated blood exploding with rotten gray matter on the street. It was a good hit.<br/><br/>He grimaced, he suddenly was seeing the biker splatter the zombie again, but this time it was Sara who was kneeling on the ground. He reached in a saddle bag and pulled out a bottle of Jack. He used it to chase off these images and to keep him...<em>Fuck, empty.</em>He slowly urged his chopper forward. He looked at the battered corpse in the street and broke the empty bottle on the asphalt.  He stopped the bike walked over to the body the zombie had been feasting on and jabbed the jagged glass through the head, just to make sure the poor sap didn't get up and start looking for a snack.<br/><br/>He walked his bike up to the bar. He slung a large military style duffel bag he'd liberated from a Sentinel back in Boston over his shoulder and walked in and up to the bar.<br/><br/>"Yo keep, I need a bottle of Jack and a glass." He tried to take note of the other people in the bar. He noted the other biker, but didn't keep scanning. He paid for his booze and found a seat to start chasing his demons away.