A/n: In honor of a few things that recently happened-- "zombie jesus day" the fertilizer my friend uncovered in the garage, and my own personal pride of an accomplishment-- all poured into my tired brain and mixed thoroughly.
--oo--
At any other time Mark would have left the old mess alone, but he figured this was an emergency. Mark had no intention of becoming the revived Smith family's next meal.
The old 250 motorcycle sat dully by the rusty container, and Mark quickly found the back tire balding but servicable. The tubes for the gas and brakes fluid were in reasonable condition, and inspite of the clinging clusters of spider nest throughout the chassy, the various vacuum tubes sported no visible cracks.
He turned the cap of the gas tank, and judged the fuel as this side of good. The only problem remained was the pathetic, empty skeleton of the front forks.
Old man Smith was lazy, Mark thought as he gazed at the block box. Maybe he put inside?
The metal door creaked dangerously loud in protest, but it couldn't be helped. Mark frowned and swept his eyes over the various piles, vaguely recalling where the old man had last placed the spare tire he desperately needed.
Palm tree fertilizer. Zombie plague. There has to be. A connection. Mark thought darkly as he regarded the great pile of brightly colored plastic bags. They were stacked neatly in the very back and reached the ceiling, easily towering over the white porcelin dog lamp missing the shade and the pile of discarded encylopedas from 1932.
He quickly found a pile that looked to be mostly "mechanic" things, blocked in by blocky metal tins filled with some mysterious pungent liquid. Mark reached his arms into the back of the pile of rotting newpaper, and felt something round in shape back against the uneven wall. His gloves brushed against a rough surface which reminded him of alligator skin. He wiggled his fingers beneath the promising smoothness of spokes, and yanked the spare free.
To his dismay.. It was not only bald high on the left side, but completely flat. He heard a creak of the metal door behind him, folloed by the shambling sort of footstep the no longer living made.
"Fukk." He breathed, and looked over his shoulder. He gripped the tire firmly and rose to his feet. "I'm fukked..."
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