Wild Strawberry: The Motorcycle Diaries Read Online Free

give it a fucking go, you fucking tourist!”
                  With these words, Jeffrey stepped forward, gripped Peter’s head, and twisted and bent it backwards with all his strength.
                  The neck snapped with a sickening crack, and Jeffrey, trembling, looked defiantly into Terry’s eyes as the body fell to the floor.
                  Everyone stood round in silence until Jeffrey spoke again, “You,” he pointed at Terry “I did the dirty job, now you can take care of the funeral arrangements.”
                  “Funeral, what the fuck?”
                  “Bury him or cremate him, just don’t ask for my help.”
                  Jeffrey stomped off along the road to throw up behind a low hedge.
                  Terry crouched by the body of his old friend.  He heard a scrabbling noise under the motorbike helmet.  “That better not be a fucking rat in there trying to eat my mate.”  He gingerly twisted the helmet, turning the neck too, but eventually he was able to get the visor to face frontwards.
                  He opened it and leapt back sharply.  Peter’s nose was nothing more than a red smear across the middle of his face, but his eyes were still wide, and his jaw was still snapping open and shut hoping for some food.
                  “Holy fuck!”
                  When he heard Terry’s shout, Jeffrey looked up, slowly, from the pool of vomit he had just produced.  As his line of vision became parallel with the horizon his heart jumped; there were about a dozen blood-stained creatures running straight towards him.
                  “Ladies!” He screeched, “we’ve got company, get to the bikes!”
                  Joe half carried Salman and sat him on the back of his saddle to ride pillion.
                  No sooner had the bikes roared to life than the monsters jumped through the hedge.
                  “Fuck it!” Joe pumped the accelerator, but, unaccustomed to the additional weight on the back of the bike, raised it up on its back wheel, lost control, so both he and Salman landed on their backs on the road while their friends shot forward.
                  The creatures were almost on them; there was no way they could get back on the bikes now.
                  “Sorry mate,” Joe muttered as he glanced back at Salman.  He had started to run down the road towards the backs of his friends as they cycled down the road away from them.
                  “Don’t leave me!” Salman cried, and with adrenaline pumping through him, he was able to leap up and start hobbling after Joe, each step an agony.
                  Joe cursed, stopped and turned to go back for his friend.
                  Salman saw a figure burst out of the hedge in between him and Joe.  It had been a paunchy police officer: its mouth was stained with gore, and it had a series of holes in its chest that looked as though they may have been made by bullets.
                  He knew it was hopeless.
                  “Just run!” Salman shouted, “just bloody run!”
                  His shouts turned to screams as the police corpse reached him, gripped his head in both of its cold, blood-stained hands and bit a chunk out of Salman’s forehead.  He could feel the scraping of the zombie’s teeth against his skull.
                  At the same moment, another creature grabbed him from the back and started biting at his padded jacket.
                  Salman had been proud of his biker’s leathers, and they offered him some protection even now.  But now the defense they offered only slowed his inevitable death, as more and more sets of teeth tore at the leather.
                  He tried to bare his neck, hoping for a quick