Wild Strawberry: The Motorcycle Diaries Read Online Free Page A

end to this torture, but the only part of his bare flesh that was available for consumption was his face, and the creatures soon stripped it of flesh to the skull.
                  Even now, he tried to say, “Just bloody kill me,” but his lipless mouth could only produce a ghastly groan.
                  Joe glanced back over his shoulder.  Most of the zombies were in a scrum around his fallen friend, but two gave him chase: a man in stripy pyjamas and a milkman whose white coat was torn and almost completely red.
                  “Fuck!” He calculated how long he could run at this pace -  five minutes at the most; then how long the creatures could keep running - as far as he knew, indefinitely.  He may be able to keep ahead of them for another few minutes, but then he’d be far too exhausted to put up a fight.
                  Two tireless pursuers - one terrified, sleep-deprived man.  He estimated that in all probability he had six minutes left to live.
                  He wondered if he could climb a tree, but the prospect of starvation while looking down at a growing crowd of hungry corpses did not seem like any better an option than being eaten.
                  He was just considering stopping and letting events take their course when he saw Jeffrey turn back around the corner up ahead.
                  Jeffrey took in the situation, skidded his bike, turning again to head away from Joe.
                  “What the fuck?” Joe panted, until he realised that Jeffrey was slowing down so that he could leap on the back of the moving bike.
                  Now Joe put on a burst of speed, realising the more distance he had between himself and his pursuers the easier this would be.
                  He ran and ran.
                  His legs burned, and his whole body was slick with sweat under his warm and heavy leathers.
                  He glanced over his shoulder.
                  “Fuck!” So much for his plan of putting some extra distance between himself and the zombies; they were closer than ever.
                  All it would take was one trip or stumble and he would be dead.
                  The bike was within reach.
                  As he staggered onto the back of the bike he felt the fingers of the foremost creature scrabble against the leather of the back of his jacket.
                  He thanked God that he had cut his long hair short just last year.  In his mind’s eye he imagined dead fingers tangled in his hair as the bike surged ahead.
                  Joe almost lost his balance, but gripped tightly onto Jeffrey to stop himself falling backwards.
                  He looked over his shoulder.  Zombies were still running.  Their faces showed no disappointment, no sign recognition that their prey was now beyond their reach, just the same wild hunger that was becoming a horrifyingly familiar sight.
                  They cycled on at a risky seventy miles an hour, a dangerous speed for the winding country roads they were using.  After half an hour they relaxed a little, and when they came to a sign that said the next village was two miles away they slowed, and stopped for a moment to consider their position.
                  There were now four of them, with three bikes.
                  They had left in such a hurry that only Troy had his helmet.
                  The others had previously disliked being required by law to wear a helmet, now they all craved any protection they could find.
                  Wearily, they continued their tortuous journey and after another thirty minutes of cycling they saw a small single-track road leading to a small farmhouse.  Parked beside the farmhouse was a large, black, forty-foot