After a bit of trial and error, they managed to get Chad's arm into a rough sling. Despite the constitution he'd put into the appendage, he was still an absolute mess. Each motion felt like it threatened to pull his entire spine out of place. His shoulder was doing better, but only slightly. The muscles that attached to it still groaned and complained loudly as the Nurse bound the arm to his chest. In fact, he could barely do more than wiggle his fingers without aggravating the injuries.

Chad had initially insisted that he didn't need a sling. After all, he could simply avoid using his arm while it healed. That excuse lasted about five minutes before he was caught helping someone with their suitcase. Hence his current predicament.

He and Squawkers piled into the bed of a truck alongside a group of other hotel guests - a couple in their mid-thirties, their child, and a group of businessmen. The truck's cabin was similarly packed full. It was almost impressive how many people they'd managed to cram together, actually. Maybe clown cars aren't a magic trick, after all. Maybe it's just a matter of trying a bit harder.

A pair of rifle-wielding men hopped in beside them, keeping a careful watch on their surroundings as the vehicle rumbled to life. A moment later, it was joined by a chorus of others as the caravan began moving.

The procession of vehicles rumbled down the war-torn streets as quickly as they could manage. Armed lookouts scanned the horizon atop each as their occupants hunched together and stayed quiet. Not that it helped much. The vehicles themselves made quite a lot of noise themselves, attracting the attention of whatever monsters they passed by.

Fortunately, Chad hadn't skimped out when packing ammo for the trip. Between that and a few skills Rick's men had picked up with their latest levels, they were able to take down the threats without too much of an issue. Still, they moved quickly through the streets to avoid pressing their luck.

"On your right! Behind the dumpster!" Squawkers called out. He pointed a wing toward the location. "Some kinda lion thing is hiding there!"

A pair of rifles swing toward the hiding monster. Chad couldn't help but be a bit impressed. The thing blended into the shadow almost perfectly, to the point that he could barely make it out while the bird pointed at it. A moment later, gunfire rang out and took the beast down before it could pounce.

"Dang," Squawkers muttered. "Still no level..."

Chad glanced over at the bird. "Really? Still?"

His companion nodded as they hit a particularly deep pothole, causing the Parrot (Lvl 10) tag to bob. "It's gotta be that threshold thing. What a dumb requirement. Nothing around here's even close to level ten besides us!"

He had to agree. Besides the Ghoultures, the highest-level monster they'd encountered was a level six. It was a bit strange to think that just yesterday, Chad had considered five to be a pretty high-level land dangerous foe. But now? He had rocketed straight past that. Not just him, but the others involved in the fight as well.

"I'm still mad I didn't get credit for the big one..." The parrot muttered darkly. "Just think! I could've yelled 'look at that big bird!' Or even 'go punch it, Chad!' That probably would've been plenty! But no, I just sat there like an idiot and now I'm stuck here..."

Chad had to chuckle. "Well, at least you got to level nine. How in the world does that work, anyway? The other guys only got to seven or eight."

"It's clearly because I made the plan," Squawkers scoffed. "That's the whole reason we were able to take the things on at all. It had better give me credit for that."

"Huh." Chad shrugged. "Guess that makes sense."

"Yup. Up ahead, in the sky! There's a weird cat-fly-thing!"

Chad returned his attention to the buildings as they rushed by. He wanted to stay as alert as possible. Even though things had been smooth sailing so far, if something like that Ghoulture showed up again, he wanted to be ready. He could easily rip out of the sling to take it down, even if it meant messing his back up further. Though whether he'd actually manage to be any help was up for debate. Still, even if his arm was mostly useless, that didn't mean he wouldn't try.

After fifteen tense minutes, some narrowly avoided ambushes, and a lot of detours, the barricade finally came into sight. The convoy approached the line of cars, dumpsters, and other hastily stacked obstacles that Chad had passed through on the way in. As they approached, a figure appeared over the top of the wall and waved them down.

"Well I'll be damned!" A familiar police officer called out. His stereotypical cowboy hat made him easy to recognize. "We got some survivors!"

As they approached, a gap hastily opened near the side of the barricade for their convoy to pass through. The vehicles rumbled through in an orderly line and came to a stop just beyond. The officer's eyes widened on spotting Chad among the refugees.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

"Well, shit! He's not dead! Guess I owe Charles some money, after all."

Chad waved with his good hand, grinning. "Told you I'd be fine! I even brought friends and supplies, too."

"I can see that," the man nodded. "Quite a number of 'em, too. Good job, son."

The officer turned to call over his shoulder. "We got some people to evacuate, here!"

More voices rose up to meet the first as orders were passed along. Groups of soldiers and policemen jogged over to the vehicles as their drivers disembarked. Chad saw Rick hop down from his own truck bed to help coordinate as others began to look around and stretch in relief.

Chad couldn't help but feel a bit relieved. That was one less thing he had to worry about. He felt a bit responsible for the hotel guests' safety, of course, but he had other people relying on him too. Knowing that they'd be taken care of took a huge weight off his own shoulders.

The officer nodded toward his arm. "Seems like you're a bit worse for wear, son. You need anything for that?"

"Nah," Chad shrugged with a wince. "I've already had it looked at. Right now, I just need to get home."

"Alright, then. After all that, it seems like you know what you're doin' better than I gave you credit for." The man chuckled. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got my own people to handle. Seems like we'll have our hands full coordinatin' things 'round here for a while."

"Wait," Chad called. The officer paused and raised a questioning eyebrow. Trepidation crept into his heart as he prepared to ask the question. "Did... did my bike..."

The man sighed, pulling his hat off to reveal a balding head of white-blonde hair. "I'll be honest with you, son. I was hoping you wouldn't ask…"

Chad's heart sank. He'd known it was possible -- probable, even. But in his heart, he'd hoped anyway.

The balding officer continued. "...It's an awfully nice bike, even with the dings and scratches. Why, I might've kept it myself if you didn't come back." A broad grin split his face. "But since you're alive… Well, suppose the least I can do is return her."

The man nodded toward an empty building to the side. There, past the broken windows and destroyed furniture, sat Ol' Bessie's gleaming form.

"Bess!" Chad took off toward the bike. The running sent stabs of searing pain through him, but he ignored them, skidding to a halt in front of his trusty companion. Her chrome-plated exterior was just as he'd left it. Dinged, scratched, and covered in monster guts, but intact. She'd survived.

Chad leaped onto the seat and stuck his key in the ignition. As Ol' Bessie rumbled to life, the familiar sensation nearly brought a tear to his eye.

"It's ok, Bess." He patted the handlebars lovingly. "Everything's ok now. I'm not gonna leave again. Promise."

He heard footsteps crunch through the broken glass as someone approached. Looking up, Chad spotted Jerry with Squawkers on his shoulder. "Percival?"

"Yeah?"

"Is he... talking to his bike?"

"Yep."

"...Does he do this often?"

"Yep."

Chad sniffed. "I was worried about her, ok?"

"'Her'?"

"Her name's Ol' Bessie," Squawkers offered. "The bike's a she, apparently."

"...Like a ship?" Jerry seemed to hesitate for a moment, then shook his head. "Well. Anyway. Shall we get going?"

"Right!" Nodding, Chad focused once more on the present. "Good point. I want to get back as soon as we can."

"Alright. And how do you propose we travel? On that old thing?" Jerry eyed the bike skeptically.

"She's not old! She's reliable!" He gently patted the motorcycle. "And yeah, how else would we get outta here?"

Jerry's frown deepened. "But... it's fairly small. Will it be able to hold both of us, and my luggage?"

Squawkers chimed in. "Actually, we've got a bigger problem than that. How are you driving with one arm?"

Chad opened his mouth, then closed it again with a frown. "Good question. I didn't really think about that..."

The group sat in thoughtful silence for a moment. "Hmmm..." Jerry tapped his chin. "Perhaps I could drive, if need be? I'd prefer not to, but..."

Chad looked affronted. "Hey now. I don't trust just anyone with Ol' Bessie! Especially after I nearly lost her."

"Well, you can steer with one hand, right?" The parrot fluttered over to Chad's shoulder. "Maybe you steer with your left while Jeremy's in charge of the gas and breaks?"

"That sounds like an awful idea." Jerry grimaced.

"Well..." Chad blew out a breath. "Shit."

After a moment, Squawkers perked up. "What if we use one of the cars from the convoy?"

"I mean, maybe?" Chad ran a hand through his hair. "Don't they need those?"

Jerry nodded in agreement. "True, but they could be going in the same direction. It would be nice to travel as a group for as long as possible, especially since we have next to no offensive capabilities at the moment."

"Oh! That reminds me, we gotta grab my guns back from Rick. Guess that's even more reason to catch him before he goes." Chad turned toward the group of refugees as they milled about behind the barricade. "I've gotta give you your shotgun."

"Me?!" Jerry looked flabbergasted. "You brought me a shotgun?"

"I mean, yeah." He shrugged. "Annie told me you had shit aim, so I got you something to compensate. I've got a rifle, too, if you want it."

"That's not what I was objecting to..." Jerry muttered. "Well, regardless. If we manage to secure a ride with others, then this will be a moot point."

"Right," Chad agreed. "Let's find Rick then. I want to get outta here as soon as we can. Make sure your sister knows we're headed her way, too."

"She knows," Jerry sighed. "Trust me. She knows. Does she text you as much as she does me?"

"Nope. Guess you're just lucky." Pulling out Annie's phone, Chad unlocked it. Annie did indeed text him pretty frequently, but apparently he'd been getting off easy. Most of her messages were asking about whether he was ok or when they might get back. Luckily, she'd still made no mention of a real threat coming their way.

Chad: Heading out. Back in a few hrs.

Annie: Ok. Stay safe, both of you. I'll tell your grandma you'll be home for dinner tonight.

With a final nod, Chad got off of his bike. The promise of dinner made him even more eager to get on his way. "Alright. Let's find Rick and get outta here."