The clubhouse had held for almost a year and the supply runs had just started to become more of a hassle. Jax had put Chibs in charge of the supply run group which was initially made up of two prospects, Half Sac, Juice, and Happy.
Most of Charming's population had been overrun and converted in the first month. The Sons hadn't lost anyone until six months in on a supply run. Both of the prospects had been surrounded by a herd and the tough decision was ultimately left up to him.
More and more deaths landed at his feet until only Jax, Opie, and Juice remained. They had all been left hollow however by the loss of their families and the rest of the club.
At first, He thought he had nothing left. There was no way to confirm whether or not the virus or whatever was causing this zombification had spread across the world but he wagered it was a safe assumption. There was no possible way for him to reach his wife and daughter in Belfast.
They had gotten careless as they traveled, to the point where they all slept through the night without a lookout. By the time they had reached the Alabama/ Georgia line, only Juice and Chibs had made it.
Chibs had known going to Atlanta was a bad idea as soon as Juice said it. The CDC probably wasn't even there anymore and going through a major city was how they had lost Opie. He followed the boy anyway.
Chibs was right. the CDC had been destroyed along with any hopes of finding out a cure. Juice had gotten himself cornered and Chibs, like he had promised the boy, shot him to prevent him from turning into a zombie and covered him with his sleeping tarp.
After that, Chibs traveled alone and avoided any other living person as a precaution. He thumbed the picture of his girls he'd kept in his pocket from time to time, especially after he'd seen a sign painted on a car windshield left for a child by the name of Sophia. He realized then that he hadn't thought about anything that didn't involve surviving the day until he saw the few cans of food and the desperate note.
Kerrianne…
Months passed without seeing a survivor that had any humanity left and he was starting to loose hope. His supplies dwindled until his Army dufflebag he'd found in Mississippi had only bottled water, ammo, and animal skins to keep him warm if the weather turned for the worst.
The only constant sound besides the zombies was the sound of his Harley's engine. He hadn't run into any other bikers since he had left California. So when the rumbling engine of another motorcycle drew closer to him, it took him a second to realize that he wasn't riding in fact, he was standing on the side of the road zipping up his fly.
His hair had grown out long and he technically hadn't seen his reflection since his last night at the clubhouse bathroom mirror. He slowly turned and held his hands up in surrender. This man was most likely going to steal his supplies and leave him stranded.
"You alone?" Chibs glanced at the man straddling the bike and nodded. No point in lying. "Daryl."
It took him a second to respond, "Chibs."
Daryl nodded and motioned to the vehicle behind him. "We're heading back if ya want a place for the night."
Chibs lowered his arms and turned on his bike. When he glanced back, Daryl motioned to the space behind him and in front of the car. "Come on, we got Walkers on our trail."