The Dixon Brothers: The Beginning of the End

The Dixon Brothers: Beginning of the End (Part 3)

Georgia

Old County Route 20

It had been six days since the Dixon brothers set out for the Atlanta Safe Zone. In that time, the bad boy hunters had confirmed the world had definitely gone to shit. Thank you, Captain Obvious as Merle liked to say.

Sections along the main highways were impassable with vehicles that people had abandoned, camps set up along the side of the roads or the dead people that had decided to get up and walk around again.

Merle scouted ahead on his motorcycle while Daryl followed in the truck, their supplies and ammunition secured. At nightfall, they either slept in the woods or an unoccupied building. During the day they avoided the main roads and took the secondary county and long forgotten dirt roads.

Merle came roaring back from a scout run and Daryl winced slightly at the sound. The bike wasn't exactly the quietest with those big ass exhaust pipes he insisted on outfitting the chopper with; Merle never considered making it quieter even though the meat bags seemed to be attracted to loud noises.

Whatever. As far as Daryl was concerned today was just as good as any to die. He hollered over the engine as his brother came up alongside the truck. "You find anything?"

The older Dixon cut the ignition and answered gruffly, "Yeah, it's the old Brights Motel. It's all covered with overgrowth but it's still there, not too many windows bashed in."

Quick as a snake, Merle drew the hunting rifle from the scabbard set across the handlebars; with a boom he dispatched a deceased broad that had emerged from the woods just up the road.

"You jackass, watch the bullets! We ain't gonna have 'em for long if you keep taking potshots at every freakin' dead person we come across!"

Daryl glanced out the back window of the truck and spotted a pink and brown patterned paisley blouse on the now crumpled body.

"Screw you, baby brother. We'll stay here for now. It's getting close to late afternoon and I don't wanna be on the road at night with those meat bags wanderin' around."

It was a danger no matter day or night if you were unlucky enough to encounter the biters. But the night held its own special sort of circumstances.

The things could track you, somehow. Daryl and Merle hadn't worked it all out yet, but they knew daylight held some safety. Not much, but it was something and they'd take what they could get.

Daryl spit on the ground, his features creased with a harsh retort that he bit back. "Whatever. Let's go."

= = = =

The Brights Motel had definitely seen better days. The terra-cotta colored paint had long since flaked off and there was some roof damage on a couple of the rooms. One or two windows had been smashed in. Spray painted graffiti adorned almost every available wall surface.

A small country motel, it had sprung up in the late 1940's along County Route 20 in answer to a surge in popularity where post-war travelers from Atlanta or Decatur or Druid Hills looking to entertain their sweethearts or get away from the cities would drive out and picnic for the day. The hotel had provided cheap but clean rooms for a reasonable price.

The travel boom ended in the 1960's as the biker gangs and drug dealers started to take hold in the area. They'd travel out here to the country, take care of illicit deals or business and then head back to the cities. Eventually, the local hooligans started using the hotel rooms for meth labs or a meeting area.

The last owner-operator had been shot a few years back on a robbery gone badly. No one stepped in to take over the property and Brights fell into ruin. Now, it was a hangout for local teens to come and get drunk and have sex or meth and drug runners such as Merle used it as a drop off point...