Vampire Bikers Part 1: Death Ride
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About this ebook
They were a fun loving biker gang of four hard hitting, hard riding rebels, who didn't ask for much out of life except an ample supply of beer, sex, and the joy and freedom of being in the wind, After an innocent, but tragic mistake occurs, awakening a long dormant, but evil supernatural force, they find their toughest road ahead of them. A ride through Hell itself. Is it a curse or a blessing?
Professor Philo T.
Professor Philo T is an alias used by the author mainly because it's more sophisticated and worldly sounding than his given name. Not to mention it eliminates his having to field uncomfortable questions, and enduring long, baleful stares from his co-workers at his real job, many of who aren't lucky enough to be published authors. When not painstakingly counting the many years left until he's eligible to retire from his current career in law enforcement, the author is a longtime studier of the martial arts, the occult, old movies, prolonging death for as long as possible, and anything else he deems as "really cool." The author currently lives in Upstate New York with his drop-dead-gorgeous wife Nicole, and Bailey, the yorkie terrier who saw fit to adopt them as his human parents.
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Vampire Bikers Part 1 - Professor Philo T.
Vampire Bikers
Professor Philo T
Copyright © 2015 Professor Philo T
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VAMPIRE BIKERS
The inside of the old house reeked like a recently exhumed rotted corpse. Or at least it would have with the help of a couple dozen air fresheners. The house, or what remained of it, looked like it might’ve been something to behold during the Buchanan presidency, but had now been given its last rites and was patiently awaiting its long overdue execution by wrecking ball.
Wooden framed, with broken windows, and a roof which was half gone, it looked like a dark, bare, three story skeletal ruin straight out of an Edgar Allan Poe tale. The two acre plot of land it sat atop wasn’t any better. The dehydrated, dust-like soil was infertile and depleted of all living growth, except for a small patch of poison ivy, where unfortunately and unknowingly, they had parked their bikes on. As murderously hot and humid as it was outside it was almost frigid compared to the incinerator like climate inside the house. The few remaining intact windows cast an odd glow inside the dark, gloomy interior, and served to create something of a greenhouse effect, taking the already stifling outdoor heat, and sending it into overdrive, searing anything unlucky enough to find itself caught within its creaky walls. It looked like the perfect place for local teenagers to party in, had there been any local teenagers, or ANY civilization for that matter.
They called themselves THE HARDLUCK BASTARDS and the name proved more prophetic than they ever could have imagined. The $2,300 they had scraped together over the spring from doing dirty, back breaking, menial jobs, which had been earmarked for food and gas, had been lost by Boyce in a no limit Texas-Hold-Em game several towns back, forcing the four of them to abruptly curtail the cross country road trip to California they had been planning for months. Rocky's sled abruptly breaking down, and both Skeeter and Boyce’s bikes simultaneously running out of gas minutes later added to their mounting woes.
Only after a fairly entertaining tirade by Boyce, highlighted by ear splitting railings, and anatomically impossible suggestions for the heavens, were they then finally able to calm down, and begin the arduous process of pushing their bikes up the hilly, barely paved, deserted road to what they hoped would eventually lead them toward something resembling civilization, where they could then rest and regroup.
After nearly thirty, sweaty minutes of pushing a combined weight of well over two thousand pounds of unyielding heavy metal in the nearly paralyzing Texas heat and humidity they became far less discriminatory regarding what they were willing to call home for the night. So when this barren, unclaimed portal of Hell suddenly materialized over the next upgrade they wearily trudged on in. It’s not as though they had much choice in the matter. Without money or credit cards of any kind, they weren't waiting for 5 star hotels to roll out the red carpet for them.
We should congratulate ourselves for so effortlessly finding the single biggest cesspool of a town in all North America,
Skeeter said sarcastically.
With our luck did you expect anything different?
Rocky asked, wiping the sweat off