A look of disgust stretched across Vincent’s worn face as he walked away from the window he had just tumbled from and over to the only motorcycle in sight. Standing over the bike in the employee’s parking lot of Craggy Correctional Institute he thought for a moment that he would rather be dead than ride this thing. Today’s events seemed willing to make good on that thought if he was willing to test it. He stood next to the bright yellow Ducati and considered for a brief moment just walking out of Asheville instead of riding away on a Ducati but common sense took over and before long he was rummaging through the tank bag where he found the rider's personal weapon, a map, and two bottles of water. Vincent growled to himself as he rolled under the adjacent sedan and stripped a wire out from underneath it, “Over one hundred and forty staff...” he grumbled “…and only one C.O. was decent enough to ride and he had to ride this piece of shit.” 

When Vincent crawled out from under the car next to the bike his moment of reflection and disgust was interrupted by the manic shouting just inside the prison's fences. Every ten feet or so a dozen or more of the infected crashed through the tangle of razor wire at the foot of the fence as if it were nothing, unaffected. Their collective weight and frantic beating against the fence was beginning to force the aged chain link to bow outward towards the parking lot. Vincent’s disgust at riding anything other than a Harley Davidson was soon overpowered by the realization that that fence would not hold that crowd for more than another hour he guessed. With practiced ease Vincent followed the wires from the motorcycles ignition down to the connector that fed into the starter, he disconnected the plastic ends, bridged the wire across the two open ports on the starter motor side, and started the bike just as if had possessed the keys. After one final look back at old Craggy, which thankfully had not been his home for too long, Vincent directed the bike out of the employee’s lot and onto Riverside Drive along the French Broad River towards interstate 26 and what he hoped would be some distance from what he thought was a local outbreak of high grade insanity.

On a normal day it would have taken ten minutes to make the interstate from Craggy, right at exit 25, but today was anything but normal. Vincent spent the better part of twenty minutes in first or second gear weaving between the abandoned cars along Riverside Drive and trying to avoid the infected that were like so many mice worming their way through the gridlock. His luck ended right at the 25 on-ramp at UNC Asheville. He had just managed to avoid an oil slick from a pile up wreck under the highway overpass when a pair of infected bolted into his path. The front wheel and forks of the bike took the lead infected straight on crushing its pelvis, ribs, and then skull while the sudden stop in motion sent Vincent’s considerable bulk high end over the handle bars. He came down hard in the on-ramp median, the force of the fall driving the wind from his lungs and twisting his left arm under his body at an awkward angle. 

After a moment he lifted his head from the grass and dirt and brushed the debris from his beard with his right hand. Shakily he stood, gaining his feet slowly and testing his torqued left arm, it wasn't broken but it wasn't right either something was pulled or out of place. Haltingly he hobbled back over to the bike and observed that the first infected person’s skull had been cracked by the impact, the other was now pinned between the mangled bike and the overpass abutment. As he reached for his tank bag the pinned person gnashed its broken face at him, trying to make use of a jaw that was a dislocated mess. Without getting more than a bloody tongue lashing on his right leather glove Vincent managed to pull the tank bag away and throw it over his good shoulder. He patted the pocket of his T-shirt and looked to the heavens thankfully, withdrawing a lucky strike and lighting it as he moved away from the highway and toward the UNC Asheville Campus. “Hell if I am lucky…” He coughed after taking a deep inhalation “…maybe there’s some whiz kid here that knows what the hell is going on.” He thought for a moment, looking over his shoulder and picking up his pace as best he could after noticing the gathering group of infected scrambling over the cars, drawn by the racket of his wreck. “Better yet, some ROTC nut jobs with guns protecting a sorority.” Vincent tossed the cigarette and broke out in a dead run onto the campus not knowing what was motivating him more, the sorority idea or the growing mob of fast moving infected that was gaining on his old ass. 

---
Summary: Free from prison our favorite outlaw biker gets a bike and then wrecks it, buggering up his left arm but disabling two infected in the process. His small triumph and dirty old man thoughts about campus life are soon interrupted by the growing horde of infected that now chase him as he runs onto the campus.