You discard the garage immediately. If they see you go in there, you'll only be boxing yourself in, and cutting off your chance to escape on your bike. Trying to find your way back to the highway is just as spotty, since some of the wrecked riders may have been able to right their bikes and continue the pursuit.
You jolt over the curb, carefully modulating the throttle to not dig a rut into the grass, and rumble behind the house, cutting the engine as you lose sight of the road. You drop the kickstand, another jolt of pain from your abused heel reminding you to find shoes again, before bailing off the bike, snatching the shotgun from it's sheath. With no time to spare, you take the few steps across the concrete patio to the back door, hoping it's unlocked.
Lady Luck smiles her blessing on you, and the glass door slides open. Shotgun held ready, you step into the kitchen of your typical suburban household, the smooth hardwood floor cool against your soles. Leaving the door open behind you, to facilitate a quick escape, you quickly pad towards the front of the house. As you go, you notice this house has been looted, the front door hanging off it's hinges, the furniture overturned and random useless things strewn across the floor.
As you go, you debate where to hide. Upstairs is much more defensible, but leaves you with no easy path to retreat if you're found. Downstairs lets you escape the house, but means you have to cover multiple entrances.
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