A diner sign flashed from afar, tiny dots in the black night. My stomach grumbled.
"So," he said, breaking the silence.
"How come you're flagging cars? You don't look like someone who can't afford a bus ticket," he said, never once taking his eyes of the road.
It was a joke, yet I still looked down at my ensemble. My pink polka dot chiffon top was wrinkled and torn, my grey jeans streaked with dirt. My once 4-inch black heels have been transformed into awkward flats much to my dismay, and my backpack, well, the backpack, although out of place with my girly clothes was the only sane looking thing on me. I peeked at the side mirror and as I guessed, my hair was mussed beyond help. In short, I looked like a lunatic.
But I guessed in that condition a looney was a warm welcome from the swarm of damned around us.
"I'm running low on gas and you sound like you could use a bite too," he said as if it was an off hand comment, face as plain as ever. Yet I detected a change in the air.
The sombre mood that was there before vanished and the air in the car seemed thick with anticipation. He must be a seasoned pro, I deduced. Only a pro could look so laid back yet cracle the ambiance with a zest. In a weird way, it was effecting me too.
I started to feel the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins and did a double take when I saw my reflection on the window. I was grinning like a maniac, pumped and ready to go.
"Got everything you need? I have some stuff in my duffel if you need backup," he pointed his thumb to the back seat.
I took out my sawed off Remington 870 shotgun and a Baretta that I strapped on my ankle. Turning my back to him, I tugged my top up my back to reveal a straight blade machete tied to my body. "Locked, loaded and ready."
He laughed softly."And here I thought you had a rod up your ass, sitting stiffly like that."
We exchanged knowing smiles and laughed in abandon.
The smell of putrid flesh and black blood permeated the car as we got closer to the diner station. Left and right, the undead dragged their feet, flashing their empty eyes and bloody crevices as they started towards us.
He took a dynamite, lit it up and tossed it casually out his window. As a huge blast tore through the silent night, he looked at me with a grin as wide as mine and said
"Well if it ain't the death of the black parade. This is going to be super fun!"
He was right.
Zombie killing never felt this exhilarating.
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