Heading back into Vegas, they stopped at a convenience store. Nick and Sara in their vests now, covering Greg as he slipped past the burning wreck of a car. Climbing over the strewn debris—some of it blood and body parts—through the shattered glass door into the 7-11. He grabbed water, some food and supplies but most importantly the shotgun and box of shells the owner had kept behind the counter.
He made it back outside just as a staggering group of dead had started lurching towards them. He froze for a second. It was eerily like a movie, except I doubt the hero's sphincter was puckered as tightly as mine is right now…
The only sounds were the muffled thuds and scrapes as the corpses lumbered closer. They moved slowly but relentlessly nearer.
"Kinda sluggish aren't they?" Greg said. He couldn't peel his eyes away and stared in sick fascination
"Yep." Sara replied. She fired off a warning shot. The corpses didn't even react. She shot one of the closest ones—an elderly lady wearing a floral housedress drenched in blood, the blood looked black under the harsh fluorescent lights. The woman tumbled over and tripped up a few zombies close behind but the others eventually started to awkwardly climb over the obstruction in their path. The blind seeking movements they made reminded Greg of wind-up toys. Not that long ago, these were people—moms and dads, sons and daughters, lovers, friends…now just so much meat. Dead meat.
"Oh shit. Here comes more…" Nick said. Attracted by the noise and light more dead were appearing out of the darkness like ghastly moths.
"Guess we all should walk a just little bit faster then." Greg said.
They stared at him for a beat. Sara started giggling again. Greg wondered if it always took an apocalypse to bring out the funny side of Sara. As they climbed into the Tahoe, the giggles had grown into laughter and even Nick was chuckling. He backed up and the SUV thumped over a body lying on the road, startling them.
"Shit!" Nick cracked the window. "Sorry man didn't see you." The zombie gurgled and struggled to rise, dead eyes glaring in the glow of the taillights at Nick.
Greg tried to bite down on his lips but it was too late. He started howling, which of course set off Sara again in the front seat. She held her stomach and hiccupped helpless laughter. Greg knew the laughter was a perfectly normal stress response but he was a little concerned at how crazy they all seemed.
Well better to laugh and go crazy than die and become so much meat… Nick cranked the radio; Crazy Dave was playing "Bela Lugosi's Dead" by Bauhaus. Greg cracked the shotgun over his knees and sang along under his breath as he loaded it while the Tahoe bumped back over the body and sped into the Vegas night.
Vegas is surreal at the best of times but this—this is fucking unbelievable… Sara stared out the front window as Nick deftly wove the SUV around piles of debris, crashed and abandoned cars, and once around a white baby grand piano sitting in solitary splendor in the middle of the street, piled sheet music burning merrily inside and the odd flaming bit floating heavenward on drafts of heated air.
And always the dead. Staggering and stumbling through the streets, sometimes alone, mostly in packs, tottering in swaying groups on an aimless mission for…well she knew what for.
She shuddered, remembering the sight that had suddenly swum up into their headlights. Seven or eight zombies clustered around the body of a fat tourist. They'd looked up at the sound of squealing brakes, but had turned back to ripping apart the corpse. Like jackals feeding on carrion…She rubbed her forehead, too much adrenaline had left her feeling headachy. But that's not exactly right either…they're too slow and dopey looking. They'd lacked the animal quickness and vitality; they didn't look like anything other than the dead things they were. Their indifference had infuriated Sara and she'd started to open the door when Nick's hand on her arm stopped her.
"It would only be a waste of ammo, Sara…"
He was right, but some part of her longed to just point her gun and start shooting. Still did.
Sara concentrated on the radio as a distraction. Crazy Dave was still broadcasting. He'd even started taking requests.
Hey you're with Crazy Dave on KJRT, your source for breaking news on the zombie terrorists, who am I talking to?
Hey Dave! You fucking rule! Whooo! It's Nate!
The voice was young, male, and jacked on end-of-days excitement and terror.
That I do, Nate... So where are you calling from?
The Strip! Fucking insane man—it's out of control! There's zombies every-fucking-where. I wasted like fifteen already and someone let loose the tigers at the Mirage and they're running around eating zombies and attacking people and everything man! And I swear to fucking God Celine Dion's down here too. My friends and I have a bet going to see who can be the first to shoot her ass!
So you're telling me Celine Dion's a zombie now? I wish I could feel bad about that, I truly do…
No man. We don't know if she's a zombie or not, we just wanna waste her, we hate that fucking bitch!
The boy laughed knowingly and Dave joined in and Sara had a very clear vision of what the Fall of Rome would have been like if it were broadcast live to air.
My buddies and I came down to get in on some primo killing time and y'know…to see if we could get ourselves a little something-something—know what I mean?
By something-something I take it to mean, you and your upstanding law abiding friends are just there for a look-see and in no way would be doing anything so illegal as looting, right m'man?
Riiiight dude! We ain't gonna steal nothing!
The boy laughed again. In the background screams and sirens could be heard.
So what's your request Nate? What can Crazy Dave lay on you on this very fine apocalyptic evening?
Can you play "Head Like a Hole"?
Sure can good buddy, AFI or NIN version?
Oh gotta go with the classic. Load up the Reznor! Fucking-A! And can you dedicate it to my girlfriend Shelia? Shelia baby, I love you! Whoo!
Alrighty then, take care Nate. Shoot some zombies for me! This is for Shelia…Here's Nine Inch Nails and "Head Like a Hole…"
"Turn it up, this is a good song!" Greg called from the backseat.
Sara hesitated, and then turned up the volume. It was after all, a great song for this very fine apocalyptic evening.
