Gonna ignore the first four reviews.
Js: Yeah, it seems even the undead can't overcome their affliction to the dreaded broccoli.
Creamy Buttercrap: That is all.
Korrasami 88: Because Riley hates broccoli. What makes you think zombie Riley would be any different?
Drunken Hamster: Yeah, sure thing.
Satsui no Hado Ryu: Thanks.
Antha1: Oh, they don't need brains. They just need a plot.
Wealthy man: I think so.
I am a burglar: Thanks. One could learn a lot from giving.
Al Drin Hoshizora: Don't be a complainer.
Bill and Jill awoke with a start as the sun started to shown on the other side of the city. Breathing heavily, they turned around to see Riley, snuggled on the floor.
"Oh," Jill whispered in relief. "For a moment, I thought she was gone."
Bill was sweating. "I had a dream entailing just that," He said, ruffling his hair. "I wonder what might happen if the rest of the crew find out that we have our daughter here, except she's a zombie?"
"They will not find out," Jill reassured him, getting out of bed. "Besides, Riley's thirteen now. What could possibly happen?"
Bill walked to the window and pointed to the scores of zombies wandering on the road. "They could happen," He said. "What will they do to our daughter if they find out she's travelling with... with normal people?!"
"We've dealt with them for nearly a year," Jill reassured her husband again. "Those zombies are all the same. They're, well, easy to fool. Riley's different, though. Trust me, I doubt we will find any walkers that would actually be a concern to us."
Bill forced a smile. "Thanks, honey," He said, and planted a kiss on her cheek.
On one side of the city, three young Freaks were driving their old truck through the woods, blasting Hall of Fame's 'Rock and Roll' in their music box. They chugged down whiskey and beer, laughing in a drunken stupor and relishing what it was like to drive past the speed limit without any cops to stop them.
"Hey, look, a deer," One of them said, pointing out the open window. Instantly, the other pulled out a double-barreled shotgun and fired off into the woods. However, his poor aiming only scared it off.
"Wow!" The third shouted, his eyes rolling in his head. The man with the gun continued to fire his gun off in random directions, Rock and Roll drowning out the laughing and swearing coming from the three young men.
"Zuul."
"Hahahaha... did anyone hear that?!"
"Naw, man, you're still so freaking high!"
"Zuul!"
A massive, dark figure suddenly dove out the bushes on the road, in clear view of the truck drivers. Even in their drunken stupor, they still saw the zombie, its twisted features and ugly grimaces clearly apparent from the truck's blinding headlights.
"Aw, shi-"
The man on the steering wheel spun it around with enough force to tear it off, and the truck went soaring off the road. It flipped through the air, gliding in the wind, and crashed onto the road. It tumbled around, mashing and busting the truck, and finally crashed into a tree. By now, the truck looked like a giant, busted soda can.
Inside the busted soda can that once was a truck, the three men lay inside, covered in bruises, each of them letting out little whines of pain.
"Au... auuuuuuu."
Slowly, several dark figures crept out of the darkness, bent and distorted. Their wet hands, dripping with mud, clambered onto the upturned truck, their sharp claws digging into the metal. Their yellow, bloodshot eyes trailed around the truck, searching for its inhabitants.
Inside the truck, the men went as quiet as the hollow winds as they heard the sound of heavy figures climbing onto the truck. They heard low, raspy breathing, and drool dribbled inside the truck.
There was a shout of anguish, followed by the door of the truck being torn open with ease. The men heard the door crash onto the ground with a resounding thunk!, and they knew they there time was up.
For an indiscernible amount of time, there was silence. The only sound was that of rain pouring down onto the truck. One man, the one who had been on the wheel, felt droplets of the rain drip onto his face and body, soaking him.
Then, there was a low growl, and the men's eyes widened into saucers as they saw a long, bony, gray arm clamber through the open door of the truck. It felt through the vehicle, searching for prey. The men slunk deeper into the trunk to avoid its grasp.
Sweat poured down one man's head when the clawed tip of the arm rested onto his chest. The dented nails, reminiscent of a crab's pincers, dug into the man's body slowly, as if to confirm that it was indeed toughing the flesh of the living. The man shut his eyes and slowly began to silently pray, begging that he would be spared from the cold hands of Death.
Then, the arm slunk out of the truck. The man's eyes snapped open as he felt the pincers leave his flesh. His eyes darted about, shocked that he wasn't being torn into by the claws of the undead.
They waited for the creatures to return. A minute passed. Then another. Still, there was no sign of the monsters in the woods. The trio looked at each other, silently wondering if they had been giving another chance, and spared from death.
Then, the cold word whisped through the air.
"Zuul."
The men's skin paled as they recognized the voice, and there was no mistaking that it was not their imaginations. And worse, it was not coming outside of the truck.
It was coming from right behind the man with the bottle of whiskey.
The massive creature then rose from behind the man, its mouth twisted into a long, demented grin.
"Zuul... mother... trucker."
An hour later, the four zombies lay on top of the truck. They were still worn out after performing their regular routine on the most recent band of Freaks that had the misfortune of stumbling into their territory.
One was a young woman, around twenty. Her white hair was the same shade as her skin, which felt as hard as a rock. Lying next to her were two fraternal twins, one male and the other female, both of them dressed all in black. Lying next to the truck, a rather portly zombie with red hair lay with two of the Freaks trapped in his giant arms.
Two of the Freaks were covered in bite and scratch wounds that the zombies had dealt to them. Their skin was beginning to turn pale, and their veins turning blue. The Freak at the driver's seat lay crushed inside the truck, covered in bruises and unconscious, a broken whiskey bottle lying on his chest.
"You know, I've never seen a Freak scream in such a high-pitched voice," The platinum blonde zombie mentioned to the three others. They began to chuckle in raspy voices, their lips pealed back to expose their fangs.
"Mary totally fooled them," The male twin mentioned, referring to his sister. "The way she made them think we left after prodding in their dump can."
"Rob totally got them to scatter with the whole 'Zuul' thing!" The female twin noted about the red-headed zombie. "I don't even know where he got it from. I don't really remember anything about our past, really!"
"Yeah," All four zombies said, and they fell into silence. After some time passed, the blonde zombie dropped onto the ground and said, "Well, let's find more Freaks to fright!"
The four zombies then darted towards the city, leaving the three Freaks inside the utterly destroyed truck.
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