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while their brother Api burned the planet to ashes with his fellow Teraphim.
    But defiling the Creator's beloved creations was just the first step. Storming the gates of His kingdom would be the next. Ob would personally rip Him from the throne.
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    Smiling at the prospect, Ob went to inspect his army and make plans. There was much to do. He must amass an army and prepare for the arrival of his brothers, Ab and Api. Once their way had been cleared, they would destroy every living organism on the planet, destroy the planet itself-destroy everything the Creator held dear. Only then would they be victorious, satisfied. And that would be just the beginning ...
    Ron coughed.
    Kevin whispered back. "You're
    "Holy shit, they stink!" Ron coughed.
    "Shut up, you idiot!" Kevin whispered back. "You're going to give us away."
    "I can't help it. The smell..."
    "He's right," Mikey said, squirming. "It's fucking hot. We've been in here for hours. My legs are cramping up."
    "Both of you shut up now!"
    "Fuck off. When we get out of here, you're dead, Kev."
    Kevin ground his teeth in frustration. Never in a million years had he imagined that he'd spend the apocalypse hiding in the bed of a Chevy pickup truck with the infamous Lancaster brothers, Ron and Mikey. The three of them were concealed in the back, the bed covered by a black vinyl, snap-on tarp that hid them from the zombies, but restricted their movements and allowed the sun to bake them. The steel beneath their backs grew steadily hotter as the hours passed. Even now, with the sun vanished beneath the horizon, the space was scorching, the day's heat trapped inside. They heard the creatures clambering around outside the truck, and in the moments when the zombies were silent, the stench gave them away.
    Before the Rising began, Ron, Mikey, and Kevin ran numbers for a crime family in York, Pennsylvania. When
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    the shit hit the fan, York fell not only to the zombies but to rival gang factions as well. The bangers out of Baltimore and Philadelphia, skinheads out of Red Lion, survivalists from the southern part of the county and northern Maryland-all of them had decided to carve it up for themselves. So Ron, Mikey, and Kevin split.
    They made it as far as Gettysburg, and after showing some proficiency with weapons and an extreme lack of conscience, they were allowed to join Colonel Schow's paramilitary forces, assigned to the crucifixion squads. It wasn't bad work; got them out in the fresh air and gave them an opportunity to live amongst a larger group. Safety in numbers. A strong sense of self-preservation allowed them to justify the most heinous things, including nailing fellow humans to crosses and watching from safety as the dead tore them apart.
    When the decision to bug out and move to the government facility came down, the three of them piled into the pickup truck. As the convoy made its way north, they passed the time drinking warm beers and taking pot shots at zombies. Mikey had emptied his clip and both spares before they got as far as Harrisburg. Ron's was empty soon after.
    By the time the convoy arrived at its destination, they were down to Kevin's 30.06 and a gas gauge firmly on E. When the combat exploded around them, they jumped out of the cab, climbed inside the bed, and shut the tailgate behind them. They'd lain there ever since.
    "Christ, I could go for a burger right now," Ron breathed.
    "Yo, fuck the burger," Mikey said, "I want a cold beer."
    "Shut the fuck up," Kevin hissed.
    Mikey and Ron quieted down again, and Kevin tried
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    to think. How much longer would they have to wait here, trapped and unable to move? He considered taking a peek outside, but immediately decided against it. The reek of rot and decay remained strong, which meant that at least a few of the creatures were still close by.
    The pressure in his groin grew worse. He didn't want to hear Ron whining about the smell or Mikey complaining about muscle cramps. He'd had to piss for the last four hours