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afford to take care of children as a musician. The band barely made ends meet as it was.
    It was just better to wait. Wait for the right girl and the right time to come along. Now with the world suddenly gone to shit, Chris wondered if all his holding out had been for nothing. All the trashy chicks at the shows and bars were gone now. It was the end of the line, just when he thought things were about to change in his favor, too. Shows were getting better and they were making decent money. But all of that died in one single swipe. The dead were up and walking around.  
    For a moment, Stephanie and Chris made eye contact and then went back to looking through the glass. He would have smiled, but the worried look on her face suggested it wasn’t appropriate. Chris was disappointed and sighed at the thought that the touch was coincidental, and then he pointed toward the front of the store and the zombie that had just entered. 
    “Shouldn’t we do something?” Steve asked.
    “Yeah, right, and draw attention to ourselves?  No way!” Chris said.
    The zombie lurched toward the counter with its arms raised. It struggled with each step, restricted by its pants, which had fallen down. It wore a gray Dickey’s work shirt. Its slacks and underwear hugged the creature’s ankles and what light leaked into the store lit its bare ass. It was fresh, having not succumbed to death and the evil curse that reanimated it, for very long.
    With the chaos and confusion still in full swing outside, the ghoul must have slipped past the action unnoticed. The gunfire had subsided, but it still waged on. It was impossible to tell which side was winning from inside the cooler.
    The creature leaned over the counter and snatched the heavyset redneck by the arm. The redneck brushed its arm away, apparently thinking it was one of his buddies. He looked up to see a monster instead. He jerked backward in repulsion, falling into a rack of inappropriate adult magazines on display behind the counter. The man landed on top of the two dead bodies at his feet. The magazine rack shook violently before settling.  
    “Buck! Buck!” The man screamed from behind the counter, throwing cigarette cartons at the creature. One box missed the zombie’s head, flying over it, and into the aisle. “Buck! Help me!”
    The cigarettes were no match for the zombie as it slowly climbed across the counter, hungry for human flesh. One carton exploded open as it hit the zombie’s face, sending the smaller packs into the air. The creature hissed. Drool and spit hung from its snarling mouth.
    Another man in camouflage entered the front door wielding a hunting rifle. Its narrow black barrel cradled an expensive looking scope. He pulled the rifle up against his shoulder and stepped into the store.
    “Hey! Puss bag!” The rifleman shouted.
    The rifle kicked with a loud report. Blood and dark secretions splashed onto the magazine rack, the bullet exiting the creature’s chest. The metallic clang of an empty shell danced across the tile as he chambered another round.
    “Hey! I’m talkin’ to ya pal!” The gun kicked again. Chunks of the zombie’s shoulder tore into pieces. Wet lumps of meat spattered across the wall. The thing didn’t feel pain. It didn’t care that it was shot. It only had one concern and that was to eat. It ignored the gunman, still reaching for the prize behind the counter. It snarled, hissed, and gnashed with its teeth.
    The man continued his cries for help. The zombie felt no sympathy or sorrow.
    Just as the gunner emptied the chamber and dispensed the empty casing, another undead crept into the store behind him. Unlike its comrade, this ghoul looked familiar. Its camouflaged attire matched that of the rifleman.
    “Oh, shit. Phil!” He screamed.
    Its putrid face was mangled into potted meat. One ear was nonexistent. The top lip had been peeled away, tearing free a large chunk of cheek muscle and skin. The creature’s snarling grin never wavered as