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become part of the problem. Jude didn’t stop, knowing that, for the greater good, it was better to ignore the dead and to keep moving. They were mostly alone on the road. They passed a few billboards advertising a Kansas City Royals game, as well as a NASCAR race.
    When Chuck saw the race ad, he said, “You realize God doesn’t like us, right? The one time we're down here when there's a race, and we gotta go to the news and then deal with zombies.”
    “Yeah, you know, that’s God’s way of getting back at you for all the shit you’ve done in life, Chuck,” Leslie said.
    Chuck smiled, almost bouncing in his seat, and clapped his hands together, looking over at Jude. “You know, if by some chance we take care of all these things and get to be, like, heroes and shit, I’m gonna ask for a NASCAR.”
    Jude pinched the bridge of his nose. “So in this fictitious world you live in — you know, the one where you save the world and are a hero — the only thing that you want to ask for is a NASCAR?”
    Chuck shrugged. “I guess maybe I’d take me a billion dollars or two. I’m not a greedy man, Jude. I don’t need much. Just a lil’ nest egg and a good woman.” He turned around, smiling at Leslie in the backseat, raising his eyebrows. “That isn’t too much to ask, is it, Jude?”
    Jude shook his head, unable to think about it at the moment. He wished he'd taken five minutes to call home when he was at the store. He knew there wasn't anything he could do for his family in the face of the impending apocalypse, and calling would waste valuable time. Jude was confident that the best thing he could do for them was to get the news out to the rest of the masses and then get home.
    His family was by far the most important thing to him in life, but he kept telling himself that if he could save all of the people who were able to see the broadcast, there would be that many fewer people to turn into the dead. Fewer people to try and eat himself and his family along the way.
    Just as they pulled into town, the rain began again. Chuck said, “Holy shit, where does this rain keep coming from?”
    “Hell, Chuck," Jude replied. "Hell. You guys get those windows up — I don’t want anything coming out of nowhere and reaching inside the truck.”
    Leslie said, “Yeah, I’d say we have a unanimous vote on that. You guys need to take it easy. I can’t see shit out there, so I’d imagine you aren’t able to see anything either, correct?”
    “Nope, can’t see a damn thing. We need to let the rain stop, but there's a good chance we'll be able to break in on a special weather forecast if we get lucky. I don’t know what the answer is.”
    They went slowly at first, until they realized they were the only ones out on the road. This gave Jude a new-found confidence and he sped up, trying to find the signs to direct them to the downtown district. When they were close, the rain was finally beginning to slow.
    Chuck rolled down the window and could feel all things good going to hell in a handbag. He watched a group of the homeless, holding cups and a liquor bottles. He thought, How the hell are they keeping from drinking the rainwater? until he realized they were using their cups and liquor bottles to collect it. Chuck yelled, “Don’t drink the water! I repeat, do not drink the water. There's something wrong with the rain — you aren’t going to make it if you keep drinking it!”
    The homeless men, unused to being noticed unless the police were harassing them to stop sleeping on the street, extended their middle fingers to him. They leaned backwards and slammed the liquor-water as quickly as they could.
    Chuck nodded, smiling. “Well, you enjoy that cold drink of death you're sipping on. I’ll be back around later. We got some saving the world shit we need to do. You all go ahead and do the zombie thing, and try not to bite anyone.”
    The middle fingers never left, and Chuck just shook his head. Jude pulled up near the