“No way!” said Rob. “How do we know you’re not one of them?”
“Well, I’m speaking, aren’t I?” screamed a hysterical Jeremy.
“Tell that to the end of my shotgun barrel, pal,” said Rob.
Jeremy and Rob didn’t really get along.
“Just let him in,” I said.
“I don’t want him in here, man. He kinda cramps my style.”
“What style?”
“Shut up.”
Suddenly, we heard Jeremy squeal higher-pitched than a chipmunk on helium after getting kicked in the crotch. The screaming lasted for a whole minute. It was terrifying. I could picture poor Jeremy being torn apart out there. What a gruesome death. He continued to plead for help, but his words seemed less easy to understand now. Plus, we couldn’t let him in AFTER he had got bitten. The screaming came to an abrupt halt. This halt was followed by the sound of some zombies having an early dinner. Afterward, Rob and I sat in silence for a bit.
“So, Jenna’s kinda cute,” said Rob.
“Mmm, not my type,” I said.
“Oh, what’s this type that you speak of?”
“I just like a woman with a bit of class.”
“And Jenna doesn’t have class? What are you...ohhhh. I think I understand. You don’t wanna go with a girl who has a higher kill record than you!”
“What? No way. I am perfectly proud of my kill record.”
“Six? Really? You’re proud of that?”
He was right. I hated my kill record. I always thought it would be so easy to kill zombies. I was wrong. As a matter of fact, one of my kills was accidental. I backed over one during a driving lesson. And another of my six kills wasn’t, in actual fact, a zombie. It was Gabe Hill, an emo kid who used to hang out by the exit sign. He was looking so pale that day, how was I not supposed to assume he was a zombie. No one knows about that quite yet, though, and I plan to keep it that way.
“It’s quality, not quantity,” I said.
“Whatever, man. You wanna go get some Carl’s Jr?”
“Nah,” I said. “Oddly enough, I don’t have much of an appetite.”
We sat in silence for a while more. Then I spoke again:
“In fact, maybe I’ll just get some chilly cheese fries.”