Bang! A stiff’s head exploded in a cloud of rotten meat and black clots. Bang! Another one got his face blown up. Bang! Clive unloaded his last bullet into the unsuspecting walking dead who had gotten too close.
Jim was already climbing the ladder, Clive followed. None of the stiffs was able to grab his ankle.
Jim stretched on the balcony. The fire escape was a godsend. The men were safe high above the alley, the moans and roars of the undead menacing, but harmless.
“God damn, these stiffs,” said Clive in his thick Louisiana accent.
Jim just nodded his head squarely. He was pale.
“Are you alright?” asked Clive. “You been bit?”
“You been bit? Answer me!”
“No, Clive. I’m fine, goddammit.”
“Okay, okay. I was just asking, is all,” said Clive, wiping sweat from his brow. “We should relax for a little while and then find a way across the-”
“And go where?” Jim snapped.
“Take it easy, city boy,” said Clive. “By the way, you’re a pretty good shot for a queer.”
Jim clenched his jaw. “How many times do I have to tell you, you fucking hick, I’m not a queer. I just lost a wife, goddamit.”
“Oh yeah? Are you gonna cry about it?”
The looked at each other for a second, motionless and stern. And then they burst out laughing.
The dead kept moaning tirelessly below them.