I did it exactly like that hot army guy taught us: wait till they’re close to light it, then throw it hard at their feet. You don’t throw at them, because if you miss it hits behind them and it’s wasted. Do it right and the alcohol splashes all over their legs and catches fire, and then they catch fire, and you run away. They don’t even scream, they just kind of moan louder and eventually they fall over. This one zombie, it was all bloated, and after it had burned for a while, it fuckin’ exploded. Swear to God.
Leroy Wayne stood swaying in his living room. Outside others, some neighbors and some unknown to him, stood in the yard and the street and the yards opposite. He could see them, barely, with clouded eyes. His hearing was distant and muddy. His sense of smell was acute, but the only odor was his own. He only felt a gnawing and constant hunger, and there was no food. As for his family, his wife had left him three years ago. His girlfriend had not come home Sunday afternoon, and was probably dead. Leroy himself had been dead for two days.
The Kroger’s was a bust, cleaned out. The Safeway a block down was a gold mine. There were some suburban types hunkered down in there, but they didn’t count on having to defend against living men with guns. Scared ‘em off, didn’t even have to kill nobody. A couple of the chicks even asked to join up with us.
Apart from the vanload of canned food, there was some unspoiled meat: they’d kept a freezer full going on generator power. Roberta’s got it thawed and curing. And I am now having my first bowl of ice cream in three weeks.
Her legs kicked incessantly underneath her. No one was coming out of the house to help her; not staff, not the other girls, not anyone. She was hoarse from crying and yelling for help. Her limbs ached and her muscles cramped. The finely toned body that had gotten her all this way was beginning to fail her.
They were all around her, moaning and circling the edges of the pool. She was too scared to go any further towards the shallow end. How the hell did they get onto the grounds anyway? The goddamn mansion is supposed to have security.
I can’t move, I don’t have the strength. It doesn’t hurt anymore, I can’t really feel much of anything. When they changed the dressing I saw the wound, it looked awful. You couldn’t tell it was a bite anymore, it looked like I’d gotten burned all along my arm. Bad, third degree. I don’t know why I’m not scared. Maybe my glands have shut down.
They’re all in the next room deciding what to do with me. They said I’d be all right, but I know better, I’ve seen it: in a few hours I’ll be trying to eat them.
He wasn't used to it yet. Case in point: holding his lane. There hadn't been any other cars on the highway for weeks. Not even abandoned ones. Why was he holding his lane? There were rarely zombies out on the blacktop... nothing to eat, and apart from the on ramps it's fenced off. He just went around them where he saw them. When he needed gas he got off the highway and found a parked car. Quick look around to make sure there was time and then siphon away. He'd been doing it for years, long before there were zombies.