The residents of the tank were all dead, their bodies littering the bottom.He sat on a bench, staring vacantly at a pack of Winchester Lights lying on the tiled floor at his feet. He'd give a good six feet of intestine for the ability to enjoy just one smoke - even a Winchester Light. But smoking, while hazardous to a breather's health, was suicide for a zombie. The undead had a tendency to combust even around warm thoughts.Most of the undead that survived the journey were milling about in the Camden Aquarium's main lobby, but the burned man and Dickless were keeping Fred company - and Aleta and Karen, of course.The good news was that the zombies were winning again. According to ZNN reports the breathers were in a panic. Stories of mass desertions from the National Guard were broadcast almost daily. Some deserted to be with their loved ones, some left to try their hand at looting, or for other reasons. No surprise that all it took to bring society crashing down was panic, greed, self-interest and a few hundred thousand hungry zombies.The important thing was that the breathers were becoming disorganized just as Fred and his undead were getting their shit together.
