he said. “By my calculations it's just a few streets over and down. That's where my buddy is. That's where I need to get.”“Your buddy is dead,” the cowboy said in a sympathetic voice. “I hate to tell you this but unless God has chosen him or he's really fucking lucky there's about a snowballs chance in hell he made it past last night.”“You're wrong,” Holt replied. “He wouldn't do that. He wouldn't die without telling me. He's strong.”“The dead are at peace now,” the cowboy explained. “They are with God and Jesus as he prepares to join us in our fight. There's no reason to be upset for your friend. All's I'm saying is that the dead shall bury the dead. We got work to do, smashing in heads.”“What harm is there is taking a look?” Holt roared, silencing the cowboy. “I mean it's not like it fucking matters which direction we head right? Fucking zombie demons are everywhere and our job is to kill as many as we can. So why not take a minute to check in on my best fucking friend and see if he made it?
