“A flour bomb will make a great distraction,” I whispered. “Oh,” Claire said. “I’ll be right back.” Without waiting for an answer, I darted a few aisles over, flashing my light on the overhanging signs until I found the party supplies. It was somewhat of a relief to know that it would likely not be inhabited with too many zombies, since they didn’t seem interested in things like whistles and candles. I turned left and started frantically looking. I saw party hats and horns, which I shoved aside. Then there, beneath the wrapping paper and four-packs of kazoos, I saw the balloons in all their latex glory. Just as I snagged a package of multicolored ones off the shelf, a zombie’s hand burst through the shelf opening from the other side, grabbing my arm and startling me. My gun clattered to the floor, next to a cellophane bag of broken plastic forks. Through the shining beam of my flashlight, I looked through the gap in the party supplies, and I saw its white, lifeless, hungry eyes.
