They sat waiting. After a minute, Holberg said, “Turn the engine off, you’re wasting gas.”
“I want to be able to go in a hurry.”
“If we run out of gas—”
“We’re not going to run out of gas, Holberg, we’ve got like half a tank. And there’s a hundred cars up on the interstate we haven’t syphoned yet.”
“Fine.”
“And I’d more worried about the car not starting again.”
“I said fine. Watch this guy coming up…”
The approaching zombie was a rotund office worker missing an arm. “So shoot him, Holberg, Jesus, do I have to do everything?”
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