The waitress smiled. Her smile vanished as her eyes fell on the glass diner doors. "Aw, damn it. Not tonight."
Earl glanced to the front. Nine shambling corpses in various stages of decay were pressed against the glass. Their yellow eyes (for those that had eyes) stared hungrily. Purple tongues licked peeling lips.
"Told'ja I smelt zombies," Duke said without turning from his meal.
The walking dead smashed their way through the glass doors. The lead corpse, in a paisley blue suit, stumped forward on stiff legs.
"Don't you worry none, boys. I'll handle this."
She pulled a double-barreled shotgun from behind the counter, took aim, and squeezed the trigger . . .