“I swear to God. A road trip is the last thing we need to be doing right now!” Tree John complained a lot. He had a thick German accent, and usually got on everyone’s nerves. His intellect and ability to scope the scene was his thing. John is a climber. A tree climber to be exact. His duties in the apocalypse is to survey from above, and on occasion, pee on zombies below. He loves doing that. He is annoying, yes, but a needed addition.
Me? I’m Paul. You can call me Paul…. And that’s it. Just Paul. I’m in the passenger seat of a pimped out Charger R/T, equipped like the Coronet R/T - it came with a 440 Magnum, heavy duty suspension and brakes, and the bulletproof Torqueflite 727 3 speed auto with a 4 speed manual optional. We stole it fair and square from a poor bloke who just had his face ripped off by one of those running zombies. I think he was already dead though. I’m not being weird am I? Anyway, I was a chicken farmer back home. Nothing special, just an incredibly gorgeous chicken farmer who gets shit done. I’m navigating this rocket until we run out of gas, then we’ll probably lift another hot rod. These babies are rare in the UK. The pilot of this gem, is Shipley. He’s a Postman from the UK. How’d we meet? Well… we all met up at Tuffin’s. It’s a bar back home. The zombies came, and we left. Long story short. We ended up at the port, lifted a boat, and made our way to the states. America is exactly what the news says it is. Crazy as shit! I’ve never seen so many guns! We’re currently doing around 120 on Interstate 10. We’re headed to a city called Southaven. It’s in big’ol Texas. A radio station fuzzed in and out back home, ‘said that that is where the resistance will meet. We really have nothing better to do. Texas has guns for everyone, so we might as well fight to get rid of these zombies. Find that sound that’s in the sky and shut it down, and try to save the world WOOHOO! The highways are filled with stalled cars, and walkers. I mentioned to modify this beast but my mates said we should just get a truck. Ah, Southaven. I blame it all on my egg driver back home. He handed me a book, it talked about a Zombie Fight Club, we started our own… and the rest is history. We all have family that we left behind, but we’re really just trying to enjoy the road. The book described a hostile takeover of one of the ZFC headquarters in Houston. We’ll have to pass through there on our way to Southaven, so we’ll check it out and keep it all documented. Who knows? Maybe someone will read this wanker crap one day?!? We’re off to save the world. As the good book says, Kill’em all!