Jose stood there, behind the plate glass window of the ATM vestibule, never in his life so thankful for the security glass that sealed those looking to withdraw funds away from the street and prying eyes. It was night out now, but the city was oddly quiet. The street lamps were on, but their ghostly orange glow was the only thing around, there were no car headlights lighting up the streets as they travelled along, the neon signs of the various casino’s and bars that were the main stay of the city were all silenced; they were as dead as the population of the city itself.
There was another crashing thud as the zombie once again charged head first into the glass wall. Its transparent surface was now greasy and smeared with the things scalp, which was now hanging loose on the top of the zombie’s head like a badly fastened toupee, the skull clearly visible each time to large skin flap moved.
Jose had only come to the city for two days, his bachelor weekend before his impending marriage the following Saturday. Yet now his entire group of stags were dead, his best friend, and best man Miguel Feraro was now standing before him, his body decomposing by the minute, his flesh now green and slimy like a sculpted piece of wet snot. His arms hung uselessly down at his sides, his legs the last appendage of be working. Behind him, Jose could see hoards more of the undead all wandering around, some were heading this way; others seemed to have their radar’s set on other survivors. Jose had witnessed several grabbed or discovered cowering beneath cars or simply curled up in a shop doorway, he had seen what happened to them, and that was why he knew what he had to do.
He snapped his credit card and without waiting for Miguel to finally force his way through the glass, he sliced his own throat, his American Express Gold card disappearing, changing the same color his bank account was after a night of heavy gambling.