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Jerry was looking like a mess, felt like shit, and the grogginess in his body didn't make him feel any better. He wanted to go back to sleep, even though his ''bed'' was nothing more than a couple of tires. With all of this things combined, he couldn't care about eating.

Actually, he didn't care about anything. Everything felt numb. Whether it was the stress or the awakening, he didn't like it.

His body, especially his arms and chest, ached from the punches he gave and the punches he received. He didn't want to check under his shirt in fear of finding a yellowish-purple bruise. He was pretty he had more than one, but he rather not know about it.

His throat was asking for water, so Jerry gave some to it right away. With the dryness washed off, he felt able to answer Michael's questions,

"I guess we have the same thing. I didn't bring any snacks."

With the small talk done, Jerry could pass to the serious business of planning ahead. Planning where they'd go, what they'd do, if they wanted to find someone.

He opened his mouth, about to ask his first question when the announcement started.

The dead manifested themselves in front of his face, and one in particular stood out of the rest.

Scarlett.

"Fuck."
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70's Horror Movies · Vehicle Depot