Beams blasted the head off of the last Smith clan zombie, an old grandma wielding a b****y ax. Granny Smith didn’t even make any noises as she collapsed onto the floor, though her body did twitch once or twice before becoming as still as a corpse.
“Is that the last one?” said Rubberman, standing a few feet away from Beams, his foot on the crushed skull of a young woman. “Please tell me that was the last one.”
“Sure was,” said Jim-Bob, who had not moved an inch from where he stood. “Took y’all long enough to figure out how to kill ‘em.”
Beams scowled. “You could have given us a hint, you know.”
“You Yanks should have asked if you wanted a hint,” said Jim-Bob, pushing the brim of his hat up. “Didn’t ask, didn’t receive. That’s how this game works.”
Beams sighed heavily, but at the same
