Erik’s Mustang, a red 1969 Fastback, was given to him by his father. The car rumbled loudly as it approached Kingsboro’s Michigan Avenue. The 4-lane major city artery was littered with cars but most were pushed out of the way, likely due to the military heavies that had pushed into the city. Erik drove the car through the chaos. He tossed his third beer out the car window and opened a fourth. Something moved outside. It disappeared behind an Oldsmobile before Erik could identify it. His gut tighten and the hair on his arms stood. His moment was quickly approaching.
A beer buzz swirled in his head. An abandoned Prius sat in his way. He could plow through it but it would destroy his father’s Mustang. Erik was not willing to destroy the only physical piece of his father left. “This is where he would make his stand”, he said to himself as he let the Mustang idle. The wooden baseball bat sat on the seat beside him and the hooked chains sat behind the passenger seat. Erik reached back and pulled the first set of chains then searched for the second. The second set had settled farther toward the passenger side door forcing him to stretch. As he stretched he failed to notice the panicked deer racing toward him. Erik grabbed the chain and began to pull it forward when the deer crashed onto the hood of his Mustang. The windshield cracked and spidered-out, the hood bowed downward. Erik sat, pale-faced, in the drivers seat. His father’s car wrecked. The deer’s head lay near the drivers-side and feet hanging off the passenger-side. It was almost if it was picked up and slammed into the hood of the car. It struggled to stand but something held it down.
Erik sat in the car, fuming. He had protected this car from dents, dings, and vandalism. His father had protected this car but now 10 minutes into a drive into Kingsboro and it was trashed by this stupid deer.
Erik opened his driver door and grabbed the baseball bat. He was going to end the poor deer’s life. He stepped away from the driver’s door and closed it. The deer bayed loudly, struggled, but still couldn’t move. Curiosity pushed Erik to walk around the front of the Mustang. Holding tightly to the legs and abdomen was a dark-haired zombie. Once a beautiful 40 year old cougar. She still wore a pair of strappy pumps with the heels broke off. The zombie had her face buried inside the deer’s gut chewing through the warm meat. The strength of these dead creatures was shocking even after the news articles stating the fact. Erik squared up over the brunette zombie and swung the bat so that it struck the neck. The zombie’s neck popped loudly and the she released the deer. The zombie fell to the concrete and stopped moving forever. The deer jumped up immediately, bolted forward, and knocked Erik on his back. The bat flew from his hand and landed in the center of the avenue.
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