"Holy shit!" Roy exclaimed. He picked up Billy's severed head and gave it a big kiss on the cheek, then dropped it with a thud. Billy had been aiming for the approaching soldiers but missed, like he had when firing the warning shot back at the Center. The bullet ended up puncturing the massive, compressed oxygen tank just outside the Medical trailer—about 20 feet to the right of where it was intended—lighting up the underside of the tall pines in a brilliant orange.

"Holy fucking shit," Roy said again. "God, Billy. Ya did a good thing." Unfortunately for Billy, the blast had sent shrapnel flying in all directions—and specifically, a hubcapped-sized section of torn aluminum siding at Billy's neck.

His body lay motionless on the ground a few feet away, still clutching the pilfered rifle they'd taken from one of the guards. Roy grabbed it and slung it over his shoulder, adding it to the two others he'd already acquired.

Can't be too prepared, he thought.

The remaining three of his zombie brethren were hunkered down low behind one of the transport trucks, ducking into the shadows hoping the chaos would subside.

But it didn't.

Shots rang out, echoing through the trees. The metal panels of the transport truck winced and pinged as bullets attempted to find their targets.

"Stay down," Roy shouted to them as he returned fire, unleashing a barrage of bullets into nothing in particular.

The seven or eight soldiers advancing found their own places to duck down and paused to reload and assess the situation. The air was abuzz with walkie chatter and metallic clicking, bolts being slid into place.

"Wow, that all happened so fast," Roy said to himself. "Praise the good Lord."

"Amen," said a couple zombie voices beside him.

How they had made it this far could only have been through Divine intervention.

God had their backs.

After the livid soldier with the stapler had barged into the cell and gone to town stapling Roy's face shut, God intervened. The soldier was so focused on trying to pinch Roy's lips together, he'd neglected to keep any thought devoted to his tactical blade which bumped up against Roy's hand as they struggled. Roy had simply pulled out the knife and deposited it into the soldier's left eye. He pushed hard and watched the other eye turn upward as his lights went out.

The soldier fell, alerting the other soldiers in the Holding tent to mobilize. They rushed into the cell with weapons drawn but one of the other hillbilly zombies, in a sudden rush of whatever would equate to zombie adrenaline, charged at the soldiers, tackling the first, propelling him back into the others.

The zombie dug his dripping teeth into the soldier's neck and tore—pulling away a great chunk of skin and subdermal tissue. But much to Roy and the other zombie's surprise, very little blood issued forth. It was a gaping maw of a wound like Roy's—looking like a shredded bologna sandwich but devoid of the typical spraying blood. Roy put it together in his spinning head.

"The head! Take out the head!" he shouted.

He and the other zombies from his clan bolted forward through the open cell door and joined the fray. After only a minute or two, all the soldiers had new holes in their skulls and Roy and his zombies were left standing unchallenged in the Holding tent marveling at the miracle of it all.

Roy's stolen knife was dripping with gore as the other's held various similarly gnarly looking tools—a screwdriver, a fire extinguisher—and the zombie who'd made the initial attack was slinging blood from his bare hands.

They quickly scooped up all available weapons and congregated near the front of the tent and quietly pulled back the flap to look outside.

"What now," Billy had asked.

"Find that cunt, Jane and rip her fucking head off." Roy growled.

"Okay... but, how about right before that. Like... now, now?"

But there wasn't time to answer.

More soldiers were fast approaching, having been alerted by radio. When they saw the tent flap open, they started shooting. Roy, in his panic had pushed Billy outside as an organic shield. Bullets had torn through his dead body, sending bits and pieces of Billy all over the place—but none of the shots connected with his head. Roy thrust a rifle at him as he tried to get back into the tent and screamed, "Take this! Shoot back!"

Billy reluctantly followed the order and turned, leveling the rifle and taking careful, practiced aim.

And missed.

Gloriously missed.

"Goddamn Billy, you will be honored in heaven, you, wonderful stupid man," Roy said leaning against the side of the truck and nudging Billy's decapitated head with his boot. It oozed a thick black slime into the dirt.

Shots sounded from the Medical trailer and Roy craned his neck around the front of the truck to get a better look—and to his surprise, he saw Jane, now just wearing her bikini top, carefully descend the half blown up steps and duck behind a parked Jeep. Roy looked up at the night sky, broken by the tendril-like branches of the tall pines. "Thank you, Go-," he said as a shotgun blast tore off his lower jaw.