Zombie Capitalism

The convenience store was empty. I ran down the aisles, not wanting to leave Nicole alone at the car longer than I had to. Pausing, I grabbed two tins of StarKist and a package of Reese’s and hoped that would be good enough to satisfy her pendulous appetite, until we could get some real food.

I made my way to the glass cooler doors along the far wall. An iced coffee for me, a Snapple for Nicole. Better yet, two Snapples, in case she didn’t like the first one.

Behind the drinks I thought I noticed a hint of motion in the walk-in fridge.

He leaped without warning through the shelves with a scream, a flurry of blue polyester and exploding soft drinks in every direction. “Die, Commie bastard!” raged the man, who was distinctly not a Zombie Karl Marx, but at this moment was just as dangerous. He pinned me to the floor in a puddle of Pepsi beneath broken shelves and bottles and jammed his knee into my stomach, raising his arms to assault me with a six-pack of Bud Light.

“Stop!” I howled. “I’m on your side!”

The End

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