Want more Zombie? Check out Hargood and the End.
Ares was a specialist. Sure, his shop carried the mainstream DC and Marvel comics, but he was known for his immense collection of independent works. It took guts to run a comic book shop in the first place (a dying market in this digital age), but it took even more guts to harbor the stock that he did. Ares had no shortage of guts. Heavy-set and strong as an ox (in the arms, anyway), the comic shop owner was a brutish creature on wheels, and Oscar was glad to have him on his side.
"Fitzpaul," called out the beast as Oscar knocked on the shop window. "What the Sam-hill are you doing out today?"
Ares had barricaded the door with shelves and tables, but now removed them to let his friend inside. He shook his Mohawked head at the sight of Oscar in his boxers, but the newcomer was too busy admiring the store to notice. The shelves were lined with books, mostly thin-splined and paperback. There was the occasional tome, and one or two leather-bound books as well, but they were all crammed floor to ceiling on the shelves of the little room.
"I had no idea there were so many," Oscar said in awe.
"They're everywhere, I know," replied Ares, still referring to the issue outside. "It's Armageddon come at last, and you're rolling around in your boxers."
A swift knock to his arm by the brute brought Oscar back. He sighed and described his morning experience to Ares. He then went on to explain his reasons for coming to the shop amidst the apocalypse, and his plan from there to go to the church and so on. As the steps unfolded, a smile crept over Ares' broad face. He liked adventure, and especially a smart one. And this... this was a smart one.
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