Want more Zombie? Check out Hargood and the End.
As Ares flipped the light-switch inside the closet, it was, to Oscar, as if he were flipping a switch of hope as well. The walls were lined with guns, grenades, baseball bats, cricket bats, swords, and shelves of amo. This was the jackpot, the mother-load. Fort Knox met Roswell and had a baby in this comic book shop. Ares pulled a stone from one of the shelves and sharpened Oscar's blade with the grace of a professional.
"Well," Oscar admitted, "I'm kind of glad I stopped here first."
With the sword sharpened, Ares turned his attention to choosing his own weapons for the journey. He leaned deep into the closet and ran his thick hands over each gun. After a moment of pondering, he took a contraption of straps and belts from one of the walls. It hung across the back of his chair perfectly, as if designed especially for it. Then he proceeded to empty his arsenal, placing each weapon into a loop or pocket of the contraption. Two additional, similarly designed, apparatuses fitted over his broad wheels, and he loaded them down with ammo cartridges.
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