Somewhere in Missouri.

Several uneventful days passed since clearing the house, and uneventful equated to godsends. They slept well enough, ate well enough, weren't attacked, and didn't have to make any potentially life altering decisions. There was odds and end bickering about whatever, but typical of the two, nothing of real substance was spoken about and both were fine with that. On the fourth day, they came upon the scene of what seemed to be a person or two having been trapped in a small convenience store that came under attack from zombies. There were several fresh bodies and a bloody spot on the floor that was all that remained of one of those that had been alive prior to the attack. 

They approached quietly, listening before actually entering. Whatever zombies had attacked, they were gone now and the place was quiet. Fuad went in first and didn't find much of anything Terry grumbled, disappointed about wasting time and having nothing to show for it. They were quiet a bit more alert since the signs of activity were obvious, but they still talked occasionally. After leaving the building and moving on, they moved off the road slightly when he all-too-familiar raspy breathing sound could be heard ahead and low and behold, the two men snuck their way through some trees to see 3 zombies standing about, seeming to have no real purpose.

"Looks like it's your lucky day T-Burn. Need some help with these or what?" 

Terry set his bag down with a shake of his head as they drew up on the zeds, grinning.
"Nah... I haven't broken any skulls in a good three days, this'll do me good."
So saying, he pulled his crowbar from the side of his bag, cracking his neck and quite simply striding forward towards the zeds with no sense of stealth or ceremony, wrapping the crowbar on a tree as he passed to get their attention.

"Heeeeeeeeere zeddy zeddy zeddy. Come and let T-burn break you a little bit."

He patted the crowbar in his hands with a broad grin, shifting slightly and digging his heels into the dirt, seeming ready and rearing to turn the three zombies into puddles of leprous mush.

Fuad shook his head even as he smirked. He did keep a look out on the surrounding area as Terry descended on the trio. Hopefully Terry would be quick about this. While Terry didn't necessarily delight in the prolonged death of the undeads, he seemed to just thoroughly enjoy smashing their skulls and helping send them back to wherever it was they went when Terry was done with them. "Go easy on the blonde, I think she has a thing for you." 

Terry rolled his eyes at Fuad's comment.
"Never liked blondes. Always been a red-head kinda guy."

Fuad muttered under his breath, but loud enough for Terry to hear. "Oh, didn't know redheads ran in your family..."

So saying, the blonde promptly took a crowbar to the face, collapsing in a re-dead heap of bloody rotten flesh. He shot a glance over his shoulder to Fuad.
"Bah, at least we only marry -once-, like proper people. Even if it is a third cousin, or something. You idiots take on how many wives? Two dozen? Must be a bitch, dealing with that many women bleeding at once, especially once they start having kids. How long did it take before they teamed up and castrated you?"

Another one of the zeds found its skull thoroughly hammered into a tree by his elbow.

He chuckled at the man's response, always finding it oddly amusing how Terry could talk shit while doing what he did. It wasn't so much just talking, anyone could talk in the middle of fighting, it was that he would actually have well thought out replies. Granted the same could be said of Fuad, but he would like to think he had higher mental capacity than the old redneck. "I never married asshole. I didn't have any sisters like you. Anyway, those were hardcore, old school Muslims. I'm pretty sure you people did that too." He did his best redneck impression. "I dun show'll did havem my some sex withum ma mum. I need to work on my redneck voice. Anyway, you down south people perfected that shit. And to make it worse, you didn't even get virgins when you died. Virgins can be trained you know?" The whole time he spoke up, he kept looking around and behind, even though he was sure that the immediate area was safe--well, safe enough as it could be with a handful of zombies around. 

Terry gave a short, barking laugh. He was more or less toying with the last Zed, hopping out of its way every few moments. He wasn't making it suffer, merely stalling. Probably needed the stretch.
"You're doing it all wrong. Here."
He cleared his throat.
"I'm fixin' t' blow this here hajji sky high if'n he keeps chattin' on my mum like that. Ricky, hold my beer an' hand me ol' bessy."
Ol' bessy no doubt a joking reference to whatever rifle he would have had on hand back in red-neck-ville.

"And you can't tell me that you -want- to train sixty nine virgins."
He knew the real number. He just didn't care.
"I mean, who wants to hear this sixty nine times- 'Oooh, ahhhh, awwwooooaaahhhh... You're gonna call me, riiiigggghhhhht?'"

The last zed finally lost its head to a baseball-esque swing of his crowbar, the skull thunking solidly against a tree as the body fell without it.

Fuad stepped up into the clearing as he dispatched the last zombie and looked around cautiously. "You can't even count to 6, let alone 69." While Terry looked around at his handiwork, Fuad simply stepped forward and continued on in the path they were on originally, it seemed as if the violence from moments ago was already lost on him. In a moment, he became aware that it was cold and he pulled his jacket a bit tighter around him, zipping it up. He found it interesting how the body changed when the slightest trace of adrenaline entered the system; cold, pain, fear- all being ignored. Out of nowhere, Fuad asked "do you think anyone survived from that store back there?" 

Terry shook the excess blood from his crowbar, retrieving his bag as he answered. The joking conversation gone and replaced with a serious question, he let the sarcasm fade from his voice.
"I think one of them got turned into a puddle of goo, but there were too many dead zeds for one person alone to have handled. I didn't see any fresh dead aside from puddle-guy, so one or two people had to have at least made it this far out. Didn't see any blood trailing from the building, either, so either they had plenty of bandages on hand or they got lucky and avoided serious injury. They could have gone anywhere, but my bet is they went for the main road and are a day or so ahead of us."

It was remarkable how he showed brief flashes of intelligent insight like this between beating up zeds and poking racist comments at Fuad.

"Or it could have been one person when he or she was gone, the zeds just kind of moved on their own way." There were a few dead-again zombies but not many. Fuad liked to think that if he was in that situation, there'd be a heap of corpses where he fell. More often however, he'd like to think he'll never be in a position where he was dead--a heap of undead with him walking away was much more to his liking. 

As they walked in relative silence for a few hours, the sun started to descend in the sky and it got slightly cooler. Just as he was about to mention slowing down and finding a place to stay for the night, a few flurries started to call from the sky. Being born and raised in Arizona, he still wasn't used to the snow. He'd been in it a few times, but it was when going to the mountains, or traveling. The clouds were thick and dark up ahead, which would mean rain if it were warmer.