“Not in here, cupcake,” Jake chirped as he crushed the zombie’s head with the baseball bat. The corpse crumpled to the floor and he took another swift swing, knocking the head clean off its slimy shoulders. He turned and smiled at Jane.
“Nice work, pardner,” she nodded nonchalantly at him. “Uh oh.” She pointed at the undead interloper with her grimy golf club. “See the shakin’? We gots ourselves an asploder.” She rushed up and rolled the body over their flung-together fence and collapsed them both onto their cabooses just in time to hear it snack, crackle, and pop into a hundred pestilent pieces.
“Shee-it! When did they start doing that?” he said, brushing bone and blood off his jeans.
“Just afore you got arrived. You ain’t see ‘em blow up before? Are you new here?”
Stereo speakers up in the corner of the room fizzled and futzed: “Level 3.”