Not really sure this is a great idea, Jesus. The cities are going to be crawling with those things. We should get off the road and see if we can find a place to hole up for a bit. I've got a place in Wyoming, say the word and we'll head there instead.
The Son of God will never run from an army of undead, Randy. Besides, you heard the radio; the army is making their stand in Chicago. That means the Son of God is going to Shytown to handle this whole situation.
This is the Day of Judgment, isn't it?
It's just a bad night before a new dawn, a time for humanity to fight for what is rightfully theirs and drive away the darkness.
I'm not even sure how I made it this far, I'm just a singer. Suppose I'm just a lucky man.
You are a warrior of righteousness.
Hearing them crash off the front of truck just bothers me. These were people. I just think I need a break from driving for a bit.
They are not people, just unfortunate husks. Think only of their spirits gleefully clapping as you remove their wandering abominations from the face of the earth.
Chicago is likely to have hundreds, if not thousands. Oh well, I didn't win the 1988 Grammy Award for Best Male Country Vocal Performance for playing it safe. Hammer down, Jesus, let's go and deal with these zombie bastards. Damn it all, that is beginning to sting a bit.
You were bitten?
Back at the bread factory, bastard got me good.
You know what this means, son.
Figure you can put a bullet in me later, right now you need me to drive you through this wasteland.
Roger that, Randy Travis.
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