I am sure that the actual supermarket that this is based on prides itself on how many days it has been zombie horde-free.
Waverly was almost bad.
Wasn’t so much the ghosts. They were smarter than the ones down south, and maybe if we hadn’t been warned ahead of time I might have done something stupid when I heard what sounded like a child crying. I kind of almost hope that; this life of mine isn’t for the squeamish but you don’t want to be the kind who ignores a kid in trouble, you know?
The trouble was there was a supermarket in the town. A God-damned supermarket. Ghost Road or no Ghost Road, hungry spirits or not; somebody should have come in and burned that zombie-attracting sumbitch down.
“This, you should have told us about!” I snarled at Ilbrin as we frantically pedaled north. Behind us, the undead from the supermarket followed. They weren’t quick, but they’d follow us forever. Or until they ate us.
“They’re not always there,” said Ilbrin. He sounded disgustingly carefree about it. “Most trips, there aren’t enough corpses to form a swarm!”
“Most trips?” said Wilkinson, panting. He was the least in shape of the three of us, though he wasn’t really flabby. “Where are the new corpses coming from?”
“The ghosts don’t actually eat people,” explained Ilbrin over his shoulder. “What, you thought they did? That’s just silly! And eyes on the road!”
“You first!”