Joe’s Bar had changed considerably since the zombie apocalypse first broke out. He’d learned rather quickly that there was a shift in the market—instead of Sex on the Beach, mojitos, and piña coladas, his menu offered a variety of Molotov cocktails.
He grabbed his firebombs from behind the bar and positioned them side by side.
“Going to need them today, bud.” Max exchanged cash for cocktails.
“Aye.” Joe grinned.
Together, they strode outside, facing the encroaching crowd of screeching zombies.
They lit the rags, then launched the fiery weapons. Bloodied limbs, severed heads, and guts erupted from the flames.
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