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Dan wasn't happy to be doing whack-a-corpse duty on the roof, but it was the better of the two options. He didn't want to stay down below making sure the hordes didn't cross the barricades, that job was wisely distributed to the Blobs who had already proved effective at holding them off. Besides, Matthew and Stephen were still down there having some 'private time' which wasn't exactly a soundproof activity. Stephen was certainly having quite the party, though Dan wasn't entirely sure Matthew's tortured moaning was based entirely in ecstasy. To hell with those freaks, Dan thought, he could settle in just fine on the roof and take care of business like he was supposed to.

Though, to be honest, it really pissed him off that it was Matthew and Stephen who got to do the nasty in their own private Idaho while he was stuck on the roof with his best bud Evan, Foucalt and the damn dog. Cheryl was all the way on the other side of the roof, whacking away at the undead interlopers with a blood and rotted flesh splattered aluminium baseball bat. If anyone deserved a room of their own, it was the two young folks who were able to go out and multiply or some shit like that. That's how the end of the world apocalypse stories are all supposed to end, right?

Right?

Boy gets girl, loses girl, gets eaten, lives, dies, devours. It's all about consuming something, be it ideals or an idea about success or that chick in the front desk you never got to screw but really, really wanted to. It's not supposed to be like this, squatting on some roof with pebbles underfoot, wondering just how in the hell you ended up cock-blocked by a bunch of dead people and your best friend's good intentions.

"It's a good thing we stuck together," Evan cheerfully said to Dan. "I wouldn't want to be stuck down below with the stink of these things trying to get in. I don't know how Stephen and Matthew can stand it, let alone the Blobs."

"We never did find out their names, did we?"

"What?" Evan turned to his friend, confused. He thought for a long moment, a few heads smashed in the process, before he nodded, the back of his hand streaking a nasty line of blood-soaked slime across his brow. "Yeah. Hunh. Funny isn't it?"

"I think it's telling," Dan replied. "It says how much we don't give a shit about people other than ourselves, even in the worst of situations."

"We're naturally selfish creatures, my friend," Evan sagely said to him. "Don't beat yourself up about it. Even the most saintly of saints had an ulterior motive. Getting right with Heaven isn't exactly a wholly selfless thing, you know, it's about getting into what's in it for you. But a guy dropping on a grenade for his buddy so he can live another day? That's just a stupid, unthinking reaction to a problem. If he had to time to think it through, he'd let his friend blow to bits."

Dan had to wonder if this was true. It wasn't so long ago that Evan was eager to risk his own life and the lives of everyone else to save Robert and his dog after the trucker had foolishly ran into the crowd of undead to rescue Lulu. Now, with evidence of their tenuous hold on mortality hitting home, Evan had swung the ethical pendulum far in the opposite direction. Right now, Dan was sure that if it gave Evan a leg up in this survival game, he'd be tossed over the barrier into the massive grey hordes without a second thought.

"I'm turning on the lights!" Foucalt shouted to them. "Shield your eyes!"

"What Cheryl said might be right," Evan reminded Dan, becoming in his friend's eyes the official doomsayer of their situation. "This probably won't work."

"Nothing like thinking positive," Dan said. He whacked another cranium and then gave its headless spine a few more strikes to push it over the edge of the building. They couldn't climb very well, especially since most of them were missing limbs, but the disembodied pieces managed to occasionally get a good grip and they strung together in a mesh-like arrangement that allowed some of the more able bodied bodies to make it to the top.