“Do you think it’s dumb that people have zombie apocalypse plans?” Connie asked, laying across the couch, scrolling on her phone.
“Naw, it’s just a gedankenexperiment,” Francis replied, entering the living room. He carried a jar of peanut butter in one hand and a tablespoon in the other. “It’s just, like, a general pandemic response strategy.”
“But no,” she countered. “My friend Mark had a survival backpack in the closet, just in case.” Connie added air quotes to those last three words.
“Well, that’s dumb,” Francis replied towering the Jif onto his spoon.
“I dunno. I guess it is like having a panic room or something. I guess the zombie tools would work fine against a hostile foreign power, or the purge, or pod people.” Connie declined a call from Spam Risk.
“We’re them, and they’re us,” Francis responded with a mouthful of peanut butter.
“Huh?”
“Never mind.”
“I mean, I guess you never see these people carry around silver just in case of werewolves or get super into Christianity because of vampires.”
“I keep a high-powered flashlight in my car. It’s not for it, but in a pinch, it could take out a few Gremlins.”
“Oh yeah. And everybody who owns a cat is safe from the mummy.”
“Well, that’s what the cat wants you to think.” He mouthed another spoonful.
“Yeah,” Connie agreed.
“You got any plans in case you are attacked by the Ghoulies?”
“I dunno. What’s their weakness?”
“I think,” he swallowed, “Rotten Tomatoes dot com.”