"What the fuck to do you know about tires, dipshit?"

"I know it ain't going to blow."

"Fine, but when it does, you're changing it."

"Fine."

Duke didn't bother to point out the truck was currently riding on its spare.

Rattling quiet fell on the cab once again. It lasted through the next half-hour. The pickup's working headlight cut through the darkness of a cloudy night and sliver of a moon. The occasional forlorn mailbox or animal carcass marked the otherwise unremarkable miles. Finally, a beacon of shimmering neon dared pierce the dark. It was a ten-foot sign beside a bunker of concrete. The sign read GIL'S ALL NIGHT DINER.

Duke pulled off. "I'm hungry," he explained, before Earl could set about busting his balls.

Earl set about to busting anyway. "You could'a ate earlier. I told'ja to get something earlier."

"Wasn't hungry then." Duke tugged the brim of his cap so that it nearly covered his eyes as he pulled his girth free of the driver's seat. The pickup's suspension groaned as the truck rose three inches.

"You could'a got a sandwich. That's your problem. You never think ahead. You're always living in the now. You've got one of them there reactive minds."

Duke cursed the day Earl had gotten his hands on a dogeared copy of Dianetics.

The werewolf stopped to sniff the air.

"Now what?" Earl asked.

"Nuthin'." He tilted his head. "Thought I smelt sumthin' for a minute there."

"What? What d'ja think you smell?"

"Zombies."

"Jeezus, Duke, there ain't nuthin' for a hundred miles. Where the hell would zombies come from?"

"Over there."

Duke jerked his thumb over his shoulder as he entered the diner. As if on cue, the dust raised by the pickup's arrival settled, revealing a small cemetery.

"Oh."

Duke went inside.

A big black raven perched atop the diner's neon sign. The bird tilted its head to stare at Earl with one cruel ebony eye.