Sheryl & Diaz Bar

September 24th, 1998...
Around 8:00 PM...

Pamela Ambrose, colloquially called 'Pam-Am' by the few regulars who dared to keep their remaining teeth, had the bar mostly to herself. Mostly, given that Sheryl & Diaz were locked in the backroom, pounding on the walls like a pair of rabid dogs. They changed in front of her... not their clothes, well, they did shed something but it wasn't their garments. Sheryl and Diaz weren't the world's best people, in fact, they were down right rotten to the core. If not for certain people in this city, they'd have gone out of business a long time ago, and hey? Where else was a girl like Pam supposed to get a job? She's a paroled, persistent jailbird whose done far worse for less. But they changed... Sheryl and Diaz were eating the Goddamn delivery boy! They, shed whatever humanity they had left in their corrupt bodies and ate the poor bastard like a bucket of fried chicken. Pam had stumbled upon them twenty or so minutes ago, waking up from a prolonged high... Stuff she told herself she wouldn't touch, but she was feeling pretty bummed the night before and here she was, thinking she'd probably have to pimp herself out not to be fired for being late only to find the pair of them... ripping the flesh off that poor bastard...

-CLINK!



The double barrel shotgun, no bigger than a large pistol was in her hands now. The blond haired woman with light blue eyes stared at herself in the mirror, remembering her 'stay' at the Manor... and thus, reminded herself, she'd been through far worse. The woman's exposed shoulders felt naked, her lithe body squeezed into that loose fitting, leather and lace corset that showed off her back, the tight fitting pair of pants that showed off her lovely hips and thick thighs... she looked more slut than warrior, but she couldn't give a damn. She slid a shell into each barrel, the old piece was Diaz's deterrent against looters, but the thing never was loaded, nor registered- not that it could due to its... modifications. She snapped the barrels into place, and slowly walked over to the back room's door. She could hear them, snarling behind the door. The scrappy but pretty blond had rigged the door so she could open it a distance away... she raised the Lupara with her right hand, pulling back the long piece of rope attached to the latch and handle... the cord went tight, there was a sharp click!

For a moment, the snarling stopped... then the door swung open! Both the zombified owners charged Pam with blood drenched lips, forearms, hands, fingers. Snarling teeth and cataract eyes getting closer as Pam eased back the triggers one at a time!

-KA-BANG!
-KA-BANG!

---

Pam looked outside the bar's windows, noting the panic in the streets. She dragged the pair of deceased owners out into the street, shotgun in hand. She was ready to blast anyone who got too close, and she'd have stuck inside the bar... but she needed to find better gear than the antique in her possession and the serrated Ka-Bar knife she found in the backroom which also belonged to the shady Diaz. She locked the bar, and proceeded around the area on foot, her worn out boots needing replacing, and she was also getting cold without a jacket and having her tits flopping behind the corset's brassier. Pam figured it was time to do a little shopping...

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