Clive's Cars was a dealership that took up half of Nottingham's industrial estate. With every type of vehicle under the sun, it was the best-stocked dealership in the county. Chris moved along the sports cars, his eye tracing the smooth curves of the Porsches. He came to a Porsche 911.
"I always wanted to drive one of these," Chris said.
"It looks nice," Maisie said, "but it does the same thing as cheaper cars, doesn't it?"
"Yes," he said. "But faster. This was the pinnacle of automotive engineering, once upon a time."
Chris took a screwdriver out of his pocket.
"But thankfully," he said, "its level of security doesn't match."
Three zombies wearing matching Nottingham United shirts ambled toward them. One had a rope around his neck, the end trailing along the ground. Another had deep cuts along his wrists. They came to an open top speedster and climbed over it, onto the leather seats.
"We'd better hurry," Chris said as he bent over the Porsche.
There was a snap sound, and a loud BANG! as a man with a bandana and shotgun ran at the zombies, unloading into them.
"Do you mind," BANG! "not stepping" BANG! "on the leather seats," BANG! "please."
The man blew imaginary smoke off the barrel.
The zombies lay sprawled over the vehicle, their innards now outards, decorating the car. The man turned to Maisie and Chris, who hastily tucked his screwdriver away.
"Sorry about that," the man said. "Getting the wrong sort around here these days. This neighbourhood has really gone downhill."
He beamed and extended a hand.
"My name's Clive. I'm the owner of this dealership. I can see you're interested inthe Porsche?"