Clive led them into the main dealership building. On display were their gems: a Bentley Mulsanne and a 1963 Jaguar XKE. They were polished to a high shine. Clive took them through to his office. It was the only one that was occupied.
"What happened to the other salesmen?" Chris said.
"Bunch of quitters," Clive said. "They hear it's the 'end of the world' and they run a mile. Some of us are made of sterner stuff."
Clive hung his bandana from a hat stand and leaned the shotgun against the wall in the corner.
"I love it here," he said. "To the others it was always just a job. To me it's a passion. Would you like tea? Coffee?"
"No, thanks," Chris said. "We need to get going as soon as we can."
"Gotcha. Time is of the essence. Let me just pull up the car's information here. It'll just take a minute."
Clive clicked on his computer. There was a pause as the file loaded.
"So," Chris said, fishing for a topic of conversation. "The whole zombie apocalypse thing doesn't bother you?"
"Not in the slightest. It's a fad, a hiccough. It'll pass and things will be right back the way they were."
"Well, you know, a lot of people have died."
"A lot of people always die. It's just blown out of all proportion on the news and what have you. Look at SARS. What happened to that? Came and went like crabs on a whore."
He didn't seem to notice Maisie was there.
"Chris," Maisie said, "what's a who-?"
"I'll tell you later."
Clive looked at Maisie with a smile.
"She's cute," he said. "She your girlfriend?"
"She's eight."
"Hey, I don't judge. God knows we've all got our preferences."
"She's my daughter."
"Ah. Right. Now I see the resemblance."
"How's the file coming along?" Chris said, voice fringed with disgust.
"Almost there. They say that when the zombies bite you, you've got eight hours left to live. Do you think that's true?"
"Apparently."
"Why eight hours? Why not twenty four or forty eight? You could do a lot in that sort of time. But eight hours?"
Clive shook his head.
"Better off just going to work," he said. "They say you start suffering side effects and changes, but I haven't noticed anything yet."
Chris frowned.
"You haven't noticed what yet?" he said.
"Side effects. I was bitten about, I don't know, about seven hours ago, I reckon. No, maybe seven and a half. But I haven't suffered any side effects."
Just then, his eye dropped from its socket and hung by the optic nerve on his cheek.
Clive hadn't noticed, and smiled.
"Here we are," he said. "Here's the information."
Maisie squeaked and looked away. Clive smiled, mistaking her outburst for excitement.
"It's a ten percent deposit and two percent payment per month with an interest fee of three percent," he said.
Chris pointed to Clive's cheek.
"You've, uh, got something on your cheek there," he said.
"I just had breakfast," Clive said. "I always manage to get some on my face."
He wiped his cheek.
"There," he said, "did I get it?"
"No, it's, uh, a little higher."
Clive tried again, this time nudging the eyeball and causing it to rock side to side. Maisie made another squeak and dry retched.
"A little bit higher," Chris said. "Closer to your eye..."
"Hey, I'm not afraid of another man touching me," Clive said, leaning forward. "Get a tissue. Wipe it off for me, would ya?"
"For God's sake, man! It's your eyeball! It's hanging from your eye socket!"
Clive turned to his computer monitor, and looked at his reflection in the glass.
"Oh yeah," he said. "So it is."
Clive pushed it back into his skull and blinked, returning to normal.
"They say your body begins to sag when you hit forty," Clive said. "You don't look forty yet. You're about, what, thirty-two? Thirty-three? In ten years you'll notice the same things happening to your body. It's nature. We can't fight it. So, how do those terms sound? Pretty tasty, right?"
Chris handed over his credit card without taking his eyes off Clive.
"No negotiating?" Clive said. "That's new. Would you at least like to take it for a test drive?"
"No,"Chris said, feeling sick to his stomach. "I'd just sooner be on my way."