Caleb looks over his shoulder when she pointed out that someone might need help. He realizes belatedly that she means the zombie-looking dude. "Fuck that," Caleb pants, shaking his head. "I mean, we can call the cops, sure, but I think he looks a little beyond help. He looks like something out of a fucking horror movie," he argues.

Truthfully, that's the closest Caleb can think of a way to describe it without straight-up using the word zombie which he just kind of can't make himself say out loud. Somehow, it feels like saying it out loud will make it real and making it real means that's a pretty big thing he'll have to wrap his head around on top of just being here in the first place. It's too much and he can't right now.

Seeing the open doors to a sporting goods shop, Caleb drags her along as he quickly changes course and bolts inside. Once he's sure they're both in, he pulls the doors shut behind himself. "Find something for me to jam in the door to keep it shut," he gasps. "Then we'll call the cops when we know he can't get in." Where there's one zombie, there will be more sooner than later. At least, that's how it always goes in the movies.