Before Joe could say anything, however, Nicole suddenly piped up from the backseat.

“I don’t feel so hot.”

“What’s wrong, honey?” I asked.

“I’m really nauseous.”

“I think I have some saltines in my bag, Nicole, do you want some?” Jenny offered solicitously, but in the rear view mirror I saw Nicole shake her head, her face tinged with green.

“I think it was all that driving in circles,” she groaned, as she stuck her head between her legs.

“Drink some water, Nic, you’ll feel better,” I suggested.

“I-I think I’m going to be sick,” she mumbled before opening her car door and stumbling into some bushes where she retched for a good minute or more.

“Poor thing,” Jenny tut-tutted from the backseat.

“Um, buddy, I think Nicole needs to get back in the car. Like now,” Joe said between clenched teeth, his eyes focused on the farm in front of us.

I looked up to see what he was talking about. A group of about ten zombies were heading straight towards us, every single one of them the spitting image of Karl Marx.