"Yes! Chips!" "RM, those are noodles." "Whatever. Chip noodles. Happy? They were already stale before the outbreak." "That's because you boil them." "Who boils chips?" "They're not chips! Christ. Fucking forget it."
He glances over his shoulder only to wince at the stains left behind. His own blood trail creeps behind him like a bad nightmare, inching it's way across the courtyard and up the short steps behind him. (Writing by Maggie Fellows)