Of course, they make it no further than the street outside the salvage lot before Dean keys off the Impala's engine to blurt, "He's crazy!" "So, what do we do?" I'm sure Sam says. "Split up, because we are idiots," Dean most likely replies. "You go take care of all the ravening zombies in town by yourself, and I'll lurk around Bobby's backyard for a while so he can get plenty of chances to shoot me in the face." "I never wanted to live to see the end of the season, anyway," Sam nods, agreeing to the stupid plan, "and having my steaming intestines torn from my abdominal cavity by a horde of the evil undead does seem like the perfect way to go." "Then, we're set?" "We're set." And...scene.
Meanwhile, back at the Colonial, wee Owen Mills is draped across the living room sofa, his careworn mother dabbing at his feverish cheeks with a damp cloth. Uh oh. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" That, too. "I'm so hungry, Mommy!" the littlest zombie mewls, so Sheriff Mills tramps into the kitchen to fetch her little monster some soup. Fortunately for Sheriff Mills, the town's pediatrician chooses this moment to return her urgent phone call. Unfortunately for Sheriff Mills's husband, the returned call means he must feed their beast of a child. "BRAINS!" shrieks Raoul, knowing where this is going. "BRAAAAAAIIIIIINNNNNNS!" You're starting to scare me. "Hee!"
Emporium Yard. Dean loads a shotgun. Next!
Emporium Proper. The Undead Mrs. Bobby faceplants to the kitchen floor. When Bobby wheels himself over to see if she's okay, The Undead Mrs. Bobby replies, "I just need something to eat!" "BRAAAAAAIIIIIINNNNNNS!" And then she hacks up a torrent of ropy foulness all over Bobby's shoes. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!"
Heretofore Tidy Colonial. A crashing noise emanates from the living room, so Sheriff Mills races in from the kitchen, and oh, but this is just fantastic. She rounds the corner from the hall to find the living room sofa empty save for the comforter she'd wrapped around her little monster. Of course, the comforter is now luridly stained with blood. "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" You might want to save those vocal cords of yours, my scaly friend, because it gets much, much better. "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Sheriff Mills crosses the room to find a broad, red trail leading from the front to the rear of the couch... "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" ...and in the midst of a thick puddle of grue... "EEEEEEEEEEEEE!" ...she finds her husband's lifeless hand slipping back and forth across the woodwork... "GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!" ...while her demon child yanks his dead father's innards out with his teeth! "EEEEEEEEEEEEE! [Thunk!]" Poor Raoul. I knew it would be too much for him, and we haven't even reached the best part yet.