Bring Out Your Dead
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune but limited weaponry would— upon disembarking from his cab only to find that the lower end of Winsome Street was being overrun by a horde of zombies— naturally high-tail it back to the aforementioned mode of public transportation. It was entirely possible that Alexandre Enjolras might have been braver had he been in the company of some friends, but, as it has been said, he was a single man. In any case, even the bravest of single men would have been hard-pressed not to soil themselves at the sight of a veritable ocean of grasping hands and blood-stained teeth.
At least they weren’t fast zombies. You hardly got those at this time of year, because decaying meat did not keep well in hot temperatures.In fact, overrun was an inaccurate description for the movement of the horde. Overshuffled was more like it. Or overoozed.
A less universally acknowledged truth is that, when push comes to shove, people get desperate— especially the kind of people to whom desperation was not so much a feeling but a perpetual state of existence. They didn’t have to weigh the pros and cons of committing a crime because crime was all they knew, the one thing they were good at, the default action to which they reverted even when push had not yet RSVP’ed to shove. This was why Éponine Thénardier, seasoned petty thief and lone survivor of the Winsome Street attack, thought nothing of pulling out her switchblade, climbing into the backseat, and attempting to divest the pale blond gentleman of his cab.