"Really, it's not the zombies that worry me," Peter says with a string of curses in his native tongue. Fuck. He decided not to look too closely at what it said about him that he was much more worried about honesty than he was about brain-eating undead.

There were about a million things he didn't need to be asking for advice on. Like Roman Godfrey, to name one. Especially since he was here. Or anything about how he'd ended up here, jesus on a fuckstick, man.