Death of a Zombie Salesman

Who: Rachin, lots and lots of zombies
Where: Mars Resort
When: Shortly after the zombies invade
Nikola was in the walk-in freezer of some old, abandoned restaurant
on the "bad" side of the resort. It wasn't exactly Al Capone's
Chicago, but it was as bad as resorts could get. Nik was a cold man
that lived in a run-down orpanage, and he couldn't feel any more at
home in a place where you could get robbed at any given moment. Not
that he would, he spent a large chunk of his money on slot machines
and a monogram handle for a pistol he didn't own.
On the floor was a case for an old acoustic guitar. Something was
inside. He wasn't sure if it was a guitar or a couple of muskrats,
but he wasn't about to find out.
Nikola pulled his dagger out of his coat. He gazed at the rays of
light on the floor, the blade dispersing the colors like a prism.
There were lots of sound coming from the outside of the building.
Most of which were general riffraff sounds: Car alarms, a few
gunshots here and there. But there was one noise that irked him.
It was the sound of screaming. Lots of screaming. And groaning.
It was unmistakable.
Nikola wasn't usually a superstitious man, but he had snuck into one
too many zombie movies as a child. Falsetto screaming and Senior-
citizen-like groaning were the telltale signs of an old-style horror
flick. Knowing he couldn't kill so much as three with his dagger,
he reluctantly picked up the guitar case, as well as its mystery
contents.
"Assuming that there are any zombies," Nikola said to himself,"This
should do well. But there aren't any! It's just my imagination.
There couldn't be any zombies. That's just Hollywood stuff. L-Like
Vampires, and the DMV. But I'm sure of it!"
He continued arguing with himself until he reached a high road,
about a half mile from the abandoned old shack of a building he was
in. From there he could see it all: A pub, surrounded by the
living dead. The security officer stood in awe as the mass of
zombies shuffled and moved like the waves of a pond. One zombie
shifted his distant gaze to him. And then another. Soon, a good
twentieth of the crowd was staring at the easy kill.
He had no choice. He rushed down to the crowd, huge guitar-sack in
hand. Although he had never really killed anyone (Or anything, for
that matter) with a guitar before, there's a first time for
everything.
He swung the massive hunk of something at a particularly well-
dressed undead with a hysterical "Yeeagh!" The zombie's body fell
to the ground as its head exploded, splattering brain against the
masses. Nik, encouraged by his kill, had swung it again, but this
time with a little less hysteria and a little more confidence. The
second victim also fell to the ground, but apparently its owner died
more recently because this time its head was merely dented. A lowd
TWANG! was audible from the inside of the case. It really was a
guitar, one of the strings broke.
This continued for at least three minutes, the new crewmate felling
at least ten or fifteen zombies (Which, in the end, was not much
compared to the whole crowd) before the handle was smashed clean off
of the guitar. The whole thing dropped to the ground, useless.
This stopped Rachin completely, and he fell completely silent. For
a while.
Some of the zombies began to form a circle around him, and soon they
would have surrounded him. Panicking, he ran through the zombies,
screaming like a ninny and running for the Blue Dwarf.