The yellow and black stripes on the inside of the circus tent were stained with blood. Disarray ensued in the crowd as their screams projected out past the mall and down the street for miles. Those in the top of the bleachers were trapped behind the outbreak and forced to trample others or fight their way out. People in the front rows fared little better, as they were the most tripped over. No one was really prepared.

A strange fly had bitten patient zero, who had bitten an employee at the ticket booth, who had bitten a dancer, who had bitten the entire corps de ballet. Most people are not equipped well enough to outrun a ballet dancer with a lethal dose of VolareX1 infecting their veins.

After that, chaos ensued with momentum.

Two acrobats swung high on the top rope. Somehow the female's tutu had caught fire, yet they continued spinning wildly through the air.

A conductor waved his wand at a band of musicians that had only now begun to notice the chaos. The melody turned to screeching strings, abruptly halting brass instruments, and the viscous wet sounds of ripping flesh.

Some redneck in a straw cowboy hat pulled a revolver and started firing from his place in the bleachers. Six rounds later and the crowd swallowed him whole.

An elephant squished a man flat in the front row. The rider, an Indian man without a saddle, clung to the beast's ears for dear life.

A Strong-man with a giant mallet finds a little girl crying center stage of the big top, "Ronnie help little girl, don't cry. Be proud of puppy and be strong for him, yes?"

Fifi nodded yes through her tears, "Ronnie put you on shoulder now yes?"

She nods again, not caring to use words. The puppy in question was a poodle named Lolo. Lolo would collect Fifi's crossbow bolts between the songs that she played by hitting targets attached to the keys of a piano.

She had a repeating crossbow with a massive clip still clutched in her hand as Ronnie propped her up on his shoulder. It may be needless to point out that she would make one hell of a zombie slaying machine if not for the fact that she was a little girl who had just lost her best friend. Ronnie felt for her, but didn't possess the nerve or good-word-dingery to convince her to shoot the zombies.

Instead, the strong man opted to twirl his mallet one-handed at the approaching undead, sending its skull down into its neck. The next challenger to step up took a sideways smack that twisted its head around backwards with little effort. Another took a mallet uppercut and blood shot three feet into the air.

At this point, they were nearing the door, but the door was the most crowded part of the room. Aside from the center of the tent, where they just were, it would be the worst spot in the room for surviving the mob.

"Little Fifi, I need arrow."

Luckily, she complied, but not without correcting him, "they're bolts!"

Ronnie ran up to a lone zombie by the tent wall and brought his mallet down hard with both hands. The undead human compressed and shot back up like a spring before collapsing in a heap of broken bones. Ronnie took the tip of the bolt and cut an opening into the side of the tent.

Like that, the two were free of the carny carnage. At least for now.