501ST US ARMY ZOMBIE RESPONSE UNIT

"Can't believe this ♥♥♥♥..." I mumbled, walking back to my station at the vaccination tent. Higgins, that lazy son of a ♥♥♥♥♥. Always finding some place to help himself, and never the squad. Selfish bastard...
I thought what HQ had told me. "Grant, Unit 697 has gone AWOL. We need your unit to pick up the slack and see CEDA to the next checkpoint." I held my gun in both hands and stretched toward the sky. The next checkpoint was in the middle of Union City. It would take up another four days before we could all go home.
"Four ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ days..." I tried to get the air to circulate in my uniform, to little avail. This heat was unbearable. It was this very reason I found myself frequently lost in thought about my childhood in snowy Nova Scocia, where the temperature never reached above a toasty sixty-five degrees in the sun. Not like here in Savannah, Georgia, where for the past two and a half weeks, it had been at least a hundred and ten in the shade. At least I had shade, though, standing by the CEDA worker giving out flu shots.
I remembered Nova Scocia again as I stood there, waiting for the sun to set. Sunny afternoons in the backyard with my younger brother, Sheldon. Making snowmen, snow angels. Frequently nailing each other in the head with a snowball or an icicle. Mom had always told us not to play with icicles. Always told us we'd poke an eye out. Of course, we never got hurt too badly. I wondered where Sheldon was now. Probably still making hockey sticks and snow cones in the shop on the corner.
I, in all my wisdom, couldn't stay at home any longer and just had to come down to America and see what all the fuss was about. My home accent had long been panned out of me, but I was still the same man i was when I left home. Of course, I had to join the military after September eleventh. Looking back, i know now that i was just swept up in the paranoia-fueled patriotism of the time. Now I was stationed in Georgia in the middle of summer. Absolutely wonderful...
I would have done anything to return to Canada again. To return home and pelt my brother with snowballs and icicles again. To get the Hell out of this heat.
I grinned at Patterson's remark. "Sweatin' like a cold beer in Hell." I chuckled. "Beer in Hell don't last long."