“Shane settled his flamethrower more comfortably on his shoulders. “Ladies? After you.”“Rude,” Claire said.“I was being polite!”“Not when you have a flamethrower.”

“Shane: "Bro," he said, in an injured tone, "I had to go out with a flamethrower, and you weren't there to see it." Michael: "Pics or it didn't happen." Shane: "Dude, little busy for pics. You know, throwing flame.”

“News flash, lady. There are no queens anymore,” Shane said. He loaded shells in a shotgun and snapped it shut, then searched for a place to strap it on that didn’t interfere with the flamethrower. “No queens, no kings, no emperors. Not in America. Only CEOs. Same thing, but not so many crowns.”

“I heard this girl worked for Bishop,' said one of the guys, who had a tire iron resting on his shoulder. 'Carrying around his death warrants. Like one of those Nazi collaborators.' 'You heard wrong,' Shane said. 'She’s my girl. Now back off.' 'Let’s hear from her,' said the leader of the pack, and locked stares with Claire. 'So? You working for the vamps?'Shane sent her a quick, warning glance. Claire took in a deep breath and said, 'Absolutely.''Ah hell,' Shane breathed. 'Okay, then. Run.”

“I only need to know one thing. Am I going to need the flamethrower?”

“Shane talking to Claire - "Hang on - Slow down. I'm not going anywhere. You know that, right? You don't have to put out to keep me here. Well, as long as you eventually...""Shut up" Claire said.”

“Oh, hey, Claire,” she said, and blinked. “Where are you going?”“Funeral,” Shane said. On-screen, a zombie shrieked and died gruesomely.“Yeah? Cool! Whose?”“Hers.” Shane said.”