Popeye zombies were definitely something Marcus could have lived without, but there was little use bitching about it, or fearing it. He also hadn't particularly loved the fact that there were climbing zombies, or swimming ones. If there were going to be zombies at all, the least they could do is follow the fucking rules and be less-than-adaptable. He signaled for a refill, himself.
"She'd be right, 'cept for the getting better shit. Don't know about you, cabrĂ³n, but I can't mutate for fuck all. This is as big as I fucking get." Granted, Marcus wasn't exactly small. If he were a zombie, he'd have little trouble knocking down most doors, and could probably do a decent job of ripping a person apart on his own without help from a horde. Not that he planned for such things, of course. But he was still operating within human limitations. He might be able to wreck a gas pump, if he had to, but he couldn't just knock one over. That was superhuman, and that was all levels of fucked up. "If those fuckers can evolve like that... make improvements... we're even more fucked than I thought."
He snorted, taking a drink, and shifted the subject a little. "Your sister still alive? One of the labcoats here?"
Having spent a little more time in the infirmary making use of himself, Marcus was able to recognize a few of the medical types now. There were a couple of lady doctors he was aware of, one in particular that was all right. She didn't look like she was related to this guy, but siblings didn't have to look alike. Marcus didn't really look much like any of his.