It hadn't taken long to convince Murphy that burning the pile of rotting corpses was the best course of action. In the beginning he'd been resistant because they were going to smell like a blood barbecue, but given that the real right thing to do was to give each and every one of them a christian burial, which would cut directly into his whiskey and zombie target practice time, he swiftly agreed that burning them was the only right thing to do. Send them straight to heaven, and all. Or something like that. He hadn't worked out all the details, but luckily when he and Connor were in agreement on something they really didn't question each other's motives much. Generally because they were usually about the same.
He was pulling up the last of a large piece of carpet when Connor called to him. The carpet had been lain over hardwood once upon a time, but when they'd come across the church it had contained several bodies and become saturated with the stench and the fruits of the process of decomposition over time. There wasn't any salvaging it so it would also have to be burned.
"Would it kill ye to say please sometimes?" he shot at his brother with a sort of mock irritability that signified that he really didn't give any particular shit, but in actuality simply wanted a reason to pick at his brother. He walked toward the end of the pew and got a grip on it. "What kind of fuckin manners did your mother teach ye?"