"Zonds ahoy!~" he screeches nonsense, because while he might have been trying to be all cool and calm  and a badass, the sight of something leaping at him with a clearly inhuman, amplified dexterity is enough to make him freak out. Not entirely, at least, but enough that he isn't able to formulate a statement that makes much sense.<br/><br/>As he sees it coming, he turns around, and runs out of the aisle he's in, and heads towards the baseball and softball department. It was close by, as all the sporting sections were right next to each other more or less, and he's running as fast as he can go (which is probably surprising for a man of his weight; however, no better than what the average man could do), hoping, practically praying to a god that doesn't exist, that he can just get to a fucking bat (http://www.dickssportinggoods.com/product/index.jsp?productId=11613218&cp=4406646.4413887.4414014.4414037) in time to deal with the blasted thing.<br/><br/>If he was able to, he'd waste no time in trying to bash in the zombie's head with the bat. Of average strength, he would nonetheless have his strength temporarily enhanced by the surging adrenaline that was flooding through his system.