“We need more time,” muttered James. The walls were cold and grey, barring any sunlight from entering the large, desolate room. The single door shivered and quaked under the pressure pushing against it from the other side. A dark hole in the ceiling high above dripped an unsteady pattern of water droplets. John frantically fumbled with his shotgun, struggling to shove two more rounds into the warm weapon. Liz was ripping the wooden shelves off of the wall and nailing them against the door.
The muffled moans on the other side of the door grew louder.
“Dangit, James, how are we gonna get up there?” John asked, his gun finally cocked and ready.
“I can’t see a thing,” James replied, his flashlight flickering a yellow glow.
“There’s gotta be something in here!” Liz burst as she nailed the final shelf against the door. Her voice echoed off of the walls ominously. The door rumbled.
“Gimme a match,” James demanded. “My light’s almost out.” Liz reached into her pocket and pulled out a matchbox. Tossing it to James, she ran to the other end of the room and stared up at the hole.
“How high is it?” she asked, trying in vain to make out details in the dark.
“Maybe if we gave you a leg up,” John offered. James lit a match and pulled a shirt out from his backpack. Wrapping it around a block of wood, he lit the shirt aflame and held his torch towards the hole.
“Won’t be enough,” he shook his head. “We’re a foot short.”
“Prak,” John cursed.
“No no,” Liz suddenly blurted. “Use your rope and latch it on to something.” John didn’t reply but hastily pulled his rope of his pack, a grappler attached to the end.
“Looks like you’re useful in more ways than one,” John said, swinging the rope around.
“Me or the rope?” Liz asked.
The door shook violently. One of the shelves was knocked off and fell to the floor.
“HURRY!” James hissed, aiming his gun at the door. John threw his rope in the air, aiming for the hole. He missed and the hook clattered to the ground.
“Prak, prak, prak,” John cursed, scrambling to retrieve the rope and try again. A terrible ripping sound of wood was heard on the other side of the door.
John threw the rope again, higher than before. The hook made a muffled sound as it landed outside of the room, through the hole.
“Go now, go now,” John said, giving the rope a quick tug before motioning for Liz to climb up.
“Gimme the vaccine!” Liz said as she began to climb. “Just in case.” John pulled a blue-green vial out of his pocket and shoved it into Liz’s backpack.
“Shut up and climb, will ya?”
The door suddenly trembled and burst as a sickly grey, withered hand hacked a hole in the door and clawed frantically at the air. James fired a few rounds from his machine gun through the opening and the hand disappeared. Stepping forward, he took a quick glance before raising his weapon again.
“We’re so screwed,” he called out as he saw dozens of undead just outside the door. “For the love of all that is good, get up that ladder!”
Liz frantically climbed, her legs almost useless without a foothold. John ran to James’ side, weapon ready. The opening in the door got larger. The screams were blood-curdling.
James fired off a full clip into the opening, the light of the blasts illuminating his exhausted eyes. John stuck the barrel of his shotgun through, unloading two powerful shots into the oncoming horde. James reloaded first, picking off another two encroachers before the door suddenly came off its hinges and collapsed.
“DANGIT!” John yelled, kicking one of the zombies who had fallen down with the door in the head. Like a wave of magma the horde moved in, responding little to the onslaught of weaponry James and John unleashed. Step by step the two retreated, more often than not having to resort to melee combat between reloading.
“COME ON!” screamed Liz, firing at the zombies from the safety of the hole in the ceiling. John leapt onto the rope, climbing desperately after Liz. James was the last one on the ground, blasting away zombie after zombie. John scaled the rope quickly, getting a hand up by Liz.
“JAMES, GET UP HERE!” John bellowed. James pumped his last clip of ammo into the advancing throng before attempting to climb up the rope. Halfway up, however, a rotting arm reached up and grabbed his ankle.
“HELP!” James yelled, his hands losing grip.
“JAMES!” Liz screamed.
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