Prologue

The door rattles in its frame. The hinges whine, begging the screws to pop loose to relieve them of the weight pounding just inches away from me on the other side. Their guttural screams and throaty growls split the air as they struggle to fulfill their one and only need. To consume the flesh of the living.

     This shitty janitors closet is not going to save me from their hands and teeth. The wood at the bottom of the door begins to splinter. I unholster my 45 ACP and unload the clip.

     "Great. 4 rounds." I say to myself in dismay. Seven zombies followed me to this janitors closet. No telling how many followed the sounds of their incessant shrieks.

A long crack runs up the middle of the door. The door begins to bulge even further inward now. As if they knew the door was giving.

I pull back the slide of my .45. My heart pounds, sending adrenaline through my veins. The crack grows in length. Screws from the top hinge begin to fall to the ground. The bulge reaches further inward. The door gives.

I let out a war cry and unsheathe my tactical knife and hold it under the .45 so my hands are crossed at the wrist. Blood begins to spill to the floor. There's so much that I can't tell if it's mine anymore.