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Frank sat at his desk, watching out the upstairs window. Down on the street below the shambling figures of his former neighbors milled around among the burnt out houses. From the front porch below he could hear their constant pounding at his front door. He doubted the boards would hold much longer.

He poured a shot of whiskey from the bottle on his desk and shot it down. Frank slammed the shot glass down onto the desk so hard he almost broke the thick glass. He wiped his mouth off with the back of his sleeve.

The door to his bedroom opened up. He spun in his chair with his colt drawn. He quickly lowered it. Instead of being confronted by decaying, slobbering ghouls, he was instead greeted by the worried face of his best friend. The black Labrador crossed the room and rested its head on his lap. He stroked the black fur.

"Yeah, I know Woods. I know." He said.

When it had all started he had not been alone in the house. No, there had been others with him. Over the past few weeks, however, they had either become lunch for the dead, or made a run for freedom. Either way, they were all dead now.

First came the unbelievable news: The dead were returning to life and attacking the living. Nobody believed it at first. Not until old lady Hamilton was found making a snack out of the Evans Children. It was not like anybody really got upset over the loss, though. They were terrors.

"Little fuckin' Skinheads. Got what they deserved." Was the response he got from Bob, his roommate, when he broke the news.

Frank doubted the Evans themselves had been all that upset. Bob went out and put a few rounds into Old Lady Hamilton. He was the local gun nut, so it had quickly become his job.

"Sorry, lady. I think ya deserve a medal for what ya done." Bob said before he fired his gun, the Colt that was now in Frank's hand.

He'd put two rounds into her chest. Bob looked at the gun confused, as if to say ' It's making a noise but nothings happening!' It wasn't until the third shot that she went down. It had been right between the eyes.

That night there was a weird feeling in the air. At 10:04 exactly there were screams. Frank knew because he'd been watching the clock on his mantle. They came from the Evans house, where the bodies had been put. The cops and ambulances weren't responding so they'd been brought home.

Frank and Bob had been the first on the scene. They found the front door open so they ran on inside, but quickly skidded to a halt. The Evans brats were devouring their parents. The mother was still alive.

Frank put a round in her chest to stop her pain. Bob put two into each of the kid's heads. By now he knew how to get things done. Head shots were the fastest way. Fire would work too, but a lot slower.

Soon after the neighborhood was hit hard. A small army of the zombies marched on Pine street. Bullets filled the air, and bodies hit the pavement.

Nobody ever found out for sure where the zombie army came from. Most likely it had come from the police station, where the biggest massacre had occurred. It was only quarter mile away.

Either it had encountered little resistance before Pine or there had been a hell of a lot more before they got there. The people of Pine Street and the surrounding area refused to go down with out a fight. Still, it was not enough. Houses became tombs. Cars became rolling bombs.

Bob's Arsenal was quickly distributed to the neighborhood. He even came up with some grenades and C4. Nobody wanted to ask where he'd gotten the explosives. Knowing him it was probably "Military Surplus" from his days in the Marines.

Unfortunately Bob was bitten. It wasn't bad to look at, but they all knew of the virus by now. He was going to die and he knew it. Bob strapped himself with enough C4 to knock the earth off its axis and walked right into the fray. Then, bam! No more Bob, and the zombies' strength had been cut almost in half

About two days later, things finally came down enough for people to relax. Big mistake. Now some folks decided that they'd rather take it to the dead than wait to join them. It was a noble idea, but in the long run most of them died.

More of the living dead showed up and had to be dealt with. After about a week the handful of folks left decided that it was a pointless fight. It would be best to stay out of it. Sure there were a few people left who took up the fight anew. They were dead mighty fast.

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