The building housed a variety of people. It wasn’t a homeless shelter; it was a sanctuary for the living. There weren’t a lot left of them around, and they knew there was safety in numbers. Luckily, the undead were slow and clumsy. That was their saving grace. Anyone with any weapons experience or training were on rotating shifts to protect what very well could be the last of humanity.
The current sentry was nursing a horrible hangover, and wasn’t as alert as he should have been. He had just put his hand on the corner edge of the wall when a waiting zombie bit into his knuckle. He pulled out his knife and slammed it up into its eye socket, dropping it instantly. He looked around, saw no one else, dragged the body, and dropped it behind a parked car. He tightly wrapped his knuckle with a cloth torn from his shirt, and quickly put on his gloves. It was only a little bite and hardly bled.
He’d be okay.
The scavengers got back a little before dark. The only find was a lot of unopened cans of coffee; but it was a welcome treasure. They were uneasy to see the door unlocked and no sentry in or out. They stepped inside quietly and were horrified to see blood everywhere. They walked further into their seemingly empty haven, but one tripped, spilling the coffee cans. They knew they were history when the undead surrounded them.
So much for humanity surviving.
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