He stood and slowly walked over to examine the ruined door. Despite his eyes being fully adjusted to the dim light, there was little to see beyond the door frame, almost as though this hole led to an empty void. The strange crackling noise that came from beyond was the only indication that anything existed outside that room. He tried to get ahold of himself, but the fear was too much. He couldn’t stay there anymore, it would only be a matter of time before they came back. He had to move to a more defendable position, his best option being the barracks.

If he wanted to make it that far, he needed a weapon. He turned to the gun cage, but everything was destroyed. The shotgun, the rifle, almost everything was in pieces. The pistols seemed to have avoided the brunt of the destruction, and while they weren’t in pieces there was some obvious damage. While he didn’t know much about shooting guns, he was an engineer and could certainly put them together. He gathered up all the guns and their pieces, as well as the small tool kit that was sitting at the bottom of the cage and was mostly untouched. He moved all these pieces into the bathroom. He then grabbed the bed frame, which was much lighter than he’d expected without the double-sized mattress on top of it, and dragged it to the doorway to act as another wall between him and the zombies. As an afterthought, he grabbed a long piece of metal that might have been a crushed pipe or beam that had been torn off during the monster’s search for him to use as a weapon.

It took at least 2 hours working in the dark with only a small penlight to see by, but he managed to disassemble the pistols and cobble together one that was probably functional. A dry fire test showed that everything seemed to work properly, but he wasn’t going to rely on it. He swallowed hard and loaded a mag into the gun, then pulled it out and tried again after realizing that he’d put it in backward. He pulled the slide, making sure that a round was chambered, then checked and double-checked the safety before sliding it into the back of his pants. He would have to make a stop in Evan’s room to look for more ammo, a holster, and preferably a better weapon. But one step at a time, first he needed to make it to the end of the hall.

He pushed the bed frame out of the way and quietly walked out. He gripped the sharp piece of metal tightly as he carefully stepped through the hole in the door. In the dim light, he could see to the end of the hall, and the things that were waiting there. Zombies, a pair of the slow ones, eating the remains of Evan. He took a breath and steeled himself, he could and more importantly had to do this.

He walked up slowly, careful with each placement of his foot so he didn't slip or crunch on something to give away his location. He held the sharp piece of metal, which he tied a massive amount of duct-tape around to make a handle, at the ready as he flashed back to his education courses. Zombies, especially the slow shambling kind, were vulnerable to blows to the head. Something about brain swelling causing excess pressure on the skull making it easier to cause major brain damage that would be fatal.

As he got close, he reached down to pick up the biggest piece of rubble he could hold in one hand. Taking another moment to gather his courage, he stepped up behind the first zombie which was facing away from him. The other zombie was facing the wall to his right, but it was missing its right eye and couldn't see anything on that side of its body. He swallowed hard, raised the rock high overhead, and brought it down hard as though he were spiking a football. The rock crushed the zombie's head with a loud crunching splat, and he jumped back away from it in fear that it would somehow survive and retaliate.

It didn't. The second zombie was alerted by the noise and looked up, turning its head to look towards him, and he froze again. Logically he knew that his best chance was to act now before the zombie could react, but his body locked up from fear. It opened its mouth wide, and he knew he was dead. It would scream, call others, and then he would be overwhelmed. But it didn't scream, it just turned and continued to eat Evan's dismembered leg. It took a few seconds listening to that gruesome chewing before he realized it was too dark for it to see him. While his eyes had adjusted, those dead eyes no longer had any level of advanced function like dilating in low light for better sight.

Secure in the thought that he was essentially invisible to it, he stepped up and rammed the sharp metal piece through the back of its head. The metal piece didn't quite go through as easily as he thought it would, but he only realized that it hadn't stopped the zombie when it tried to turn towards him. He held onto the duct-tape handle, tried to drive it in deeper. When that didn't work he was forced to use it as a lever and turn the zombie's head to the side as he brought the handle all the way down to the ground.

He pressed his knee onto the metal piece while his free hand grabbed for another piece of rubble. After a second of scrambling through small rocks that would be useless, he found a thick piece of metal and got a good grip. He took a breath and started bashing its head in, again and again. It took 3 blows before it stopped moving and he was able to stand back up and grab hold with both hands, and after 12 there was little more than a mound of red chunks.

He stepped back from the corpse, gasping for breath and staring at the thing that had once been human. The shifting of rubble nearby reminded him of the situation and he turned to look up the stairs, weapon held high to take on whatever was coming. After several silent minutes, he sighed with relief at the lack of oncoming threats. He tried to take a moment to breathe, but something caught in his throat and he puked up bile in the corner. When his stomach finally understood that it had nothing left to expel and stopped plaguing him with dry heaves, he spit one last time and set his mind to work on the task at hand.

First, he took stock of what he had, a pistol that might not work, a sharp jagged piece of metal that he would replace with a knife from the kitchen if he was able, and the makeshift club he just used to bash a zombie to death. He looked at the club for a moment, noticing a strange bright red spot on it, definitely not blood, more like paint.

He slipped the jagged metal piece under his arm and dug the penlight out of his pocket. He shined it on the club, only to realize that it was The Endgame. The handle was destroyed, the trigger was gone, the stock and barrel were both bent, and it looked like the feed might be jammed. This gun definitely wouldn't fire, but he didn’t care. Between showing him how the shelter worked, distracting that monster at a crucial moment and proving that guns would do no good against it, and The Endgame being there when he needed it, Evan had unknowingly saved his life 3 times that day.

But now he was on his own, and he had to get moving.