Seth ran into the storeroom, slammed the door shut, and pushed a table against it.
WHAM! A zombie hit the door, rattling Seth.
The lock held. For now.
He pulled out a cigarette, remembered he was inside, oh screw it, the world’s ending, right?
He reached for his lighter… damn it, where… where… no lighter.
More pounding. Loud moaning.
“Want a smoke?” he had asked Dr. Grant. “Not like these guys are going anywhere, right?”
Oh, how he wrong he’d been. All he wanted now was just one smoke.
Grant had his lighter.
Seth moaned. And the zombies moaned louder.