The roofs were safe. Ben Marston understood that. Everybody was on the roofs. The men, in wide-brimmed hats, armed with rifle that could take him down with one shot. The doors, all locked. The windows, only casting the slightest glowing hue from a candle. The wind whistled slightly. The night was calm. A break. He crept alongside the mountain, creping slowly along the ridge of sand that let up the side of the small town. He didn't want them to see him. The men with the guns. He carefully crept onto the ridge, and onto the mountaintop holding the village. Two men, on the building right beside him. Both armed with buffalo rifles. They were talking, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. One of them, a tall man dressed in waistcoat and blue t-shirt, wearing a brown hat with a yellow dust on the side. The other man, also dressed in a waistcoat, with a beige hat on,. He a stubble. Ben pulled his hat low, straightened his waistcoat, then checked his weapon. A cattlemen revolver. He took it, from the sheriff station. The gun gleamed under the moonlight. He hoped he wouldn't need to use it. The metal felt cold under his skin. He took a deep breath. Then he silently crouched towards the nearest house. The door at the back was properly locked. He needed a way to open it. He knew that nearly all safe places like this town kept a spare key, so they could open up any building in case of an emergency. There was a big building, at the end of the cliff. That was properly where the keys were kept. He trod slowly around the house. He could feel the sand shift under his feet. He swiftly ran from the house he was at, towards the cover of several crates. They're were two more men, standing, talking, both with Springfield rifles. Be breathed in Maybe this was too risky. Maybe he should get back in his carriage and speed off. No, he thought to himself. He wanted to get it over and done with. The building was twenty foot away. He sprinted, as fast as he could. At the last second, he grabbed a beam on the porch of the building and swung around onto the decking. It clunked under his feet. Ben raised his gun, reached his hand out for the door handle. He gulped. Ben twisted the doorbell. There was a click. The door opened. He peeked inside. Nobody. There was a candle glowing on a table, facing the window. There was a large table in the middle of the room. On the wall, there was row of keys.
MAIN HALL, FOOD HALL, ARMOURY, FRONT GATES, MICHEALS, JESSIE'S, TOM'S, JACK'S. The list carried on. The only one Ben wanted was the armoury. He ran over, and took the key from the wall. Ben smiled to himself. He had done it. He had got the key. He was about to make his way out. Then a gunshot. Ben ducked as fast as he could. The shot echoed. Ben gasped. This was it. He blinked. He closed his eyes, waiting for the second shot. Then Ben realised something. The window hadn't smahed. There was no bullet in the room, and he didn't hear it hit the wall outside. Whoever had fired hadn't aimed for him. Ben sucked in a big gulp of air, glad. He stood up. There was thumping above him. He made for the back door. Then a voice came, right behind him.
" What'd you think you doing" He turned around. In front of him was a man. He was short, with tanned skin and thick black moustache. He could have been Mexican. Ben had no idea. His eyes were focused on the revolver that was aimed at his head.
"Breaking in here, stealing our stuff, that's not very respectful" he said. The gun was pointing straight at Ben's forehead
"I see you got my keys" the man extended his other hand" give em here. Ben's hand twitched. He had spend ages getting this key. The armoury was in a shed just around the corner. He was so close.
"Gibe em here or I'll shoot you in the head" the Mexican ordered. Ben raised his arm. He gulped. The man was about to take the keys, the keys Ben had worked so hard for. Then suddenly, the door behind Ben burst open. The was a guttural roar, a flash of colour, then a person walked into the room. Excepted it wasn't a person. It was one of them. The undead. It had green skin, with lanky brown hair. There was a bullet hole, which had torn straight through the grubby t-shirt it was wearing a straight through it's chest. The thing opened it's mouth, full of teeth covered in blood, small pieces of flesh in between. It charged forward. The Mexican pointed it's gun, but was too late. The monster slammed him against the wall. The gun fired once, then was dropped. Ben leapt forward, without thinking. He drew his revolver, and grabbed the thing around the neck. It writhed under him, groaned, and backed towards the wall. Ben quickly jumped off, and with one swift movement brought the gun down on it's head, and fired. A burst of blood, then the thing crumpled to the ground. The Mexican groaned. He grasped onto the windowsill, trying to pull himself up. Ben didn't think twice. He grabbed the keys from the floor, next to the monster, and dashed out of the door. The armoury, he could see it. Flashes pierced through the black night air. The undead had charged the town. There were many of them, flesh hanging off the bones, blood dripping. The snipers on the roof reined down on them, picking them off one buy one. Men with shotguns ran and formed a line, firing all at once. The monsters were cut down. The smell of gunpowder entered Ben's nose. The monsters screeched and squealed, as the guns fired. The men raced back to the main house, picking off the zombies. Ben watched as they undead charged at them as a horde of monsters, unrelenting. Ben quickly slotted themkey into the lock, and pulled the door open. Inside were rifles, pistols, revolvers, shotguns, dynamite, everything he needed. But he couldn't leave the townsfolk on there own, without weapons, not like this. He heard a roar behind him. A zombie, with no nose and a bloody skinless jaw line was charging towards him. Ben quickly raised his revolver, and fired. The bullet tore through the air, whistling before entering the zombies skull. Headshots, they were the key. He turned around, and grabbed four shotguns, two revolvers, four pistols and four sniper rifles, as well as ten sticks of dynamite, He loaded that into the cart next to the shed, and pulled the tarpaulin by the side on top. . That would be ll he needed. He looked back. The zombies were at full charge. No way, he would go out the front gate or down the slope. He looked back. The zombies were at full charge. No way, he would go out the front gate or down the slope. The only way was off the side. The drop was slightly diagonal. He might be able to make it. Maybe. He looked at the guns, there was only one way they was going. He looked back. All of the townsfolk had backed away, all on the roofs or in the main house. Men were firing there guns off the roof. Bang! Bang! Bang! The zombies, the monsters, were smacking on the doors. They were shuddering under the weight. Ben breathed in. Time to choose. Run or help. He signed. Then reached back into the shed and took out two sticks of dynamite, then took a light from his pocket. He flicked the light on. Two of the monsters turned, turning towards the light. It danced from the lighter. They ran forward, decaying arms flapping. The flame hit the dynamite. The fuse lit. Ben propelled them forward and out of his hand. They twizzled through the air like fireworks. The zombies ran forward. Ben backed away. He drew his pistol. The dynamite bounced into the crowd. Ben turned and jumped onto the cart. He positioned his feet, and leant forward. The cart started to roll. It rolled, then bucked as it reached the slope. Suddenly, an burst of flame, an deafening bang, and the cart rolled forward. It started to roll forward. The zombies prepared to jump onto the cart. Ben fired off two shots in quick succession. They dropped. Dust was flung from the ground as the cart propelled forward. Ben crouched down. Dust flew around him. He gripped the wooden edge of the cart. It vibrated violently underneath him. The world flew by around him. Then the cart bucked and Ben was thrown through the air. The cart tipped. There was a crash as the wood panels hit the ground. Ben landed and he rolled, the world spinning by. He rocked and rolled, then came to a spot twenty foot from the cart. He couched. Dust cleared from his face. Ben steadily got to his feet. The scene was illuminated from small fires above the cliff top. The cart was on it's side, several of the guns fallen through. The tarpaulin had fallen off. Ben's hat was next to where he had landed. He walked over, picked it up, brushed it off, and placed it on his head, blond locks falling from the side. He brushed down his waistcoat, and went to picnic the cart up. He scooped the gun's inside. One of the wheels were wobbly, but other than that it was fine. He started wheeling it forward. He grinned. He had done it.