"They're breaking down the doors!"
The three men ran upstairs, brandishing their guns and hauling their supplies in overstuffed backpacks. Tim took the rear, attempting to hold off the incoming horde. Even whilst injured, he still put his friends first.
They backed into one of the upstairs bedrooms. "Great, Jay, now we're fucking trapped!" Alex yelled in frustration as Tim barricaded the door.
"And I suppose you had a better idea, Kralie?" Jay defended himself as he looked out the window, attempting to formulate a plan. He could hear the infected banging on the blocked door. Outside, a swarm was gathering. They were just close enough to the next house that they could hop over onto the roof.
"Let's go," Alex repositioned his backpack and hopped over with ease. Looking down, he saw a tall, slender figure standing alone in the horde. The infected seemed to disregard him, as though he wasn't there. "Come on, Jay."
Jay jumped, slipping slightly on the windowsill. His hand caught the edge of the roof, his grip wavering quickly. "Alex hel-" He dropped into the horde.
"JAY NO!" Tim scrambled to see his friend fall. The infected were upon him quickly, tearing apart the screaming man with clawed hands and hungry jaws.
"FUCK," Alex roared. "All our medical supplies were in that goddamn bag!"
Tim jumped over to the roof. "Don't you care, Kralie?"
"Yeah, what if one of us needs a fucking Band-Aid?" Alex motioned to Tim's knee "Let's hope you have enough in your bag to take care of that!"
"OUR FRIEND JUST DIED, ALEX!"
"You're overreacting. Fatalities are to be expected."
"JAY IS FUCKING DEAD!"
"Yeah, so?"
In a fit of uncontrollable rage and grief, Tim ran at Alex. He was met with a gun, stopping him in his tracks. "I wouldn't have done that if I were you…" He pulled the trigger.
"Well at least I have enough food to last me a while…" he leaned over the side of the roof and broke a window. He flung his backpack into the room below him. He dragged Tim's body across the roof, and manoeuvred that in carefully, too. He swung into the broken window.
The house seemed indifferent, unscathed by the horrors of the infected. Nothing was knocked over, broken or spilled. There was a large, overstuffed chair in the middle of the room. A glass of wine sat, seemingly untouched, alongside a record player on a small table beside the chair. The walls were covered in framed, tasteful art.
"I could stay here…"