Thursday, 24th September, 1998. Jack's Bar was one of the best pubs in the city, despite the evening being typically average. It was an honest pub with choice staff, music and food; that's why business was good and proper. Unfortunately, behind the heavy rain bombarding the stained windows, there was a storm coming.

The weather was silent with smooth '80s masking the sounds and vibrations from outside; someone left in on a loop. There were only a few everyday Raccoon citizens left having their respected drinks. To pass the time, enjoy time off work, or just see some good honest members of Jack's family.

The bar had three tables for the large three plain windows. The tables had two stools each, and the table were sizeable empty oak barrels. Jack loved the flair it brought for the single patrons. The bar was natural smoothed wood with a small kitchen and fridge back behind for the bar food. Small snacks and nibbles.

Sat the bar was an R.P.D. officer wearing his black S.W.A.T. gear; he enjoyed a cold tonic on the rocks, possibly scotch or bourbon. The two guards nearby were elderly; the taller one enjoyed a classic pub favourite while the shorter, greyer guard snoozed. Crocked up to a table by the large window was an exemplary employee of Kite Bros Railway; the employee was going away at a fresh book of crossword puzzles.

A doctor from Raccoon's General Hospital; the doctor was tucked into a good book. A local town plumber was on the other side of the bar near the restrooms; he was a natural loner of very few words and quite quick on the scotch.

At another table by the window was a young heartthrob of a woman in red typing away on her laptop; the reporter was working on a personal report on the city's current situation. A young Asian woman in casual wear walked into the restroom; the student adored herself in the mirror and played with her hair.

Standing by at the bar was the assistant manager, Will. This young man was an eager gentleman with manly aspirations for his love for hospitality and certain co-workers. If he wasn't pouring pints, he was cooking like a master chef.

Then there was the barmaid, Cindy Lennox, the blonde and peppy face of J's Bar. With a serving tray in hand and plenty of glasses and tables to clean, she was in for a slow, successful finish to an otherwise dull shift.

The mood was tired and sound, though any silence was broken by the soft music and the flickering TV monitor in the corner of the bar. The TV was already ten years out of date when it was on the store shelves. It was fuzzy and slightly distorted; it meant well for Jack and the customers. All nine of them. Even despite the crutches, J's Bar was a hotspot for all citizens. Chaos started to turn as the news came on, brought to the bar by a middle-aged anchorman.

"There was a disruption at today's football match with the Raccoon Sharps and Old Court Thunders," he announced, "Apparently, the game was interrupted when an unruly fan went out of control and sparked a riot." However, the news reporter carried on as a majority of the bar patrons took an interest in the story.

After collecting a tray's worth of glasses and plates, Cindy had to go to the bar to unload the dirty crockery and swap for an empty tray to resume her usual work. But, unfortunately, it was only her and Will tonight, and business was slowing down. Behind the scenes of the bar, the staff often had constant trouble keeping certain pests out of the pub - essential health and safety.

One sickly rat dashed across the floor by Cindy's feet and scuttled out of everyone's sight. The sight of the vermin startled Cindy, and she dropped her serving tray because of it. Glasses, cups and plates crashed to the floor, smashing into pieces.

Everyone at the bar stared at her; the sound of smashed crockery echoed loudly. Then, with a giggle with some embarrassment sprinkled in, she went away behind the bar to look for a broom. Then the door creaked open, and another patron shuffled in. The crasher's long black hair hid his face, and his hunched back hidden it further. Blood was splattered over his casual shirt, jacket and jeans. His moans were deep and off-key.

The crasher wasn't a regular, Will have never seen the man before. His eyes bulged and narrowed on the c rasher's face but to no avail to fully see his features. Then his moaning started to drag on. Will had to find out what kind of game the guy was playing, and that's when he left the bar to confront him.

Up close, Will tried to respond by conversing with the crasher to speak and leant in to see his face. Then the crasher straightened his back and groaned loudly, baring his face. His eyes were pasty and white, and the look of hunger radiated from his glare.

Will adjusted his stance and kept his hand close to his pocket; that's where he had Jack's snub-nosed .38 revolver tucked into his belt. His boss had security problems with hooligans lollygagging about the recently.

Now the manager of the day is advised to carry a handgun for self-defence. It was okay; the crasher was just Elliot. He was an egomaniac drunkard but still a good customer and quite a harmless one. Elliot clutched Will's shoulders and came in closer. Probably wanted a hug or to keep his balance. He was a bit of a walking disaster.

Out of earshot, Elliot's jaws sank into Will's neck; no one noticed until he started to howl from the gritty pain. The zombie that was once Elliot chewed off mouthfuls of flesh from Will's neck like slow-roasted pork shoulder. Blood flickered around their feet as they shuffled towards the bar behind Will, but he was able to keep the zombie from pushing him back.

Will heaved Elliot back outside in the cold with all his strength and slammed the front door shut. He fiddled with the lock mechanism and locked it solid. He was dizzy. His legs trembled under his weight, and his eyes were all blurry. Will fell onto the oak door and slowly slid down, lower and lower.

"What the hell was that?" Will whimpered before he fell unconsciously on the cold floor.
Cindy stood frightened seeing the once good regular lash out at her best friend; she stood with her mouth agape and skin as white as snow. It was chilling that no one else noticed the attack; they just assumed it was completely different. As if he was just hugging Will or just engaging in tomfoolery.

Then something slammed on the thick windows outside. Two people were pressing their faces against the glass. Then more passed by and did the same, all having messed up faces coated with blood. They all tried to beat down the window with their flailing limbs.

Finally, the uninvited guests crashed the party. Their patrons' race for survival has begun.
The employee rocked off his chair from seeing hungry faces chomping at him outside; then, the reporter came by to lift him back on his feet. He fidgeted in her grasp until she shook it out of him. The doctor closed his book and bookmarked it without any notice. The officer at the bar was focused on the crazies outside. The plumber didn't care; he finished his tumbler and slid off his stool.

The guards were talking amongst themselves, and Cindy was frozen. Her body movements were stuttered. At the end of it all, they counted seven heads, seven hungry heads banging on the door and windows. Knocking on the thick windows for dinner.

The moans, groans and grumbles from outside shuddered through the windows and cracks of the pub, echoing within. No one was swayed just yet, mostly confused and disorderly. The people threw their bodies against the window, smearing blood all over, in a feeble attempt to break through. The people outside have long since lost their sanity.

The student charged out from the woman's restroom and entered the scene. She was breathless and reasonably calm. "There's someone in the vents." She took a look outside and felt the looming unease.

"Yeah, and it's not alone. Look at them out there!" the reporter said, throwing her arm out to point at what she thought were just crazy people. But, of course, that was what everyone thought.

"Friggin' zombies, man. What are we gonna do?"

"We can calm down for a start. It's nothing new, just a few party crashers…"

"Will..." Cindy leapt from behind the bar and quickly knelt down to Will. He was unconscious, and blood was gushing from his neck.

The officer turned around on his stool and finished his drink. The problem with the barman wasn't something he noticed until he saw that his favourite barmaid wasn't at the bar and was, in fact, sobbing somewhere behind him. "Hey, Cindy, is everything okay?"

Cindy was still sobbing and could not use her full words before falling back into tears.

The taller guard reared his head to the officer. "What's going on?"

"I don't know, Mark." Kevin approached Cindy and sat by her. He saw that Will was unconscious and possibly near death. Cindy was still sobbing. "Oh my God… The fucker bit him…"

Cindy rested Will's body inside her arms and held him close. His skin was cold to the touch and turning pale. Her hands were smothered in his blood. "I… He… I couldn't, I..." Cindy whimpered. "There was a guy… He attacked Will…"

"Kevin… what's going on over there?" Mark asked again.

"I don't know."

Kevin being an officer of the law, a suave one to be exact, knew where to check a man's pulse. Around Will's neck and wrist, there was nothing. He was gone. "Cindy… I… I think he's…"

Suddenly, a limb breached through the glass in the door. The force of the zombie's arm rocked the door's old hinges, and it started to come loose. The door wasn't going to hold much longer.

The windows were faring much better than the door from the stronger material and thickness. The group of zombies outside were building up in alarming numbers. There were at least ten of them now, all banging and thudding their weight against the window. It was only a matter of time until they got inside.

Kevin sprung onto his feet with his handgun in hand and waited for the inevitable. His handgun was .45acp, black-plated and also his favourite. Seven rounds were good for seven kills; the last few he could probably beat to death with pistol-whipping or two. He settled for the makeshift barricade. Kevin pushed one of the barrel tables against the front door.

"Oh my God! They're waiting outside!" the employee said, "Just waiting until someone lets them in to kill us!"

"Somebody, please slap some sense into that idiot," the plumber said. He had just finished his tumbler and now put on his dirty brown gloves.

The reporter slapped the employee at the back of his head. He yelped and started rubbing the pain away. "The fuck that was for?!"

"The last thing we need is you freaking out right now, dude." The thick glass by the door started to give away. Cracks were forming in the middle and spreading fast; then, the other window began to crack. The zombies outside were all throwing themselves against the windows without hesitation. "Actually, scratch that; now might be a good time to freak out."

The windows gave away. Both were breached simultaneously by the zombies outside, and the shards littered the ground. The zombies all moaned, and their stomachs grumbled even louder. Four of them were already trying to pass through, with several more behind pushing them like a slab of meat.

The bottom of the frame was too high for them to vault over, and so because of it, they all just idly tried to wriggle over it. Their intelligence wasn't exactly booming. Then the front door broke from the hinges, bringing at least two more climbing over each other.

"Oh my God... I'm gettin' out of here!" the employee cried. He scrambled around the corner where the restrooms were. Within a few seconds, there was the sound of glass smashing and then nothing.

"Damn it, Jim!" the reporter called angrily. She turned around and faced the bar and saw the plumber was also gone. Everyone was making a break for it.

The doctor was missing too. The reporter stared closer at the zombies outside. Their faces were torn apart with reckless abandon, and their eyes were pasty white and soulless. Then, with the horde pressing themselves as a group, they managed to push a single zombie through the smashed window.

It rolled over the glass with the crunching sound alerting Kevin and Mark. They stood up with their handguns at the ready. Mark's handgun was a regular 9mm Beretta; it gets the job done as good as Kevin's .45 automatic.

Kevin was the first to fire and destroyed the lanky zombie's head with a single round. Blood and parts of the brain splattered out the window. The reporter exclaimed loudly and fled the bar. The situation here was too hot to handle, and she was too good for it.

Within a second after the first zombie biting the dust, she ran. Then more zombies forced their weight at the windows, shoving each other everywhere, trying to vault or at least spill themselves over the ledge. Then three of them were already inside, crawling on the floor and slowly shifting their weight up on their feet.

Kevin and Mark opened fire on the three shufflers with a small barrage of small arms gunfire. The bullets tore through the zombies' bodies and ripped chunks of rotted flesh off their brittle bones. The zombies outside never cared.

While no more zombies were toppling into the bar, from the lack of bodies for press against each other outside, Kevin got back to Cindy to try and encourage her to help them escape the bar. But, unfortunately, she was unresponsive and still in shock.

Cindy took a key with a green tag from her pocket and chucked them to Kevin. He caught them and looked at them. "Take these," she said, "We'll meet up in the staff room. I… I need a minute."

"Be quick." Kevin walked past Mark, who was still standing ready, watching the zombies at the window. "Mark, get Bob. It's time to go."

"All right, Kevin. Lead the way." The zombies weren't making any effort trying to get inside since the last four and were just milling around outside. Then they moved towards the door.

Mark's friend was at the bar, completely oblivious to the situation at hand and could hardly walk due to his older age. Mark helped his friend off the stool and followed Kevin.

The green door behind the bar in the back was open, and just like that, Cindy was all alone for the minute she wanted. Then, in the worst of times, everyone fled. Cindy took a heavy sigh over her best friend. Her dead best friend.

"Will… you were so happy today." Cindy brushed her thumb against Will's neck bite. It was torn open with his blood still pouring. "I can't believe you're gone," she sobbed, "How could someone do this to you?" Will moaned and moved his face away from her slightly. "Will?" Will's eyes suddenly opened, and he lunged his weight at Cindy in an attempt to bite her alluring neck. "Somebody help me!"

Cindy was thrown onto her back, though she still managed to resist Will's influence reasonably well. On top of her, he was stronger all of a sudden. His jaws were snapping at her. His eyes were a pasty white. He was no different than the lost souls outside.

"Help!" Cindy cried at the top of her lungs. The small wooden grip of a revolver was seen tucked into Will's belt. She required a distraction to obtain it; otherwise, Will would tear out her jugular if she lost the tiniest amount of strength.

Out of nowhere, bullets whistled through the air and struck Will twice in his shoulder. His body jerked and twisted away slightly, and from that, he let go of Cindy's shoulder.

Cindy pulled out the .38 revolver from Will's belt and pistol-whipped him across the cheek. His head rocked back, and then she kicked him away from her. Cindy aimed at Will's face; his expression was blank, and his skin was pale. He was just a shadow of his old self, yet she still hesitated while she rose to her feet.