The on going struggle (short story)

On the out skirts of town the air was crisp. The morning light seemed to defy
the mood of the world. Houses lay silent as if no one ever lived there, no steam
from there tops, no noise from the desolate buildings. Noisily the groans of the
un-dead filled the air with fear, as birds took off at the morbid sound. Blood
spattered walls acted as a signal as if it spelt “it happened here too”. There
was little sign of resistance. Make shift weapons lie down with their petrified
still lifeless corpses scattered around streets as if they were leaves under a
tree. Most mauled beyond recognition, others with little or no lower body
crawling around reanimated their eyes burning with anger and sadness almost.
Others with their torso intact to their shuffle aimlessly, as if possessed by a long lost cause, possessed by a craving for flesh.

Down an ally was set a barricade. Not one set up in a panic. Different one that
Looked set up with a purpose strong and tough and appeared to have been renewed
Many a time with a large metal door behind it etched with scratch marks showing
Its past encounters. Closer to the ally way a slow amassing horde was moving with sense that they knew what was behind that barricade. What was behind that door waiting for them in the hope that the prize they seek would be theirs?

BANG! The door smashed open. Kicked with such a brutal force even the thick
metal frame could not help shaking. 2 men emerged both well built from many
fights and both with enough weapons and ammunitions to supply a militia. As they roared with anger they let out a barrage of bullets at the un-dead mob making them drop like fly’s. As the mob thinned the two men retreated hastily back through the door from which they came from with the feeling that this battle was done as the remainders of the crowd roamed randomly disorientated by the merciless defeat. The survivors had won this fight but for how much longer could they hold out for?