Ch 30: Packed Like Sardines Verse 1
The sound of shuffling feet and low moans filled the air as the first few zombies clawed their way through the broken windows. Erzabet's eyes narrowed, her vampiric instincts taking over as she lunged forward, tearing into the undead with ferocious strength.
Her movements were swift and lethal, her hands a blur as she dispatched the approaching zombies one by one. Blood spattered across the floor, the metallic scent filling the air as she fought with primal determination.
Tailor and Rachelle worked frantically, boarding up the windows and reinforcing the barricade with whatever they could find. Their hands shook with adrenaline-fueled urgency as they fought against time, knowing that the horde outside grew in numbers by the second.
"Stay focused, Tailor!" Rachelle shouted, hammering nails into a wooden plank. "We can't let them get in!"
Tailor nodded, his heart pounding in his chest as he hammered nails alongside Rachelle. The boards creaked under the pressure, but they held firm. The room was bathed in a hazy light, the eerie glow of the setting sun casting long shadows across the chaos.
In the midst of the struggle, Trace's breathing grew shallow, his chest tightening with each passing moment. Overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the situation, he clutched his chest, his panic escalating into a full-blown attack.
Tailor rushed to his side, his voice filled with concern. "Trace, breathe. Focus on your breath. We're here with you."
Rachelle paused her efforts, casting a worried glance at Trace. "Take deep breaths, Trace. We're in this together. You're not alone."
Through ragged gasps, Trace managed to nod, his hands trembling as he fought to regain control. Tailor and Rachelle offered their unwavering support, their presence a comforting anchor in the midst of chaos.
Meanwhile, Erzabet continued her onslaught against the encroaching zombies. Her movements were a dance of death, graceful and deadly. With each strike, she dispatched her foes with ruthless precision, never once wavering in her resolve.
The room echoed with the sounds of violence and struggle, the clash of metal against decaying flesh, and the anguished cries of the undead. Time seemed to stretch, the moments blurring together in a haze of adrenaline and survival instincts.
As the minutes turned into an eternity, the last of the open spaces was wedged closed, the zombies' lifeless bodies strewn across the floor. The room was filled with a heavy silence, the aftermath of the intense battle that had unfolded.
With a final breath, Trace managed to steady himself, his panic subsiding despite the steady beating on the walls into a sense of weary acceptance. Tailor and Rachelle wrapped their arms around him, offering solace in the wake of the harrowing experience.
"We made it," Tailor whispered, his voice filled with both exhaustion and relief. "We held them off."
Rachelle nodded, her eyes filled with gratitude. "We're stronger than we think. Together, we can face anything."