[ WP ] A man is locked in his bedroom . His zombified wife and children struggle against the door to beat it down . A loaded pistol rests on the dresser next to him .

The groans were relentless all through the night. The same groans he remembered from their distaste of a dinner he had prepaid. It was a lullaby to his ears. Day two. A shit in the corner. A firearm resting just out of arm's reach. A child's dresser blockading the door, with the oldest single sized flimsy foam mattress resting up against a bed frame resting against the dresser. Within the bottom drawer was a bucket of Lego for weight. He had moved to this room after he was awoken by his son feasting on the fetus of his unborn daughter. It had only been a scratch. 
 
 As he stood he lift a large bucket of Lego out of the bottom drawer of the dresser. As he shut the drawer with his shin he grabbed the one side of the dresser with both hands, he then flung the dresser aside as he stomped down with the leg used to close the dresser. The dresser toppling over the bed frame, shattering the window as it fell. He opened the door just enough so the dead may open it easily. He then turned his attention to the weapon behind him on the night stand. A pistol that was supposed to protect his family. Turning around again, gun in hand, he emptied the entire clip into the skull of his son. Without ammo the man turned his attention to his wife as she shambled into the room. She had almost been eaten in half. Her upper half wobbled, what remained seem insufficient to keep her vertical or as one piece. 
 
 He stretched out his arms to embrace her. To embrace death. To walk eternally. With her.
