Zombie Apocalypse Narrative

It was hard to make headway. The undead poured from the labs into the cramped hallway. We actually had to walk over the dead we shot.
Seven minutes until emergency fail-safe detonation. The mechanical voice warned.
"Time's running out!" I yelled. "We got to make it to the elevators."
"We're almost there!" Dean said, encouraged. "I can see them about ten feet to the right."
We pushed on ahead, gaining precious inches but using too much ammunition.
"I'm almost out of bullets," Drew informed. "What are we going to do?"
"Keep going," I encouraged. "We'll fight hand to hand of we have to. Just keep moving!"
We sped up recklessly, risking a misstep or just closing the distance too quickly. We were putting everything into merely reaching the …show more content…
We made the elevators as I fired my last shot.
I could hear Amber from the rear. "I'm empty!"
As we waited for the doors to open, it came down to hand-to-hand combat. We instinctively formed a protective, clear area around the doors. The doors would need to have time to close. I bashed the zombies nearest with my revolver’s handgrip, swinging it about and catching my assailants in the side of the head. I never tried punching them in the face for risk of cutting my knuckles on their teeth and getting infected.
As the doors opened, followed by the chime, we maintained our positions, waiting for the last moment to dart through the closing doors and into …show more content…
"And I would do it again," I soothed. "I love you and-"
"Outta my way!" Dean commanded, roughly throwing me to the pavement.
I jerked around, recovering, only to see him climbing across Mel's wounded form. Rage erupted in me. He was going to kill her. This was wrong. She was no danger yet. I had so much I wanted to tell her, so much I needed to say. He wasn't going to take that from me.
Scrambling to my feet, I grabbed double handfuls of his shirt and hauled him out. He staggered backwards, staying upright but propelled away from the vehicle and my injured wife. I balled up both fists and approached him in rage.
"Hold it, Hank!" he said, extending both hands forward. Still snarling, I noticed that he held two bottles of whiskey. "If we get her drunk, won’t that slow down the effects of the bite?"
My hands dropped to my sides, understanding slowly. I snatched a bottle from his outstretched hand. Twisting the cap and breaking the seal, I offered the alcohol to my wife. "Drink this!" I demanded.
She looked at me like I was crazy.
"Remember? It will do something to your blood vessels! It will keep you from turning!" Dean added, explaining what we had talked about in the Humvee