He sprinted away, not daring to look back, his footsteps echoing down the hallway like distant gunshots. He just had to get to the back stairway and up to his office on the second floor, where he kept his gun. Moans and groans of the undead chase after him as if the sounds themselves were people as well.

Everything happened so quickly. It all started like a normal day, he kissed his wife and kids on his way out, bought coffee for himself and his assistant, knowing she probably stayed late to finish important paperwork for the meeting in the morning, and went to the office.

The first thing that happened was a board meeting, everything was going as usual until everybody but him and his assistant started complaining of headaches. Next came the vomiting, then the seizures, and death finished them off before the paramedics he called could show.

It was eerily silent, save for his assistants sobs, until another sound joined it, a low-gut retching moan. More joined in a chorus of sounds and his former co-workers started to move again. His assistant was overjoyed that the people hadn't died like they thought, and her first mistake was kneeling next to the person closest to her. The second was turning the person over because as soon as he was facing her, his mouth was latched onto her throat, flesh being torn and blood spilt.

He throws the glass door to his office open then digs  through his desk drawers, pulling out the gun and all the bullets. He clumsily loads the gun, bullets falling out of his shaking fingers and onto the ground. Luckily, he manages to load the gun before the first zombie comes to the door.

The glass door opens when the zombie leans into it and he shoots, the bullet only hitting the zombie in the shoulder. He cries out in frustration, backing away as he shoots. Soon his back hits the window at the far end of his office, and not much later, his gun clicks again, though he's run out of spare bullets.

He throws the gun to the side where it lays, useless and mocking. His head tilts back, hitting the cool glass as he accepts his fate. Why couldn't he have taken the time to learn his assistant's name? Why couldn't he have gone camping last week with his wife and two boys like planned rather than working? Why couldn't he see his family one last time?

Gunshots pierce the air and startle him into looking forward to see the zombie closest to him pitch forward, grey matter coming out of it's skull. He rolls, barely getting out of the zombie's way, then there's silence.

"Need some help there, mister?" Standing where his door once was, is a small girl, gun in hand.