aching frustration and keened towards the sound of the men. Some wailed in agony, others in frustration. Lacking their innate sense of direction, many ambled into one another while others walked against the harsh pine clapboards of the barracks. Slowly and shuffling, with no regard for organization, many began to emerge from the darkness and ambled towards the light while others unknowingly found the camps outer perimeters and, over time, slowly began to encircle the men.

“Aw, hell.” Sgt. Tripp raised his rifle and yelled loudly. “Fire!” Shots rang in every direction as the fire-fight tore into the night. The cries of men as they fell to the ghouls echoed across the valley.

§

From the guard-tower, E.C. Grubb took aim and fired, shot-after-shot, felling the ghouls where they stood until his ammunition ran out. He watched helpless and called out to the soldiers below as he manned the tower’s spotlight. He strafed the ground, isolating as many ghouls as possible as the men took aim. The storm grew in intensity and after a time, the ice snapped the wires. The spotlight went dark. It was time for Grubb to go. He opened the hatch and began his slow climb down the tower and into God’s hands.

Pierce limped and lurched his way towards the inevitable end. Knowing that he was but yards from the other side, he tried to visualize the struggle above. Shots and yells and cries. Now, explosions. And that moaning; That horrible moaning. It’s was multiplied ad infinitum. The sound of roaring fires mixed with barked orders and far off cries in the night. A faint orange glow appeared ahead of him. Shortly, Pierce stood below the floorboards of Barracks One and contemplated his next move. Hearing but low murmuring, he knew the doctor was inside. Not alone. He opened the hatch