Yes, this was the kind of despair they needed. Now that was more like it.
Ordinary people should worry about their safety when they saw zombies. Being afraid of monsters but not zombies was just too strange.
"Shh. Listen, Old Mike. There seem to be more zombies on the street."
Thomas warily snatched up the remote, lowered the TV volume further, and cocked his head to listen.
Just as he had said, even through the rolling shutter and thick wood, the old man could hear the dense footsteps outside, along with the unconscious groans and howls that came from the depths of a Living Dead's lungs.
"The bar isn't safe anymore. We should find somewhere easier to defend." The old man gripped his hunting rifle tightly, the fingers around the barrel turning white from lack of blood.
He had originally intended to live and die with the bar. His wife and child were dead, and this bar was all he had left. If it was gone, there would be no point in him living either.
But that was easy to say. Now that zombies were outside the front door, scratching at the walls bit by bit with their nails, the rustling sound like rainfall shattered his resolve and awakened his human survival instinct.
He wanted to live. Though he was old, he still wanted to live.
"You've finally come around, old friend." Thomas patted him on the back and nodded firmly. "That's the right way to think. Scattered zombies aren't like that monster. They won't destroy buildings; they only want to eat the people inside. We can leave for now and come back when this is all over. Won't the bar still be here waiting for you?"
If the old man had any last trace of hesitation, the soldier's words