The two of them had been holding fort in the operating theatre for six days now. So far the door had held firm, wedged shut by an anesthetic bottle jammed under the handle. Occasionally a putrid face would peer through the window of the door, moaning for their flesh and swirling its putrid lips on the reinforced glass.
Fear had turned to a desperate hunger and they had both agreed that making a dash for it was the only option left.
"Are you ready?" John said, with a grim smile.
George looked up from his wheelchair and just nodded, he wielded the fire extinguisher like a hitter puckering for a home run, a determined glaze in his eyes.
John peeped through the glass, there were only two of them wandering in the corridor. "The plan is we just go hell for leather. You take out anything that gets in our way and I'll provide the motor power, OK?"
"OK buddy, let's do it," George said.
John kicked away the bottle from the door, and with a battle cry, they hurtled down the corridor towards the two lumbering zombies.