Asha held the Glock close to her chest as the sounds of the undead filled the air. Her hands shook and she kept her finger off the trigger to prevent her accidentally firing it and drawing the attention of the monsters outside. She had boarded up the windows of the house and placed a chair underneath the door knob, but she had seen the creatures break through sheet metal fence and she didn't think her precautions would last long. The moans and shuffling noises were already drawing closer as the undead sniffed out her hiding place, the scent of her flesh and blood exciting their hunger.
The gun had been given to her by one of the Mongolian military men, though he was now long dead. Or, well, undead. He had stayed behind while his companions took a helicopter off the island to protect her tribe, and he would be honored for that in the afterlife. If these monsters even allowed their victims souls to leave the body.
Sweat ran down the smooth handle of the gun as the creatures reached the small hut she had hidden herself away in. She heard them pressing up against the walls, their mindless hunger like a river eroding away a rock. Soon, cracks began to form in the wood and Asha knew her end was soon. She cursed the day she found the egg, the very thing that had brought this horrid blight to her village. Now, with her entire tribe dead and the egg on its way to America, she could only hope that the disease would not spread any further and that no one else would be hurt by her rash action. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, praying to God for a quick end.
God would not grant her plea. When the creatures finally broke through the flimsy barricade, they converged on her in a horde, ripping and tearing at her as she screamed in agony until there was too much blood in her throat to make a sound. She would be alive for almost a full minute before her heart was finally torn out of her chest, she never even had a chance to fire the gun. Ten minutes after her eyes clouded over, she reawoke to join the ranks of the undead.