Letting the Days Go By...

Well, The Zombies Start Coming

"F**k you Fido!" It was Dempsey.

Good. There was one of the four to help orientate himself in the fight. They hadn't been separated again, had they? It was hard to tell where everyone's positions were relative to one another, if or how far they had moved as individuals and as a group, or where the edge of the stage was.

A loud clattering and a surprised yelp followed by a thump that sounded more human than hound came from some vague direction at Takeo's left.

It was probably Nikolai...

It was not.

Eventually, the cacophony of growls and wails began to calm, which meant less and less surprise attacks from the dogs were to be expected. It didn't stop the beasts from trying, however.

Takeo more or less, soon caught himself too close to the stage's edge, avoiding a dangerously close hound as it leapt forward. He rolled out the way as the demon dog failed to course correct in time, flying off the stage and slamming straight into the front row of seats.

In a daze, it picked itself up and shook its flabby, barely hanging-on mane in a shower of fire.

As it refocused its interest on Takeo, the warrior likewise ready for an attack, Richtofen, who up until this point had been doing something else, had gained a sizable knife and brought it down upon the dog's exposed cranium.

"Take them back Samantha!" The German man stated angrily.

Alas, the samurai had not seen nor heard much from the Doctor this entire time. Usually, his shrill voice and manic laughing could be heard from across the way – ever since they had begun this journey.

But questions could wait until all the hellhounds were dealt with.

A final bullet whizzing past and into the hellhound pacing up the aisle was enough to cause the final, explosive puppy to leave behind a present.

The fog had thus begun to dissipate, showing a new, unholy scene before them.

A lonely max ammo, situated at the entrance to the theatre rather than where the last hound was killed, idly spun back and forth without a care.

That was until the surroundings were wrought with a fresh new batch of undead demons.

They had been silently waiting before their next chance of attack.

The max ammo was swallowed whole by the barrage of necrotic bodies flooding through from the lobby at the strained yell from one of the corpses.

As all prepared to continue this never-ending battle, there was at least one niggling thought. The demons hadn't done this before.

It was too late to stop now, as the ever-increasing, rotten body count took to the stage.

Their next meal waiting in the spotlight...

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"So... What do we do with 'em?" The marine asked, hesitant in letting them live.

Two waves, TWO WAVES, since they had any sort of break, and the group were above all tired, but mostly unsure if they should risk pushing their luck any further in hopes of a chance to escape the seemingly unrelenting hordes.

The men opted to look for the advice of their de facto leader, standing on the little plinth also holding the lectern, which in turn held the auto turret.

A duo of crawling zombies had been slowly pulling themselves up and over the ramshackle theatre steps and onto the stage. Usually, these shamblers would have been killed in the crossfire between the four of them but the Doctor had, in a wild turn of events, demanded they focus fire away from the legless crawlers onto the more prominent runners and taloned crawlers and cease the re-killing of these two specific remaining corpses.