The corpses laid there, on the cold, hard ground, lifeless. They remained in the pools of blood and on top of all of the bullet casings. It was almost like soup. All of the walkers and humans and bullets, would be the the contents of the soup, while the blood would be the broth.
The only living thing in that room, was Pablo Stanley. The twelve year old boy, who had lost everything in his life. He had no family. No friends. All he had was himself. He was a lost child, with nobody to help him in this hell hole of a world, and he had to somehow survive it all on his own.