"Hey, Brick, pass me that sack of concrete."
"Sure thing, bossman." The big bearded redhead grabs the 50lb bag of dry concrete as if it was a bag of bread. "Here ya go." He tosses the sack to the waiting arms of his coworker.
"Oof!" The burly construction worker catches it, nearly knocking the breath out of him. "Damn, next time, carry it over."
"You said to toss it."
"It was a figure of speech."
"How was I supposed to know." As he looks at his friend he watches in horror as undead creatures fall from above covering the man. He hears his screams mix with the gut-wrenching sounds of flesh being torn and blood squirting. Then the screaming stops. He turns to find thousands of undead surrounding the construction site, with hundreds flooding in the open gates. All around the men and women he's worked with for over a decade are covered in creatures, like driver ants devouring a fallen animal. He tries to run, but his feet feel like they are cemented in place. He looks down to find that they are. His feet are covered with hardened cement. He pulls at his legs, trying to free himself, but they don't budge. The creatures all turn towards him at once. In unison, they let out a terrifying moan, a call to arms. Every zombie in the area begins to make its way towards Brick. Blood and flesh hanging from their rotten broken teeth. Their hands were covered in the blood of his former friends. He struggles to get loose but knows he won’t be able to. He sees a sledgehammer and grabs it. He quickly strikes the concrete block his feet are trapped in. It chips. He strikes again and again, but the beasts keep getting closer. Finally, he realizes what he must do. He raises the sledge above his head and with a solid swing, slams it directly into his lower leg. It snaps with an audible crack. He lets loose a bloodcurdling scream and falls to the ground. He raises it again and hits the other leg. He continues smashing his legs while the things lurch their way towards him, blackened fingernails reaching to tear into him. He screams each time. Finally able to drag himself free, he begins pulling himself away from the mass of flesh eaters. He looks back to see how far they are from him, then turns around. The jaws sink into his shoulder.
He sits up in a cold sweat. Another nightmare. He’s had them each night since civilization fell. Each night for years. He’s lost track. He stands and looks out the grimy cracked window. He’s been holding up in an abandoned apartment above a storefront on Main Street USA. Now part of the wastelands. He sees shadows moving below the uneven gait of the undead. His watch says it is just past midnight. The witching hour. He picks up his SAW, checks it, and slings it across his back. Tonight he’s going with the machete.
