My heart hammered in chest in anticpation of the approaching fight. Sebastian and Hanna stood slightly behind me of to either side of me. Their shields were raised and weapons pointed. Derrick stood next to the door, ready to open it when we were ready.

  With a deep breath, I steady my nerves. This wasn't the time to be freaking out. It took a moment, but eventually, my heart no longer hammered. With a nod to Derrick, I signaled my readiness.

  He nodded to the rest who responded in kind. We were all ready. We knew the dangers lying beyond the rattling door and we believed ourselves repaired for it.

  The book case was lifted, sending more books scattering across the blood stained carpet. The door rattled insesently as those beyond it responded to the rucus. Derricks hands shook as he gripped the door handle. His skin was white as snow and sweat was evident on his brow. I could almost smell the fear rolling off of him.

  "Do it." Hanna ordered.

  Derrick jumped at the order and in doing so jostled the door handle. He didn't open the door, but he didn't have too. The pressure of the bodies on the otherside forced the door open.

  A stream of undead students tried to force their way in. They stumbled over one another like a horde of rats scurrying to their latest meal. They acted like wild animals with no regard for others of their kind.

  With a roar, I charged forward to meet the tide. With my shield arm out, I run into the closest zombie and bash the shield into them. I hear something break as the zombie is forced back into the tide of undead.

  My hammer lashes out at another zombie, caving in the side of their skull. Yet the hunger burning behind it's lifeless eyes does not disapate. Catching the zombie with the shield I strike at the zombie again and again. It's skull is a battered mess by the time the hunger dies out.

  I'm left with no time to watch the zombie die as another throws itself at me. I was barely able to get the shield between myself and it. I feel myself stumble back under it's assault.

  A black spear lashes out, penetrating deep into the skull of the zombie before me. The spear vanishes and the weight pushing into me goes with it. Without thanking Hanna for the assist I push towards.

  I can't stumble here. I can't lose ground. Abby is relying on me. Hanna, Sebastian, and Michael are relying on me. Hell, even Derrick and Sandy are relying on me.

  Screaming my heart out, I throw myself into the fight. The heat in my chest builds as I lash out with the hammer. I wail blow upon blow into the zombies before me. They crumble and topple under my attacks, but I'm not fast or strong enough.

  Spear lashes out from next to me, killing those I can't reach. A sword sliced through the air on the other side, slaying those I hadn't caught. Stone bolts zipped through the air, striking the zombies threating to spill past the line of defence Sebastian, Hanna, and I formed.

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  Yet none of it was enough. The tide of undead appeared unending. I could feel the building exhaustion in my lungs first. A subtle brining that indicated I wasn't getting enough oxygen. Then it progressed to that sting in your muscles as they're used too much.

  The spear stoped flashing out so often from next to me. The sword became a less common occurrence on my other side. I could Hanna and Sebastian were growing tired. Even the steady stone bolts flying through the air started to grow less frequent.

  Weak. That's what I was. What I always was. I've never known strength. I've never known what it means to be powerful. Only what it means to be weak and preyed upon for it.

  Too weak to stop my dad from hitting me. Too weak to protect my mother. Too weak to protect Abby. Too weak to do anything.

  I'm tired of being weak. I'm tired of not being able to protect those I love. I hate it. I hate myself for it. I hate this world for letting me be born so weak. I hate it all.

  I could feel the burning rage in me. The dark emotion demands that I lash out at the world. It promised me strength if only I was to let it course through me. I whispered dark desires of mine to force pain unto others. It sang sweet melodies of screams that proved I wasn't weak.

  It scared me. My rage always did. It reminded me of my father. Of the beatings, he would give just because we annoyed him. It scared me because it always made me wonder what I was capable of.

  A zombie leaped at me. It crashed into my shield sending me stumbling back several steps. I knocked it to the ground, but before I could attack it another zombie pressed in on me. I send the hammer out, cracking it against the monsters temple.

  Pain explodes in my ankle. looking down, I found a zombie with its maw wrapped around my calve. It's yellowed teeth dug into the layers of tape and pages, tearing chunks away.

  Pain and weakness always seem to go hand in hand. So, do I have myself to blame for this pain? Am I simply too weak to stop it?

  A wooden spear crashes through the skull of the zombie gnawing on my leg. Abby screams from behind me as she tears the spear free and sends it crashing back down into the monster's skull.

  She was scared. She was panicking. I could hear it in her voice. The desperation to put an end to the fighting. To the fear plaguing her.

  The damn broke. I wanted these undead monsters pay. I wanted them to scream with pain as I eviscerate them. I wanted to tear them limb from limb and beat them to actual death.

  The heat inside me bubbled and brioled. I felt the ball of energy in my chest respond as it exploded to consume my whole body. Pressure filled me and ever cell felt alight with energy. Strength surged through me as my mind was consumed by rage.

  With a roar, I pushed out, sending a wave through the tide of zombies. They stumbled back, giving me enough room to swing the hammer in a wide arc. Heads were pulverized under my blow, but it wasn't enough. It didn't satiate my need for blood.

  The world was red and filled with an unbearable heat. Every breath I drew filled my lungs with fire. Every swing of the hammer sent burning shivers up through my arm. Every bash with the shield ignited explosions of painful, searing heat through my body.

  Blow after blow, I lose count of how many fall prey to me. Blood drips from the hammer and shield as if someone threw a bucket of it at them. I can feel the cold fluid coating me as well. Part of me knows that the blood should be warm, and it only adds to the sense of vileness I feel. The way their skulls cave in sickens me. How their brains spill out of their skulls, it's like the guts of a squished bug.

  I want to vomit. I want to stop this violence. Yet the burning rage inside me doesn't let me. It numbs the burning pain permeating my body. It deafens the screaming sense of wrongness I feel.

  I try to take a step forward to attack my next target, but I slip on the pooling blood. I fall to a knee and barely manage to catch myself before I fall flat. Zombies lunge at me, only being stopped by the wooden desk shield strapped to my arm.