"Damn it!" No one was answering her call, which meant one of two things: (1) her radio was broken, or (2) there was no one left to answer. Of course, there was always option (3), both (1) and (2). Marga stuffed her radio into her jacket pocket, slung her sniper rifle over her shoulder, and once again took up the sawed-off.
The pounding on the door was growing more and more insistent. The zombies knew there was fresh meat inside the tiny office. They just had to get to it. And they would. Eventually. The door wouldn't hold forever; Marga could see the hinges beginning to shake loose.
Heart pounding in her ears, she began backing up, getting as far away from the door as possible. It wouldn't do much good, though. At most it would give her a few precious seconds to fire off a few rounds before they were on her. In the back of her mind, she'd always wondered how she'd meet her demise. It was still a miracle she hadn't died back in Indiana. But if this was really how she was going to die, Marga realized that she wasn't about to go down without a fight. At the very least she could take a few of these bastards with her.
That was when she realized that she wasn't just hearing the sound of hinges giving way and wood splintering, but also the sound of gunfire. And it was close. Someone out there was still alive!
Marga, gripping her gun tightly, let out a choked sob when she heard Rae's voice. Hesitantly, she walked over to the door, as if she didn't quite believe it really was her friend out there. Marga grunted as she shifted the filing cabinet out of the way, jumping back when the broken door collapsed to the floor. She met Rae's eyes. "You made it," she said, dumbly.