Zombies: The Western Musical

The three stood before the porch of the two-story saloon, the last building they hadn't yet searched in the small desert town. The three stood silent, attentively listening for any sound of the undead from within the faded brown, plank-thick wooden walls of the small, seemingly abandoned structure. The decaying wooden pillars that held up the awning in front of the cracked, wooden double doors and the shattered windows and broken glass strewn about everywhere on the sandy desert floor were all battle scars of both the house's age and the zombie apocalypse all those years ago.

Two minutes crawled by, as the trio stood in the hot Californian sun, the desert wind blowing specks of dust and sand in their faces, all with their weapons at the ready. No undead moans heard, but still, the three took caution. The dead could very well just be dead quiet.

Dmitri motioned to Pascal to follow him inside. The third one remained outside as a lookout.

The two slowly approaching the rightmost door, taking care to silence his footsteps. With the butt of his pistol, Dmitri nudged the door open, inch by careful inch, trying to avoid as much noise as possible.

A deafening creak, the burglar alarm created by rusted metal hinges of the generations-old door. And the moaning from within the saloon followed.

"They're awake." Pascal grinned.