His reach seemed to have been in vain; he could not help but feel a strong surge of disappointment as his hand closed around a slender and delicate glass vial, its contents glowing oddly in the light of the burning truck. The zombies groaned loudly as they approached closer and closer. Pocketing the vial without mentioning it to the stranger- they could discuss it later- he tightened his grip on the shovel.
One of them, a middle-aged man with a pair of broken glasses stabbed into his face, stepped ahead of the group, his face eerily blank. Planting his feet firmly on the ground, Rob swung the shovel. It connected with a crack to the creatures' face, the bones breaking upon impact. Another swing and the neck ripped, the zombies' head falling half-off, right ear resting on the right shoulder. The head then swivelled backward, and with a sickening tear, fell onto the pavement. The body, however, didn't seem to notice, and took another step forward, before falling to its knees. The others continued to advance, leaving Rob and the stranger still outnumbered.
"Shit... Shit! What do we do?!" He looked to the stranger, who wielded only a scalpel. Running out of ideas, Rob guestured to the fire escape ladder with his head. "Go on, up! They're blocking the exit, and we're running out of room!"