"More! Get more liquor from the shop!" Eagle shouted, his voice sharp over the crackle of burning zombies as he and the frontliners fought to keep the horde at bay.
"Yes, sir! We're on it!" one of the Winters men replied. He glanced down at the bottle of liquor in his hand with a pained expression. 'Such good booze, wasted on zombie barbecue...' he thought wistfully before reluctantly handing it over to Bald Eagle, who was having the time of his life hurling Molotovs like a pyromaniac at a carnival game.
Moments later, the group who'd rushed into the liquor store returned with boxes of alcohol. Others dug through nearby shops for more cloth and even found a few extra lighters. Working together, they quickly resumed assembly—passing bottles, stuffing wicks, and igniting flames.
This coordinated effort not only kept the zombie horde at bay, it also bought precious time for the exhausted fighters to rest and recover their spiritual energy.
