Bertrand had two different choices around how he could defend his section of the roof, he could hop over the sandbag and try to knock the zombies down before they got a foothold on the rooftop. Though this was quite risky as it would leave him rather vulnerable to slipping or being pulled over the edge.

The other option was to stay behind the sandbags and kill any zombies that clawed their way onto the roof, sacrificing offence for defence.

He ended up choosing the second option, a few of the more brave defenders choose the first one though and valiantly went over the sandbags to kick and stab at the ascending zombies.

A few opportunists even grabbed some of the sand bags to throw down at the zombies and knock them off the wall, it was slightly demoralising to see it fail.

Bertrand could have sworn that the heavy bags only made the zombies more invigorated, though he was likely overthinking it, their haste came from cold hatred and apathy, not some weighty bags.

The only thing that the attempt to knock the zombies off the wall had done was correct Bertrand about what he was actually using as a defence, he was behind a wall of flour, not sandbags.

Seer he was tired, he didn’t even realise that they were bags of flour until one of them burst open on one of the zombies.

Just before the zombies managed to clamber all the way up the veteran yelled out. “FALL BACK BEHIND THE SANDBAGS!”

Relecuntally the stupidly brave soldiers retreated back behind the sandbags.

It didn’t matter if they were actually flour bags, they were sandbags now.

Bertrand hoped that despite the fact they were cooking ingredients they would be able to hold up against the onslaught.

As the first of the zombies appeared, their skeletal frame being propelled upwards by their boney arms, Bertrand found himself dissociating.

He wasn’t Bertrand anymore, just a skirmisher desperate to hold the line.

And hold it he would, no matter the cost.

With that grim determination and mindset he had it was rather anticlimactic when no zombies made their way up his corner of the roof, at least not in the beginning of the battle.

Soon enough one of them appeared though, surging forth across the tileless roof like some deer, fast and athletic.

Its speed proved to be its downfall, as Bertrand simply had extended his bayonet ahead of him to dispatch it.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

It didn’t even try to stop its suicidal charge, it ended up tripping over the sandbags and falling directly onto Bertrand’s outstretched bayonet.

It was such an easy kill that Bertrand feared it was a trap, lashing out with his other hand to shove the zombie off his blade.

His fears didn’t come true though, and its still corpse collapsed onto the roof before slowly starting to slide down the rooftop and towards the ground.

Bertrand didn’t have any time to celebrate this minor victory though as another zombie almost immediately appeared, hauling itself over the rooftop.

Unlike the first one, this zombie moved far slower, owing mostly to the fact its left leg was shredded into ribbons of flesh and streaks of white bone.

It had only taken a few unsteady steps forward when Bertrand spotted another claw like hand grasping the edge of the roof.

He didn’t even think about what he was doing at that instant, he simply acted, leaping over the sandbags and lunging forwards at the crippled zombie.

This lack of thought cost him though as thanks to all of the training he had undergone he subconsciously stabbed at the zombie’s heart instead of its neck.

This obviously had no effect on the zombie and he had to hurriedly leap backwards to avoid its grapple attempt, losing his bayonet in the process.

The Seer surely hated him for even though the tiles had been removed he still slipped, his head only just barely managed to hit the front of the sandbag wall which prevented him from getting a nasty concussion but still ended up leaving him feeling rather dazed.

With hardly any time to recover, he pushed himself upwards and after swiping one of the flour bags off of the stack he swung it with all of his might at the zombie's face.

This time he wondered if the Seer actually loved him because the second zombie ended up being temporarily blinded by a small cloud of flour that emerged from a tiny hole in the bag.

With its vision temporally removed it failed to properly step over the corpse of its predecessor and thanks to its unsteady gait, it couldn’t stabilise itself from this oversight.

All these factors ended up meaning it slipped over, falling backwards with its skeletal arms spread wide and slamming into the tiles.

The few seconds it took to right itself gave Bertrand ample opportunity to rush forwards, lean over, and yank his bayonet out of its chest.

This whole fight had already taken too long though as the third zombie was now firmly on top of the roof.

Yet but again Bertrand didn’t think, merely operating through instinct and muscle memory as he jammed his blade through the struggling zombie's disgustingly white eye.

He wasn’t able to make it to his feet before getting assailed by the new zombie though, it grabbed ahold of his shoulders and was just about to brutalise his neck when he plunged his forearm into its mouth.

Out of three times his muscle memory and instinct had been right twice, for although this was something he had been taught would prevent wolves from mauling him, it worked just as well at preventing the zombie from mauling him.

Unfortunately, he was likewise unable to get at its neck and was forced to dangerously wrestle with the fiend for what felt like hours before he managed to kill it.

It had cost him badly though, the coat he was wearing may be thick but the zombie’s claws were immensely sharp, he would definitely need stitches after this, if he didn’t die of blood loss first that was.