A shriek pierces the night air, followed by several crying pleads for help, and the unforgettable sound of groaning and bones snapping. Sobs can be heard from just outside the mess hall, as another camper is taken.
The zombies, plastered in crimson from their fresh meal, snap their spines back and return to an upright position, and just in time to year a loud yelling from just beyond the walls. Pft, walls. They can keep a few out, but they're not much defense against a horde, especially when adorned with glass windows, just begging to be shattered. Heck, some already were, but it didn't hurt to take out one or two more.
An angular, pale gray corpse, made of flaking skin and bones, shuffles towards its reflection in a cracked window, locking faded yellow eyes with itself. The beast groans, revealing only a handful of broken teeth and black gums, stretching out and fisting through the glass. It bounces off, but is reluctant to quit. Fine, hands won't work. Something stronger is needed. And heavier. The undead animation moves closer, pressing one cheek against the window, peering in at a delicious young lad with dark eyes, standing close to another beating heart wielding a shining stick. Drool slides down the window, and the clump of hair (or what's left of it) whips back, before knocking into the window with the rest of the zombie's skull. There's a clatter as shards fall to the floor, and the window is left broken and a vulnerable entrance. Now that was will power.
The zombie tries once more to get an arm in, and succeeds, grazing the skin and hooking at the elbow, which might hurt, if this fellow could, in fact, feel anything. But he couldn't, so it didn't phase him. Instead he waved his arm, inhaling the fragrance of the living, dribbling saliva and blood down its neck while making hungry growls.
Come now, little ones. I only want your organs.