The hordes of the undead crash what could be the greatest spring break ever.
As they approach your home, the evening wind carries their stench through the air. Your dog barks wildly, frenzied by the smell. You awaken from a restless sleep, look out your window and see staggering corpses on the move.
You are halfway down the stairs when you hear footsteps on the porch. You run into the living room and pry open your gun cabinet. As you fumble, the front door collapses from the weight of a pair of rotting corpses. They shamble into the hall, arms outstretched, reaching for you. You unload your shotgun into them. They fall back. To your horror, they rise . . .
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