Night descended on Nuevo Paraíso with an orchestra of screams, discharging rifles and the shrieks of the undead. The 21st Infantry Company of the Mexican army, headed by capitan Evarado Anselm, made its stand against the endless tide in their walled sanctuary. El Presido was possibly the safest place to be in all of Mexico at that moment in time, but judging the situation for what it was, then that was a weak sentiment. 

The parapets of the prison were alive with Evarado's men, and they fired their weapons with little love for accuracy. A horde of the undead had gathered under the fort's main gate, and it was so thick with upright corpses that there was simply no need to aim. The Mexicans, despite their fear, and the grievous losses they had sustained over the last twenty four hours, put the flesh eaters to the sword in short order.

Though no sooner had the garrison regrouped, then another shambling mass of zombies appeared from the darkness. The situation was growing dimmer by the minute, and a quick ammo count revealed that the 21st Infantry Company was about an hour away from hand-to-hand combat. Not for the first time since this nightmare had started, Evarado wondered whether the sinners of Hell had arisen to claim the likes of him.