Inside the hotel, about one floor up, Jose stood in front of a thick line of dead bodies. Or dead-dead bodies. Or deceased un-dead. Whichever fit more, really. He sighed as sweat dripped down his face, and he looked forward. The thirty-plus not-moving dead-things asides, there were still ten standing and walking - not much of them left, if you thought about it, but then again, there wasn't much left in [i]him[/i] either. 

Jose looked down on his knuckles. They were covered in thick layers of tape, but he could feel them bruise underneath. His stamina asides, his fists couldn't take much more either. He grit his teeth.

It was his bad luck, he supposed, that the one place he had run to was the one place that had [i]absolutely no weapons of any sort.[/i] He wrapped his fists up and punched them as a last resort, hoping to maybe unbalance them for a moment to run, but surprisingly enough, after going down, they stayed down. Jose decided that he [i]might[/i] have a chance at getting out alive and unharmed after all, and so began the slaughter.

Thirty minutes after it began, more than thirty were on the ground, with ten or so left. Jose hoped that he could last long enough to deal with them.