Playing DF.
I have a small fort hiding under a haunted swamp. First two migrant waves arrived unscathed. About fifteen dwarves eking out an existence, hidden from swarms of zombie buzzards and the like.
Suddenly, migrants. Over fifty of the the bastards. About a third of them are children. The come swarming in, cross the river, and cluster around the abandoned wagon on the surface. A couple get picked off by zombie ducks and buzzards on the way, but for the most part the group is intact.
I order for the gate lever to be pulled. The migrants start hauling ass into the relative safety of the fort. Except for half the children, who decide that the wagon is a great place for playing make believe. A couple of adults stay behind as well.
I briefly considered sending my poorly-equipped militia out to defend the worthless scum children from undead birds and skeletal elven merchants (more to prevent the parents from getting unhappy than anything else, really) but decide against it when a werelizard turns up out of nowhere and starts ripping apart living and dead alike.
I decide to cut my losses and seal up the fort. The surviving migrants are understandably unhappy and stressed.
On the surface, the werelizard finally turns back into a naked elf and runs for it, but barely makes it halfway before getting splattered by a zombie yak.
A few children are still alive, scattered around with the corpses of their parents and friends amidst a small lake of blood. There's not much to be done for them. Most are unconscious, missing limbs, and so on.
I set to work getting the migrants settled in. After a while a human caravan turns up. I've had a new entrance dug out, away from the pools of blood and zombies around the old one. The merchants start heading towards it. Everything's going great. I could get some much-needed food and wood by selling off all the crap collected from the last lot of dead merchants.
Except then two werelizards jump out of nowhere and scattered the caravan. It was the children who survived the original attack. I've no idea how they lived as long as they did. But they did, and now my survivors are left with just water to drink.
Moral of the story: Always finish off your wounded.