I ran.
Ran through the crumbling streets, my breath coming out in short, desperate gasps, my boots slamming against the pavement. My body ached, my muscles screamed for rest, but I couldn't stop—not when the zombies were closing in from all sides, drawn by the scent of life like starving wolves.
The day was colder than usual, the kind of chill that settled in your bones and made every movement stiff and sluggish. It explained why there were so many of them out during the day—zombies dislike the heat, but the cold? They were faster, more alert.
And I was running straight through them.
I ducked into an alley, pressing my back against the crumbling wall, my chest rising and falling as I tried to catch my breath. My fingers trembled around the handle of my knife.
If it was this bad now, how much worse would winter be?
I shuddered at the thought, pushing it away. I couldn't afford to think that far ahead. Right now, all that mattered was getting the fuck out of here.
