The air was thick with the sound of them—groans, moans, the sickening shuffle of rotting flesh dragging across pavement.
I weaved between abandoned cars, my feet pounding against the cracked asphalt. My lungs burned, my body screaming in protest, but I didn't stop.
A hand shot out, bony fingers grasping at my arm.
I snarled, twisting free, then slammed my knife into its temple.
The body twitched once—then collapsed.
Another came from the side. I ducked.
One step ahead. Always one step ahead.
I vaulted over the hood of a rusted-out truck, the metal groaning beneath me. My heart pounded, the sound nearly drowning out everything else.
They were everywhere.
I needed an opening—now.
I spotted an alley up ahead, narrow and winding, half-blocked by a collapsed streetlight.
Good enough.
I pushed forward, dodging past grasping arms and gnashing teeth, my boots slipping against blood-slick pavement.
Almost there.
A screech echoed behind me.
