The morning air hit us as Rachel and I emerged from the pharmacy's cramped confines. I had expected to find the street still crawling with Infected—those grotesque creatures that had been drawn by the Fire Spitter's otherworldly beacon just hours before. Instead, we were greeted by an almost eerie silence, broken only by the distant moans.
The Infected horde that had surrounded the building was gone, dispersed back into whatever dark corners they called home during daylight hours. It was a small mercy.
"Let's go, Rachel," I said, turning to check on her. She had been unusually quiet since we'd hastily dressed and prepared to leave, and I was beginning to worry about how she was processing everything that had happened between us.
"Y...yes," she stammered, her voice catching slightly when her eyes met mine.
