He kept his elbows tight to his ribs. Kept his neck down. Anything dangling was an invitation.
One stray hand brushing his sleeve was enough to spike his pulse.
One accidental bite would be enough to end everything. It didn't matter that he was "alive." Infection didn't negotiate.
He could hear their howls, and could see their location on the map, but he couldn't physically see how they were sorted or aligned, so he crawled on top of them.
The idea felt insane even as he did it. Crawling over zombies like a pile of sacks, using them as terrain.
But it was the only way through without spending energy punching and shoving them aside. He lowered his weight onto them carefully, distributing pressure so he didn't stomp down and trigger some reflexive lunge.
