"We should follow them."
I turned my head slowly toward Zhenlan.
Then blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Because apparently I needed a second to make sure I had heard him correctly and had not, in fact, developed a brain injury somewhere between the zombie rats, the haunted Costco, and the convenience store hotdog that was going to live rent-free in my nightmares.
"Nope."
The word came out flat, final, and, in my opinion, completely reasonably.
Zhenlan didn't look at me. His eyes stayed locked on the zombies moving down the street, each one dragging or carrying someone who was still alive enough to twitch, breathe, and probably deeply regret every life choice that led them to downtown Rongdu after dark.
"They're taking survivors somewhere," he replied.
"Yes," I agreed. "Away from me. Which is my favorite direction for creepy zombie bullshit to go."
