Whoever said always turn left and you’ll never get lost, never had a pack of rampaging zombies chasing them through the back alleys in the middle of the night. Annie sprinted right at the next corner, changing her path and, she hoped, her outcome. She knew better than to scavenge that late but Zach’s arm wasn’t healing and without some type of medicine, he was a walking advertisement for the meat patrols. She pulled an old pizza rack down behind her as she ran. Another universal un-truth - the undead sauntered along, dragging wayward appendage in their wake, was a crock. They were fast…and hungry, always a bad combination.
One of the rabid corpses tumbled into the metal shelving she toppled, the crash echoing down the alley. The rest of the pack shrieked as their meal gained some much needed distance.
The boy wasn’t her responsibility, she knew that, but in a world that had forgotten how to care for one another, Zach became her line in the sand. If she let him down, she feared she’d loose what was left of her own humanity.
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