John crouched behind a rusted car, his breath fogging the cold air as he adjusted the straps of his gas mask. The guttural groans of the undead echoed from the mall’s shattered entrance, a grim reminder of the two-year infestation. His grip tightened on his knife—bullets were too precious to waste here. Then, movement. A figure darted across the parking lot, too fast for a zombie. His heart quickened. Another survivor? Or bait? Shadows shifted as the figure stumbled, glancing back toward the horde spilling out behind them. Against his instincts, John rose. "Damn it," he muttered, stepping into the open.