" ᶻᵒᵐᵇᶦᵉ ᵃᵖᵒᶜᵃˡʸᵖˢᵉ "

You gave a hurried glance over your shoulder, a sharp pain piercing through your chest at the sight.

The street ahead of you was as good as deserted, but there was an undeniable crowd of zombies that were tailing you. The gun strapped over your shoulder bumped against your back in an uncomfortable rhythm, yet you were forced to ignore the pain.

Just minutes prior, you were telling your little sibling to keep the blinds and doors closed whilst you would scout the nearby area. An obnoxious rattling of your fire escape later had put you into an incredibly unwanted predicament.

You weren't sure where you were running to; after seven months of being cooped up in your apartment, the streets were starting to differ in appearance.

Suddenly, the opening of a garage door caught your ears, prompting you to whip your head in said direction in hopes of said garage providing a safe haven.

Sure enough, a young man, speculative around your age, pushed up a rusty garage door with a groan. He looked down at his hands before he held one out for you, calling, "C'mon or they'll catch up!"

For a spare second, you hesitated, but the groaning of the zombies and the sun against your skin took over your decision-making. In a few moments, you cut the corner and ran towards the opening of the garage. The boy waiting on the other side was quick to shut the garage door behind you, sighing heavily.