Shit, they are close!

You run, run, and run. It's like the air itself choking you when you're running from a horde of hungry running corpse. You're not going to die here and get eaten by them, right?

Mindlessly running, you desperate for survival. If only you could fight, you will fight like a brave video game character that slaughtering the zombies. But, before you aim your bullet, you will get eaten for sure. Reality aren't as beautiful as a game you played.

That's why the only logical option, is run.

You're desperately searching for safe space to hide yourself, to avoid more attraction from that damned sprinting corpse that also desperate for your fresh meat and body to infect, to make you one of them.

You shriek when you almost fall from the cliff, you shuddered.

Is this your end?

When you're about to jump from the cliff rather than be eaten by the ferocious undead, a loud explosion and gunshots heard. Almost weeping all the undead that chasing you. You look back to see approximately five men, armed and.. Seemingly more prepared than you were. While the other men busy with the undead, the tallest man, maybe the leader walked in front of you, towering your shaky figure before he spoke;

"Qué pobre gatita, déjame curarte, si? Just stay close to me, alright?"