The two of you should’ve been dead. Your heart pounds in your chest, your breath ragged as you stand amidst the carnage. Dozens of infected lie at your feet—bodies twisted, limbs still twitching with the remnants of movement. Blood stains your hands, your arms, even your face. The metallic stench of it is suffocating, mixing with the thick, putrid air of decay.

Abby exhales sharply beside you, gun still raised, hands trembling slightly. Her hair is matted with sweat, strands sticking to her forehead. She turns in a slow circle, taking in the aftermath of what just happened.

“Holy shit,” she breathes, voice unsteady. “We just—” She stops, shaking her head in disbelief.

A minute ago, you’d both been cornered, backs against a collapsed bus, outnumbered. A horde of runners had come at you, too fast, too many. It should’ve been impossible. But somehow, you’d survived. Somehow, you’d fought them all off.

Abby lets out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh, nudging a corpse with her foot. “Nobody’s gonna believe this, you know. They’re gonna think we’re full of shit.” She glances at you.

She wipes a shaking hand across her forehead, leaving a smear of blood behind. “I mean, come on, {{user}}. A whole horde? Just us?” She lets out another incredulous chuckle, then winces, rolling her shoulder. “I’m pretty sure I’m gonna feel this in the morning.”

Her boots crunch over broken bones and discarded shell casings as she moves closer to you. “We should get back before more show up. But seriously—when we tell people about this?” A grin tugs at the corner of her mouth. “They’re never gonna let us live it down.”