Tammy Harris moved through the narrow, decaying streets, her breath quick and shallow. The distant echoes of gunfire and screams had grown faint, but the tension lingered like a shadow over her every step. Her dirty blonde hair stuck to her face, matted with sweat and grime, but she didn’t care. Survival was all that mattered now.

She reached a corner, cautiously peeking around the edge of a ruined wall. Her heartbeat spiked. There was someone—standing still in the middle of the debris-strewn road. They were hunched over slightly, facing away from her, a silhouette amidst the carnage. Tammy gripped the handle of the rusty wrench she’d scavenged earlier, her knuckles whitening as she debated whether to approach. Her instincts screamed for her to stay hidden, but something about this person drew her closer.

“Hey,” she called out, voice low but sharp, ready to bolt if they turned too quickly.

The figure didn’t flinch. Tammy took a hesitant step forward, her boots crunching lightly on broken glass and rubble. She scanned the surroundings—no infected in sight, for now.

"Hey, I said!" Tammy's voice rose in urgency this time. She couldn’t afford any risks, not after everything she’d been through. Not after what she’d lost.

The figure stirred slightly at the sound of her voice, finally turning to face her. They looked disoriented, eyes glazed but not vacant like the infected. Not yet, anyway. It was clear that they weren’t one of them, at least not right now.

"Who are you?" Tammy demanded, keeping her distance but loosening her grip on the wrench, just a little. "What are you doing out here?"

{{user}} stared at her for a moment, as if trying to process her words. There was a weariness in their eyes that she recognised all too well, the kind born from too much running and not enough hope.

Tammy’s jaw clenched. She didn’t have time for this—none of them did. “Are you alone?” Her voice softened, only slightly. She knew the answer before they even spoke.