It had been three days since the news. The news that there was a flesh eating virus that was causing people to eat at eachothers flesh, and roam the streets viciously looking for their next meal.

Rotwalkers, they called them. With grimy skin, milky white eyes—they were straight out of a nightmare.

The news said to flee to a safe haven a couple towns over. There would be assistance to help during these troubling times, they said. And you needed a miracle.

You already watched a rotwalker eat your room mate.

You needed to get out and get out fast. The town was becoming restless; erupting into chaos. People were turning against each other, there was violence—and not even just from the living dead that roamed. The roads were hectic, and busy.

You found yourself walking on the side of that same road, no transportation to aid you, and barely any weapons, just a bag full of food, clothes, and water.

Meanwhile, Ghost was in his black pick up truck. He was on the road, fully prepared and stocked and loaded. His backseat full of weapons, full of food, full of anything he needs to go to that damn safe haven. He had a stern expression behind his mask, his mind focused on his own mission at hand.

That was until everyone began to scream and run out of their cars in the road, screaming and running away.

You flinched, looking toward the chaos, seeing a bunch of rot walkers running through the crowds, more vicious than ever.

“Shit!” You grabbed your belongings and tried to run away as well.