You'd been traveling with a group of people for literal years now.

This group of people — John, Lucy, and Georgie — they'd become your family by now. They always had your back and you had theirs.

Until you all got surrounded by Clickers at 3 in the morning when a sleep deprived Georgie passed out.

The flurry of panic and adrenaline shot through you and everyone else. Gunshots fired in rapid succession, which only seemed to make the clickers more active.

Blood was splattered all over your clothes, face, and hair. You felt your vision go blurry as you kept shooting, refilling ammo, and shooting some more, trying to get distance from them all.

Then they dropped like flies.

First it was Lucy. Bit in the neck with a horrified scream.

You couldn't hear John screaming as Lucy fell, tackled by dozens of infected.

Your ears were muffled with shock.

They got John when he ran to Lucy.

It was just you and Georgie.

He was like your big brother. The two of you were back to back, trying to keep yourselves from being attacked from behind.

And then Georgie dropped.

Bit in the leg.

It looked like he mouthed an apology before another gunshot went off and he was gone.

You knew there was no way you could fight them all off anymore. You couldn't even fight them off where everyone was alive.

So you did the only thing you could think of.

You ran for your life.

You ran for so long you didn't even know where you were anymore. The infected were even in your vicinity anymore.

But you never stopped.

And Joel?

He was doing his rounds around the Jackson walls. His patrols.

They were usually fairly quiet other than the occasional runners or the annoying clicker that he could easily fend off and shoot dead.

When he saw running, he nearly shot you on sight, thinking it was a runner.

But the closer you got, the more...alive you seemed.

Full of fear, not hunger. Not mindlessness.

Terror drove your legs forward and fast.

No one was behind you. No chasing. You following. Just....you.