The moment the infected screamed in unison, the sound reverberating through the hospital like a death knell, James felt his stomach drop.

Panic surged through his veins.

He shoved his flashlight back into his inventory, his fingers fumbling slightly as he turned and bolted out of the supply closet.

As soon as he hit the hallway, he barely had time to react—two infected rounded the corner, sprinting straight for him. Their movements were jerky and violent, their hands clawing at the air, their guttural shrieks sending a cold spike of fear through his chest.

Fuck.

His hands moved on instinct, yanking his pistol from his inventory as he pivoted hard in the opposite direction, boots skidding against the dust-covered linoleum.

And then—the whole hospital seemed to come alive.

From every hallway and open doorway, the infected poured out like a flood.

To his left, a rotted infected with half its jaw missing stumbled out of a surgery room, its eyes locking onto him before snapping its body forward in a dead sprint.

To his right, an infected doctor—still wearing a rotted lab coat—lurched from an old nurse’s station, its fingers scraping against the countertop as it turned its hollowed-out gaze toward him.

Behind him, the stomping of feet grew louder—more infected joined the chase, their combined screams melding into a horrifying chorus.

They started pouring from one set of double doors and suddenly fifty infected were in the hallway.

James kept running, his heart pounding so hard it hurt. His breath came in ragged gasps, his legs burning as he pushed himself faster and faster, dodging around abandoned gurneys and overturned chairs.

Then—from the corner of his vision, something moved.

A shadow lunged from the waiting room to his left.

James barely had time to react before a Runner tackled him, its rotten hands gripping his hoodie, trying to pull him down.

With pure desperation, he threw up his arm, his pistol already aiming at the infected’s head.

BANG!

Currency: 2(+1)

The shot ripped through its skull, splattering blood across the walls as the body slumped onto him.

James shoved it off, gasping, but the ringing in his ears nearly made him stumble.

The gunshot had only made things worse.

The infected, already agitated, were now frenzied—their shrieks amplified, their speed doubling.

Shit, shit, shit!

James took off again, his vision blurring slightly from the adrenaline dump. He needed a way out. Now.

His eyes darted wildly, scanning for anything—a door, a stairwell, a vent—anything that didn’t lead to a dead end.

Then—he saw it.

A massive, full-body window lining the rear of the hallway.

James didn’t hesitate. He lifted his gun, aiming for the center of the glass.

BANG!

The window shattered instantly, glass exploding outward.

Without missing a beat, he rushed forward, covering his face with his arm as he dove through the opening, boots crunching against shards as he hit the pavement outside.

For a split second, he stood there, panting, his mind struggling to process where the hell to go.

The infected were still screaming inside, their bodies flying through the now shattered glass. Their bodies hitting the concrete with a sickening crack.

James turned toward the cityscape, his breath still ragged.

He had only one option.

Run.

His home was at least forty-five minutes away—forty-five minutes of non-stop sprinting through a hostile, ruined city.

And right now? That was his only shot at survival.

James clenched his teeth, took one last breath—

And ran.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCCCCCKKKKKKK!"

James screamed at the top of his lungs, his voice nearly giving out as he sprinted through the ruined streets, a horde of infected snarling at his heels.

His legs burned, his lungs felt like they were being torn apart, and every muscle in his body was screaming for relief—but relief wasn’t an option. Stopping meant dying.

He had barely escaped the hospital, and he had been running nonstop back to his camp for what felt like hours.

Time had lost all meaning—seconds stretched into minutes, minutes into eternity.

The only thing keeping him moving was the constant shrieking behind him—that horrible, guttural sound of something that shouldn’t exist but somehow did.

He was running on pure survival instinct, his mind shutting down everything but the primal need to escape.

Every time his body threatened to collapse, the chorus of screeches and pounding footsteps sent a fresh jolt of adrenaline through his veins, forcing his legs to keep pumping forward.

These infected just. Won’t. QUIT!

He had always wondered how they kept moving like this. Shouldn't months and years of rotting muscles slow them down? Shouldn't they get tired? Collapse? Break down?

But noooooo.

They moved with the same relentless, unnatural energy, never hesitating, never faltering—as if their bodies were running on pure hunger alone, like some rabid dog chasing its prey until it dropped dead.

James didn’t dare look behind him—he could feel them breathing down his neck.

The city blurred past him, his feet pounding the pavement, dodging around abandoned cars, piles of rubble, and shattered glass. His arms pumped at his sides, the weight of his backpack slamming against his back with every step.

He wasn’t going to last much longer.

And then—he saw it.

At the end of the street, silhouetted against the fading daylight—

His building.

A rush of desperate hope shot through him.

Almost there! Almost fucking there!

Summoning every last ounce of strength, he pushed himself harder, his sprint turning into a full-blown, breakneck charge toward the ladder.

The infected howled behind him, closing in, their shrieks echoing through the empty city like a siren song of death.

Come on, come on, come on!

He launched himself at the ladder, hands gripping the cold metal rungs, arms burning as he pulled himself up with everything he had left.

Safety. It was right there.

And then—a hand clamped around his ankle.

“FUCK!”

James snapped his head down, his stomach dropping in horror as he saw a Clicker hanging onto his leg.

The thing’s rotted fingers dug into his boot, its skull half-covered in hardened fungal plates, its jaw snapping wildly, missing his calf by inches.

James gritted his teeth, his arms straining to keep himself from being yanked down.

His hand shot to his pistol, pulling it from his inventory in one desperate motion—

BANG!

The first shot tore off a chunk of fungus, but the Clicker barely flinched, its armored skull protecting its brain.

"SHIT!"

Panic clawed at his chest—he didn’t have time for this!

He tightened his grip, teeth bared in frustration—

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

MAG. DUMP.

The pistol kicked in his hands, bullets chipping away at the Clicker’s thick fungal armor.

Then—finally—

A spray of dark blood erupted from its cracked skull, and the thing released its grip, its body tumbling backward into the street below.

James didn’t stop to watch it hit the ground.

He slammed his empty pistol back into his inventory and scrambled up the ladder as fast as his shaking limbs allowed, practically throwing himself onto the rooftop.

He rolled onto his back, chest heaving, limbs trembling, his heart slamming against his ribs like a war drum.

The distant howls of the infected still echoed below, but James was too busy sucking in ragged breaths to care.

Holy shit.

He had actually made it.

Currency 5(+3)

James reached the top of the ladder, his hands gripping the edge of the rooftop with trembling fingers. With one final heave, he hauled himself over, rolling onto his back as his chest rose and fell in heavy, ragged breaths.

Then, his stomach lurched.

He barely had time to turn his head before he vomited onto the rooftop, his body convulsing with the force of it. His entire stomach emptied itself, a mix of bile and adrenaline making his head spin.

The nausea was overwhelming, but as soon as the retching subsided, a deep satisfaction settled over him.

Every inch of his body ached—his legs burned, his arms felt like wet noodles, and his lungs were raw from the constant sprinting—but somehow, it felt amazing.

Because he was alive.

His breath slowed, his vision clearing as he lay there, staring at the night sky above him. A cool breeze brushed across his sweat-soaked skin, and for the first time since he started running, he really let himself feel it.

Relief crashed through him like a tidal wave, and before he knew it, he was laughing.

At first, it was soft, breathless chuckles, but then it spiraled into full-on, uncontrollable laughter.

"THAT WAS SO MUCH FUN!" he howled into the night, his voice echoing across the rooftop.

He laughed so hard that his ribs hurt, his vision swam, and for a brief moment, he thought he might actually pass out from lack of oxygen.

It was insane. He was insane.

He had just barely escaped death, outran a horde that should’ve ripped him apart, and here he was—laughing like a lunatic.

But fuck, that rush—that absolute, heart-pounding rush—was unlike anything he had ever felt before.

In his old life, he couldn’t run more than a few feet without collapsing.

This? This was new. This was freedom.

His laughter eventually died down, though a wide, giddy grin remained plastered on his face.

"Holy shit…" he breathed out, still chuckling. "That was the dumbest, best thing I’ve ever done."

His limbs twitched from the aftershocks of adrenaline, but he forced himself to sit up. The exhaustion was bone-deep, his muscles screaming in protest, but he knew better than to sit out here for too long.

The infected below were still there.

Even as the rush of his escape faded, he could still hear them, their moans and growls bouncing off the concrete jungle of the city.

James sighed, running a hand through his damp, sweat-matted hair, and forced himself to his feet. Shaky, but standing.

"Alright…" He muttered to himself. "Camp. Top floor. Bed. Now."

He glanced at the ladder he had left down, debating pulling it up—but he was too damn tired to care.

The infected were keeping other survivors away, anyway.

He trudged across the wooden plank leading back to his building, stepping into the darkened office space. The second he entered, he suddenly realized—

He still had his backpack on, and a fucking rifle strapped to his back.

James blinked.

"Huh." He patted the strap absently. "Probably should’ve dropped it."

Oh well. No harm, no foul.

James made his way toward the elevator shaft, already dreading the climb. His body felt like lead, every movement slower than it should have been.

Even as he reached for the first metal rung, his ears caught the faint echoes of infected below. The agitated snarls and guttural groans slithered up the shaft, reminding him just how close death still was.

With a groan, he began to climb, forcing himself to shut out the burning in his arms and legs.

It felt like an eternity, but eventually, after what had to be his millionth pull-up of the night, he dragged himself onto the top floor and collapsed onto the ground.

"Fuck…" he groaned, barely lifting his head. "I'm never going back to that hospital."

Before he could even think about resting, an ominous click echoed through the room.

James’ entire body froze.

A deep, steady voice followed.

"Drop the rifle and put your hands up."

James exhaled sharply through his nose, staring at the floor for a moment before slowly turning his head.

A gun was aimed directly at his face.

The man holding it was tall, well-built, and clearly experienced—probably mid-50s, with dark, greying hair and a thick beard. His expression was unreadable, but there was no hesitation in his stance.

And on his left wrist, James noticed—

A broken watch.

His stomach sank.

But what really cemented the situation was the figure standing in the corner, near his clothes and comic books.

A girl, maybe his age, with auburn hair and freckles dotting her face.

She stared at him, cautious but curious, a pistol held in her hands pointed in his direction.

James blinked.

Shit.

His eyes flicked back to the gun pointed at him, confusion overtaking him.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"