By some sheer miracle, it turned out that I’d been wandering in the right direction and, before long, managed to stumble across a road that led to a white sign which read ‘Voltown’ in large, welcoming letters with a little smiling man made of electricity leaning against the ‘V’.

While I was glad to have found the town, it quickly became apparent that I’d won a small victory that was swiftly met by a gut-dropping realization.

They were everywhere, shuffling around and sniffing the air just out of view as I entered the town.

With the stealth of a ninja ghost, I slunk my way over to the three-storey police station that sat on the edge of town, all the while rationalizing that I was at least lucky to have an answer as to where all the zombies had ended up.

The doors to the police station were closed as I reached them, and while some part of me wanted to be optimistic and assume that no one had taken shelter, I still had this sort of ball in my stomach telling me that as soon as I entered the building I’d be catching a fire axe to the face.

On the other hand, staying outside meant that I’d probably end up being gruesomely disemboweled by the creatures in the fog, and, next to that, an axe to the face didn’t seem all that bad.

Still though, I couldn’t help but jump a bit as I slipped inside and pushed the wooden door shut, the lack of a threat apparently being just as startling as finding someone on the other side.

For a long while I waited there, my hands against the door, expecting to meet a surprising end at any moment, but that never came, and I eventually accepted that I was safe for the time being.

The police station was pretty generic, stairs through a door to my right, a reception area in front of me, and a bench below a noticeboard to my left, and it was abundantly clear that no one had cleared it out.

There was no dirt on the floor, no half-opened drawers, and as I made my to the top of the stairs I discovered that the entire bullpen was completely untouched.

Granted, it was a pretty small space consisting of only a few desks and a two-person holding cell, but still, something seemed off about the whole thing.

I forced myself to stop thinking about that though, chalking it up to a paranoia that was definitely going to get me killed if I wasted too much time focusing on it, and instead turned my attention to looting the office-like space, pulling out every drawer and peeking under every desk in the hopes of at least finding some ammo.

My luck had apparently run dry though, and short of a few relatively useless shotgun shells, there wasn’t a single thing on that second floor that I could use.

“Do you think they’re gone?” a familiar voice whispered from somewhere above me, causing me to swivel my head so quickly that I pulled something in my neck, “Cara, do you think they’re gone?”

“They frickin’ won’t be if you don’t shut your mouth.” Cara hissed at Stan, clearly completely oblivious to the fact that, through some kind of sound bug, I could hear everything they were saying.

At first I was happy, my friends had escaped the hospital, and, by some random serendipity, managed to run into each other again, but then I started thinking about the implication of that.

How did they get to the police station before me? And why didn’t they at least try to get some sort of message to me before bolting?

I was stuck contemplating those questions for a few seconds before Stan let out a deep breath he’d been holding, “Okay, I think it’s fair to assume that they’re gone. Now, c’mon, I need help with my leg.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you decided to fireman you’re way down that bungie,” Cara snapped back with the same level of disappointment I’d expect her to give a silly child, “seriously, that was just a supremely stupid thing to do.”

“What choice did I have?” Stan pleaded as I took a seat on one of the desks and decided that it’d be for the best just to listen in for a while, “I mean, they were everywhere.”

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“And I’m sure Finn would’ve handled it.”

“Pfft, sure, because Finn’s Rambo,” Stan replied sarcastically, “I love the guy, don’t get me wrong, but he’s also a bit…”

“A bit what?” Cara scolded, “A bit heroic? A bit selfless? The guy didn’t have to what he did, and it’d be great if you’d show him some frickin’ respect.”

“Hey, I respect him plenty,” Stan retorted defensively, “I just know that he has limits, just like everyone else.”

“And your response to those limitations was to abandon him? Let the zombies rush him and just sell out your friend? You do know that this game is pretty serious, right? It’s really important to a lot of people.”

“Why should I hold myself back though?” Stan asked, apparently forgetting all the times I’d saved his ass, “Again, he’s great, but stickin’ around on that rooftop was just gonna end with us stuck on the roof after seeing his name pop up in the dead player list.”

“It still hasn’t.” Cara replied coldly, “There, you’re leg’s fixed. Can we get a move on now?”

“Gimme a minute to at least make sure it isn’t going to buckle the second I stand up, alright?” Stan practically growled past a heave of pain, “Besides, it’s not like we can go out there right now anyway. Zombies are all over the place.”

“And who do we have to blame for that, hmm?” Cara accused, her grin coming through in her words as she got to pick on Stan.

“Again, not my fault that I broke my leg.”

“Well it is your fault that I had to heave your sorry ass all the way here from the hospital, which gave the dead enough time to catch our scent.”

I think that’s right about the time that I decided I was done eavesdropping and started toward the stairwell beside the holding cell.

Honestly, despite the fact that I’d basically just gotten confirmation that one of my few friends in the world was completely happy to just leave me to die, I still felt bad about listening in on a conversation that I wasn’t supposed to be privy to, like I’d done something wrong by hearing him.

“Stan?” I called up the stairs as I started to go up, “Stan, is that you?”

There were a solid few seconds of silence, buying me enough time get up onto the top floor which was basically just one big filing cabinet, before Stan finally decided to respond, “Hey! You made it!”

I didn’t like the fact that he sounded so excited to see me, nor the fact that he could so easily pull a fake smile that would’ve fooled me if I hadn’t overheard his conversation.

“Yeah, things got pretty dicey back there,” I said as I walked past the lines of grey cabinets toward Cara and Stan who were standing against the far wall, “figured you guys must’ve run into a bit of trouble.”

“More like jumped.” Cara replied before Stan could, earning her a sharp look from him, “Well, I’m glad you’re safe. How’re things looking out there?”

“Zombies.” I sighed after coming to a stop a few feet from the two, “Lots and lots of zombies, at least a good hundred if I had to hazard a guess. And fog. Can’t forget about the fog…”

“Great.” Cara breathed disappointedly, “Here I thought we’d done such a good job getting away, but instead we’re just trapped in a slightly better situation.”

“Worse if you take into account the fact that players are going to have a really easy time if they have a grenade or something.” Stan said, his eyes darting between me and the stairwell as he did so, “I mean, how the Hell are we supposed to get out of here if things end up going sideways?”

“Window.” I said matter-of-factly, “We’ll probably break a leg or something, but it’s better than the alternative.”

Neither Cara nor Stan appeared to like that idea, but seeing as they didn’t have another option they stayed quiet.

We all stayed quiet actually, staring between each other and the floor as we tried to either come up with something better or, at the very least, less painful.

And then, after about a minute, Cara’s face lit up with realization, “Guys, the sewers.”

I replied with a confused look before figuring out her meaning after a few seconds, “Oh… Oh, oh no. Screw that.”

“It’s better than breaking our legs.” Cara reasoned.

“What are you two tal-” Stan started then stopped as he finally caught up, “Oh, no way. Sewers are a frickin’ deathtrap, even without zombies.”

I hated the sewers, with good reason too, but Cara was right, our best hope was to go through the police station’s basement and sneak out of the town unnoticed.

Hopefully unnoticed.

Probably noticed.

In case it wasn’t already obvious, I didn’t have high hopes.

Cara didn’t have that problem though, and before Stan or I could protest, she was leading the way toward the stairs, “Let’s go, I’m done sittin’ around.”

“So we’re doin’ this?” Stan asked with a groan as we got to our feet, “No vote or anything?”

“This ain’t a democracy,” Cara replied somewhat coldly, “and I’m not gonna let you make any more unilateral decisions.”

I went to ask about her meaning behind that, play the dumb card and pretend that I was completely oblivious to the decision she was referring to, but decided against it when I realized it was probably for the best if Stan went on thinking that I had no idea about his quasi-betrayal.

Ah, it truly was an uncomfortable moment.

We forced our way past it though, and before long we were all moving through the police station, taking our time to ensure that we weren’t about to run into a rogue player or zombie wanderer.

The name of the game was ‘survival’, and there was no sense in risking any more than we had to before reaching the sewer.

That and I really didn’t want to go down there.