You snap out of it.

"Sorry, I'm coming," you say.

It would be a bad idea to split from two guys whose job is to kill those things.

With the mace tight in your right hand, essentials strapped on your back, guns and knife in holsters, you follow them.

You step into a tiny, dimly lit, and cluttered office. Papers are strewn on the desk, filing drawers open and unorganized. A photo sits amid the messy desk. Happy faces of a man, woman, and young girl shine out of the frame. Quinn presses his ear to a metal door on the opposite wall. The level of silence was like an empty battlefield. Solemn, but not peaceful.

At last he pulls away and says, "All's clear."

He turns the little lock and the door creaks open, spilling bright sunlight into the dusky room. In only a few paces into the alley, he stops and bends. The grinding sound of steel on concrete pierces the quiet as he drags a heavy lid from the ground.

The noise excites your nerves and they begin to tingle. Instinctively, your hand tightens on the mace. You're looking around and so is Lawrence - his crossbow at the ready and eyes sharp.

Quinn mimes orders to Lawrence. You haven't taken any sign language classes, nor been trained in military gestures - if it could be called such, but the signs are pretty clear. "You first."

Lawrence nods and descends down into the sewers.

Almost as if you're developing a sixth sense, you feel the undead coming before you actually see or hear them. Your skin is already crawling by the time Lawrence has disappeared from site and Quinn gives you the signal to follow. You scramble down after Lawrence just as you hear an approaching groan.

Quinn slips in after you, pulling the lid back over the opening noisily behind him. As the opening is sealed, the darkness consumes you all. By the time the undead reach the spot, there's no way for them to get in, but you stare at the darkness above where the manhole cover is anyway. After a few scrapes above, they easily give up.

"Good thing they're as dumb as they are ugly," you say, loosening up a bit.

Quinn and Lawrence readily agree. Lawrence even managed to scoff a chuckle.

There's a soft click, then a beam of light flares, giving the dank place a glow. Lawrence, in front, has slipped on a helmet and turned on a bright light at the center of it. Another click and Quinn also has one. The place probably hasn't seen this much light in years. You try not to focus on the smell of stagnated water, mold, and waste.

"Melee weapon at the ready," Quinn whispers to you.

It seems he's always giving orders. He must be used to it; maybe he's a higher rank than Lawrence, you think.

You hold the mace back like a hammer, waiting to swing, but it looks safe enough in the sewers. Nothing but concrete, water, and waste. Maybe some mold and rats. But not an undead in sight. Lawrence trudges ahead with his crossbow. Quinn walks backward with his bow, keeping an eye on the rear. You're in the middle, still holding the mace that has probably killed dozens, if not hundreds of people before. Now you'll possibly have to use it to kill. But they aren't people. Not living, breathing people with emotions. Not even people with loved ones or jobs, because the person they were died with them. They awoke as dead, unknowing. Uncaring.

"Smell that?" Lawrence grumbles ahead.

"Yeah," you whisper back. "We're in the sewer. The whole place smells like-"

"Not that. Shh..."

His steps are more careful now. Quinn faces the front as well now, and you both slow down to meet Lawrence's tempo. Out of the darkness, the sound starts to emerge. Squishy, soppy chewing. It reminds you of your little cousin eating sloppy joes, his mouth open and sloppy joe juice dripping down his chin. But your cousin isn't down here, and you know very well what that noise is. The thought makes you want to puke. Sure enough, Lawrence's light shines on the macabre sight. Hunched over, feasting on a severed leg, is an undead. Behind him, more are devouring a mangled torso. Their heads snap up.

You've backed away without realizing, because the steady firmness of Quinn keeps you from going any further.

Ptew.

Lawrence's first arrow lands its mark, right through the forehead of the closest undead. It crumbles. The remaining undead rise. Quinn sends an arrow next. It sails right by you, by Lawrence, and burrows into the temple of an undead. Arrows fly again, and you're completely useless because your weapon is designed for close combat. No way are you rushing in, though Lawrence advanced steadily.

Load, shoot, step. There was a clear path in a route to the right, you saw it in Quinn's light, but Lawrence passed it by.

Load, shoot, step.

Behind you, Quinn has turned. He's now shooting arrows back the way you just came, where some curious undead must have heard the commotion. They're grunting and splashing through the inch of water underfoot. The more he shoots down, the more comes, it seems.

"They're closing in," Quinn says. "Move out! Right fork."

"Hold on! Almost got 'em all," Lawrence calls back.

"I said to the right, soldier," Quinn says.

He throws the bow over his shoulder and pulls out his hatchets. All the while, you're both backing down toward the right fork. He smacks an undead with a hatchet and it lands in the disgusting water. You swing the mace and clip one on the head, knocking part of its forehead off. Another swing and it's down. You swing again, your adrenaline lending force to your blow. This time it thumps the undead on the side of the face. You keep hitting and before you know it, your back is against the wall.

You haven't turned down either path, and the undead are multiplying. It's definitely time to get out of there. You can already tell that the fellas are going to have to follow their separate paths, but which path do you slip into?

Go with your instinct.

Join Lawrence - SKIP TO CHAPTER 29

Join Quinn - SKIP TO CHAPTER 30