You've had it. Setting around here like a big juicy human-steak isn't going to get anything done. He wouldn't leave you alone like this for no reason. Either he's dead or he's just not coming back. It's a gut wrenching feeling to realize you're alone in this once again, but there isn't time to feel bad about it. You're only risking your skin by waiting.

You check your ammo and make sure your guns are loaded. Debris of a war with the undead litters the street outside. They're still out there, shuffling around. Sunshine beats down on them, making their stink even stronger, but also blinding them. That's one good thing about the situation. As you start to head out, you spot a scarf hanging on a hook with some coats next to the door. You wrap it around your nose and mouth. Their foul odor won't be able to seep through all that fabric. Make that two good things about the situation.

The door creaks open. To your relief, they don't all come barreling toward you right away. They don't even turn your way. The undead seem as oblivious to you as can be. Maybe--if you're very quiet and slow--they won't even notice you. You step as quietly as possible, the way you used to sneak into the kitchen at night for snacks while trying not to wake your mother. Let's face it, both that scenario and this situation are of the life or death type.

All the short hairs on your body feel like they're dancing on end. You can hear your heart pounding in your ears.

Walking along, focusing so intently on being quiet on your feet, you don't even notice the undead that notices you. He's a nasty one. Half burned, his hair is singed off on one side, and the other side is a sooty mess. His clothes are tattered and burned, his skin bloody and scorched. If you hadn't worn the scarf, you might be able to smell the distinct smell the fire left on him as he stands right behind you. Darn scarf. Guess it wasn't such a good thing after all.

The undead groans excitedly and finally gets your attention. Your breath catches and you spin around, pulling your knife out of the sheath attached to your thigh. You stab it right under its chin. The blade sinks right in and penetrates the things brain. It goes limp, causing you to have to kick it backward as you pull the knife out. You're shaking with shock. It had scared the day lights out of you.

You take a deep breath trying to calm yourself, but then your focus widens. Instead of being locked onto the immediate danger that you just stifled, you're now taking in other dangers...and there are many. The incident has drawn attention. Several undead notice you. They're heading your way. More are mindlessly falling in suit, not knowing where they're going exactly, but knowing from the others excitement that someone has spotted food.

You can't fight them all off. You have to run.

Stumbling and panicking, you're checking any possible escape route. All the doors you try are locked. Windows are shut. They're right on your heels. All hope seems to be lost. . . .

Then you spot it. A fire escape ladder hanging down from a building. You jump and grab at it. The cold metal in your hand is a welcome feeling. It means safety. You pull yourself up, and something tries to pull you down by your leg. One of the things has your foot and ankle in its rotting grasp. You're slipping. You pull yourself hard, kicking with your other foot...and break free. You climb the ladder fast, not slowing down even as the top comes to view.

Soon, you're laying on the roof with the undead left at the bottom, growling and snarling after you. Heavy breaths fill and then escape your lungs. It takes a moment for you to notice the stinging. You quickly check your ankle and see it. A bite mark. You start to laugh...and then cry. It's over.