Death Throws

Running headlong through the alleys, Victor knew he was breaking all the rules of survival. He was too visible. Every footfall a thunderclap in the silent city.

Passing through the man-made labyrinth at this speed, it would only take his luck to give out on one turn and it would be over. Still he ran.

He could only hear his pounding heart and feel the burning of his lungs. Better than the alternative. All that lay behind Victor was the pain at seeing his family torn to shreds. All there was to hear, the moaning of the zombie mob.

Suddenly, the maze ended and he burst out onto a main street. The daylight blinding him momentarily, he stopped to catch his breath. It was a textbook mistake - from a nearby doorway the zombie lurched, seeking to tangle him in its limbs and inflict the killing bite.

The exhaling groan as it moved was enough. He was spinning even as he stepped away and the shot rang out along the street. Victor didn't need to confirm his kill. You shoot them in the head or you don't shoot at all. His attention was drawn instead to the flood of rotting flesh pouring from the buildings around him.

Cursing himself for a fool he took off once more. Too many to try the alleys now. Everything in half a mile would be converging on him. He had one option and that was straight up the main thoroughfare. Plenty of space to weave between his slow but deadly predators.

Every car he passed, he checked for keys as best he could. To stop at anything that wasn't a sure thing was a slow death, trapped by the heaving masses of zombies until they broke in and devoured him. His lungs, on fire now, begged for a rest he couldn't offer.

Seeing the bridge in the distance, he set that as his target. Just that far, then I can rest for a moment. The lie offered little comfort, but somehow he found the strength to go on.

Cutting through the boulevard he began the painful run to the top. If he could find a car here, the other side may be clear and he could make good his escape. A small pained voice in the back of his mind asked if it was really worth it, though, without them.

Passing cars filled with corpses, some of them moving, Victor began to feel despair as he reached the crest of the bridge. I can keep running, he told himself, Keep surviving. He had always, after all, been good at that. Cresting the bridge, however, brought no salvation - the gunshot had carried even across the river. Waiting below him were the shambling rotting remnants of the city's inhabitants, shuffling towards him with grim single-mindedness.

Breathe, he told himself. Take a moment, catch your breath. Relax. You can do this. Taking three powerful steps, he leapt from the bridge into the river below.