You’ve run as fast as your beaten body will take you, and you thought the way would be as clear as your decision.
You want to survive. You must make it to Morgan, and this bridge was a sure way to the library. But as you start to journey across the bridge, there’s a block. Not a barrier, but a zombie block. Hundreds of them, staggering around the bridge.
You heart is pumping, your adrenalin flowing. You decided only minutes ago you wanted to survive. So how will you cross this bridge, with all these flesh-eating crazies?
The steel of the street sign feels cold in your hands, but your ankle still throbs from the scratch. You look down. It’s a nasty colour. You read about superhuman strength in zombies in “World War Z”. Is that what you’ve become now? Has Mary’s scratch infected you? But she didn’t show any signs of infection, not that you can recall. You can’t think about it now. You need all your strength to face this hoard.
Moans and groans emanate around you. The zombies don’t know you’re this close to them.
You’ll take them by surprise, you think. It’s kill or be killed. And you don’t want to be dead like them.
You lift the street sign, swing it above your head as you take aim at one lone walker. The pole connects with his head, and blood oozes out. He falls limp to the ground.
That wasn’t so hard. You barely expended a single bead of sweat, and your adrenalin is so pumped, you probably could go the next hundred crazies.
Why not? you think. You can only die trying.