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I waited a long time. The shots started to fade. Several times, I caught myself on the verge of dozing off. The last time, I twitched and knew I had to try, now or never. I opened my eyes and observed Drav for several minutes. He had closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. He seemed asleep.
Taking my time, I got to my feet. If he caught me again, I’d say I had to pee. However, this time, he didn’t move.
Carefully, I made my way down the hallway and to the front door. I looked through the window, scanning the street, then slipped outside.
My nerves stretched tight as I sprinted to the first bit of cover. Alert for infected, hellhounds, and, possibly, a killer shadow man, I bolted for the next bit of cover. Sprint by sprint, I made my way south-west, further into the city. Tracking the shooters wasn’t hard. They’d left a trail of dead infected bodies. However, the gun shots attracted more infected to the area, too.
A few times, I thought one spotted me. However, the infected never ran after me like they had on the road. The more I saw, the more I began seeing patterns. They shambled fairly directionless until they heard something. Then they ran toward the sound, but their speed only lasted for short bursts. So, if one heard me, I would need to quietly out distance it to avoid attracting more.
The gun fire grew louder around lunch, and I spotted the shooter. He stood by his truck, which idled at an intersection. The gun in his hands remained aimed down the road to the left. Knowing better than to call out, I waved my arms in the air to get his attention.
“There’s a live one out there,” I heard someone else call. “Ten o’clock.”
Every infected between me and the shooter dropped, one right after another, gunned down before the man by the truck turned toward me. Movement near a chimney to the right drew my attention, and I looked up at a man dressed in brown and black. Blonde hair stuck out from his black beanie.
“I’ve got you,” he called. “Get to the truck.”
I didn’t need to be told twice.
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