May 4, 2013
She's exhausted. She can barely catch her breath and whenever she does, the dead air scratches at her throat and distracts her from running. She can't work out just how long she's been running for -- her legs throb but the adrenaline is pulsing so hard throughout her petite form that she barely even notices it.
That is, until, she realises she's managed to corner herself. There's the press of brick against her back and the dead are closing in. Somewhere along the way she's lost the small blade she was wielding, and even if she'd still had it, it wouldn't be much use on this many of them.
Her voice is hoarse, but audible, and it echoes and reaches over the stretch of streets when she calls out for help.