Atlanta had fallen.
And we had run, the dead stumbling after us, swarms of them.

One or two were manageable, but they didn’t move alone anymore, not in such a densely populated place. They moved in packs, hungrier than anything had ever been.

They tore people apart with their rotting teeth, their decomposing hands.

I’d watched too many suffer that fate.

I would do anything not to become one of them.

Even blatantly lie to the man with a gun in my face.