Alicia ran to catch up with Tom.

“Where are we going?” she asked, panting. “The Fletcher’s that way.”

“Change of plans” he replied. “As I was running after you, I saw this big pit filled with Pox beasts. I’m not going back there. You can if you want to though.”

“No,” said Alicia, grabbing his hand. He looked down at her, confused, but didn’t pull away. “it’s just…”

She paused.

“What?” asked Tom.

She frowned. “What’s that?”

Tom looked at her. “Out here, nothing good.”

Several dark specks stood out from the dunes a few kilometers ahead of them. The specks were moving fast, like they had a purpose.

“It’s not Khads or Olsgombi,” said Tom, squinting in the hot sun. “Could be Chokers, maybe?”

Alicia shook her head. “They look too dark. I think they’re hunting someone.”

And who that someone was became very clear as several lurching shapes crawled, stumbled, and ran over the next dune.

“Zombies” hissed Tom, and Alicia’s stomach went up into her mouth.

Corpses, more commonly know as zombies, were people who had been struck down with Corpse Syndrome. One of them staggered closer to Tom and Alicia as a horrible moan emanated from between old black fangs. It’s skin was a shade of dark green, it’s eyes were dull like a dead man’s, and mush dribbled out from gaping holes in the things’ rotting joints. It reached dark red fingernails towards the general direction of their heads and slashed half-heartedly.

Just as the claws were about to meet Tom’s chest, a loud burst of gunfire came from over the dune, and five men dressed in black ran over to them. The zombie was dead, blood soaking the sand. The guns pointed menacingly at Tom and Alicia’s chest, making it clear who their next target was.