We didn't stop running until the screams were nothing but echoes in the distance and the fires were no longer scorching the air around us. My legs were jelly, and every breath felt like I was inhaling shards of glass. The woman—her name was Sarah, I found out later—dragged me into the shell of an old building. Half the roof was gone, and the walls looked like they might crumble if you sneezed too hard, but it was quiet.
For now.
The kid in her arms had gone limp, not dead—thank God—but passed out, probably from sheer exhaustion. Sarah set him down gently on a patch of dusty floor and immediately crouched beside me.
"You okay?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
I wanted to laugh at the question. Was I okay? My entire world had flipped upside down in a matter of hours. I was almost sacrificed by a psycho pastor, barely escaped a horde of zombies, and now bombs were raining from the sky like it was the Fourth of July. But sure, I was fine.
