The first zombie appeared from the darkness like a grotesque shadow, its face a hideous mask of decay, eyes dull and lifeless, its movements slow but inevitable. Harley barely had time to register it before another shuffled into view, and then another. A total of three of them, their ragged clothes clinging to their decomposing bodies as they moved closer.
Harley gripped the crowbar tighter, the cold metal now feeling heavier in his hand, but he wasn't about to back down. He had no choice. The idea of just hiding and waiting for them to pass was no longer an option. They weren't just outside anymore; they were inside. And they were getting closer.
"Shit," he muttered under his breath, glancing over at the woman, who was now holding the injured man as best as she could. His eyes were closed, but his shallow breathing was a reminder that time was running out for him.
"We need to move, now," Harley said, his voice low but firm. "Get him up. Help him walk if you can. We don't have much time."
The woman looked at him, her face a mixture of fear and resolve. She nodded, gritting her teeth as she pulled the injured man to his feet. He groaned in pain but didn't protest. Harley knew the situation was dire, but there was nothing they could do for him here. Their only chance was to move before the zombies closed in.
Harley motioned for them to follow him, keeping his eyes fixed on the undead creatures advancing slowly but steadily. They weren't quick, but that didn't mean they couldn't catch them off guard. They had to stay ahead, keep the distance between them and the zombies as long as possible.
They slipped through the aisles, the flickering fluorescent lights above casting eerie shadows along the walls. Harley's heart pounded in his chest, the adrenaline pushing him forward. The pharmacy was small, but it felt like a maze now, every corner a potential deathtrap.
The groans of the zombies behind them grew louder, and Harley's mind raced for an escape plan. The back door was locked, but it had a window. It wasn't much, but it was something. They just needed to get to it, and fast.
Harley motioned toward the rear of the store. "That window—it's our best shot."
The woman nodded, though there was fear in her eyes. The injured man wasn't doing well. His face was pale, and his steps were shaky, but they kept moving. The woman helped him along, her determination stronger than her fear. For now.
They reached the back corner, and Harley wasted no time. He grabbed a metal shelf and tipped it over, the loud crash echoing through the store. He cursed under his breath—the noise would attract more attention, but it was too late now. There was no turning back.
Harley reached the window and immediately began working at the old latch, trying to pry it open. The window was small, and the frame was rusted, but he was strong. His fingers ached as he yanked the latch, and with a final push, the window creaked open, letting in the cool night air.
"Help me with him," Harley ordered. He wasn't sure if the man would make it through the window, but there was no other option.
The woman nodded again, her face tight with stress. She helped lift the injured man, his limp body making the task harder. Harley grabbed the man's shoulders and hoisted him up, using every ounce of strength he had left.
It felt like it took forever, but they managed. The woman helped the injured man through the window, and Harley followed quickly behind, his crowbar still in hand. The moment his feet hit the ground outside, he looked around, his eyes scanning the street for any sign of danger.
The alley was still eerily quiet, the only sound the distant groans of the zombies inside. For a moment, it felt like they had escaped. But Harley knew better. This wasn't over. It never was.
They had barely taken a few steps down the alley when the sound of shuffling feet reached their ears, followed by a growl. Harley spun around, his eyes locking on the source of the noise. Another zombie. And then another. The streets were crawling with them, and they hadn't even seen half of what was out there.
"Run!" Harley shouted, his voice urgent as he grabbed the woman's arm. "We need to get to the main street. Now!"
The woman didn't hesitate. She pushed the injured man forward, her face set with a grim determination. They ran, stumbling through the narrow alley, their footsteps loud against the pavement. Harley kept looking back, making sure they weren't being followed.
A distant scream echoed through the night, followed by more groaning. The world was falling apart, and there was no denying it. They were all just trying to survive, one step at a time.
They reached the corner of the alley and turned onto the main street. It was more crowded here, but not with people. The street was lined with abandoned cars, many of them overturned or with shattered windows. Harley's heart sank as he realized that the people who had once walked these streets were now part of the problem.
The woman's grip tightened on the injured man's arm, urging him to keep moving. Harley could see the fatigue in both of them—the woman from the constant pressure of supporting the injured man, and the man himself, who was fading fast.
A loud crash interrupted his thoughts. A group of zombies, drawn by the noise, appeared at the far end of the street, their movements jerky and unnatural as they shuffled forward.
"We're surrounded," Harley said, his voice cold as he turned to face the oncoming horde. He could feel his heart racing in his chest. They had no choice but to fight. Running wasn't an option anymore.
"We have to hold them off," he said, as he gripped the crowbar, ready for the inevitable. The woman nodded, pulling out a shard of glass she had found somewhere along the way.
Harley took a deep breath and turned back to face the street ahead. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. This was it.
They had to survive.