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Through the woods you trek, your mind conjuring thoughts of where to go from here, what path will lead you away from Zombie Exodus, away from civilization, safer from the world it has become. The howls of the living dead grow distant the further into the woods you travel. Light from above is all but blocked by the dense forest canopy. You walk in quiet, both in contemplation of your journey ahead, and to avoid any notice from zombies. Deeper into the woods, animals scurry and crickets chirp, the heat lifts, and humidity fades. With each step, the air grows crisper, the trees more lush and green. A hawk screeches off to your right, low-pitched and echoing, heralding the coming of autumn, trumpeting the vastness of his kingdom.

The forest breaks at an abrupt line, and you stand paces from the edge of a cliff face carved into the side of a low mountain. A jagged wind slaps your face as you stare at the sky, purple satin blotted with gray clouds. You step closer to the edge of the ridge as it inclines to a stone point, as gray as burnt charcoal. Below the ledge, tree saplings poke up from rich soil tracing the contoured edge of the river. In the vast waters, a fishing boat bobs in the high waves, too distant to see any details, but idling toward the coastline. Along the coast, you stare at a strange sight, a machine of some kind covered in a long, black tarp. Metal blades poke from the covering, resembling rotors of a helicopter. Past the beach, the mass of zombies flows across the land, slow and deliberate as they trod along the Cathedral grounds, diffuses into the Old Pine Woods, and storms with perpetual hunger through any barrier in their way. Staring across the great mass of living dead, you spot a break in the horde, an end to the multitude of undead, the last of the exodus