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You follow the group of vehicles away from the fire and the horde, with only a single, quick glance at your house for likely the last time. With a thunderous clap, part of the burning roof collapses and pushes out a section of the front wall which crashes onto a few infected. A plume of smoke hides the undead from sight, and moments later, they step through the gray ash like battlefield wounded: plodding, moaning, swaying.

The road turns ahead, and your caravan extends single-file with no real destination in mind. Nightfall has been lost. The outbreak is over, and in its wake is apocalypse. You have escaped for now, left the life you've led behind, and can only look forward to finding a new safe haven, a new place to call home. Your exodus from the zombies has begun.