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With a sudden crackle of gunfire, your team attacks. Bloody ribbons fly from the first few zombies, and they flop to the ground and writhe in the fleeting end of animated life. More come, and the next barrage of bullets takes them down. Madison's rifle rings out, and the undead topple from precise holes in their foreheads.

As the first of the infected escapes the flurry of gunfire, you surge forward and slam the blade of the cavalry sword on the top of her head. Diseased brain spills from the wound, and red eyes flare and roll back. As she falls with the weapon still embedded, another zombie reaches the line, and in one swift motion, you yank out the blade and swing in an arc, cleaving his scalp. Infected after infected come, and each drops to the fury of your cavalry sword, until a pile of corpses lies at your feet.

"Who's going to kill more infected, Luth—you or Madison?" Jaime shouts as he targets a far-off zombie.

With the infected pouring across the field, your team fights on. They fight because there's no other way, orderless and primal like the creatures against them. Their uncoordinated attacks show lack of experience and discipline, and maybe a lack of unity they'll need to find if they hope to live in the new world. They battle physically and mentally exhausted, their faces showing the need for sleep, for food, for being in a calm and safe place. They can't fight with purpose if they have nothing left to give. How much more they will they have to endure before they're allowed to rest?

With the constant stream of zombies, you meet their aggression with your own, using your cavalry sword with abandon.

"Why am I wasting bullets when Luth is killing everything?" Reilly says with a boisterous laugh.

A cloud of gun smoke fogs the field, and corpses litter the surface as the rest of the undead step over the fallen, relentless in their hunt. You've thinned the herd, and only a few stragglers remain, shuffling towards your team of survivors.

"I'm out of ammo!" Reilly yells. Five lie dead to his shotgun, which he tosses to the ground before drawing a pistol.

Lopez lowers his rifle to his side and switches magazines. "Down to my last mag."

Woody and Lopez reload, but as the horde closes in, both of your fellow survivors hold their fire.

"Save your ammo!" you shout as the last few infected close in on your team. They fall like the rest of their horde.

Brody runs to his sister and lifts her in the air, laughing.

"Oh my gosh, what a rush!" Madison says. "Now put me down."

"It's amazin' we all lived. Not that I'm complainin', but least one of us should be zombie food right now," Woody says as he picks up a twig from the grass and chews on it in the corner of his mouth.

Reilly moves to his mother and loops his arm under hers. "We're safe now. You okay, ma? Need to sit down?"

Nora pushes her son away. "Knock it off. I'm fine. Jesus, you didn't pay me this much attention before the outbreak."

Reilly leans in and kisses her cheek.

"Hell, yeah," Lopez says and strides past you, pausing for a moment to pat your back. "Never had a doubt we'd kill them all."

The howls of the undead call from across the crash site, cutting your team's celebration short.

Looking over, you watch the highway team falling back to the caravan, followed by the horde.

"They need our help. Let's go," you say, and your team joins the other group.

Your team reaches the crash site to rejoin the rest of the survivors. As you make it to your van, you spot a black Bentley luxury car rolling along the road towards your group. Its tinted windows hide any passengers, but as it closes in on the impassable blockade, the driver's side window rolls down and a woman leans out.

"Need help?" she shouts as the motor cuts.

She has light, almost-white, inch-long hair, and waves her hand excitedly, like you're a long-lost relative. She leaps from the car, dragging a shotgun out.

"Hi. Name's Gina," the fair-haired woman says, walking towards you. "I heard gunfire from just a short stretch away and saw you fighting the dead. If you need a hand with