Gunfire, smoke, and the tang of blood in the air—everything is chaos. My heart is still beating fast from the last shot… from the moment Kyle slumped over; eyes wide and a gaping wound where his chest used to be.
We don't have time to grieve.
Not when we're trapped on the rooftop of a crumbling parking garage, surrounded by the undead, with no way out.
The scavengers who ambushed us? Gone. Those bastards ran the second things got out of control, leaving us to deal with the aftermath—the groaning, snarling tide of corpses surging up the ramp and clawing their way toward us.
A breeze carries the stink of rot and cordite through the open-air rooftop. I swear, I can almost smell Kyle's blood from here. It pools beneath him, soaking into the cracks of the concrete, spreading out in a dark stain.
Thankfully, no black worm has crawled into him before he dies. Hence, he died a human.
The rooftops aren't safe.
Nothing is safe.