Snippet #2450697

Savannah cried out as the man grabbed her hand and began running; she'd barely had time to catch her breath, let alone find her grounding, so he was more or less dragging her along. They came upon an alleyway and he shoved her towards a dumpster.

"Get up there. NOW!" He shouted, and she was more than eager to comply as she turned to see the hoard of zombies right on their heels.

Shoving her precious ax into her pack, she pushed herself up onto the dumpster, then onto a fire escape beside it. Her breath was heavy and she felt lightheaded, but she crawled into the corner of the fire escape and tried hopelessly to catch her breath as she stared down at the hoard, now containing at least a dozen zombies. At the sight, Vannah stood and threw up over the edge of the railing.

"What a way to sober up," she mumbled, remembering the cheap bottle of wine she had snatched at a grocery store several days before. She'd waited to open it until this morning, and even now, with murky thoughts and delayed reaction time, she did not regret it. She was allowed to mourn, even if that meant risking her life to do so. Savannah felt bad for risking the life of her savior, but she had not asked for help, he had offered it.