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thunder throughout the hallway.
    Abby turned and raced for the exit.
  The huge wall of windows that overlooked the
plaza was on her left. Through the glass
she could see undead staggering aimlessly in the lawn and on the pavement of
the street. They were drawn to the
noise, but could not locate the source.
    She reached the set of exit doors.
  With her hand on the crash bar she hesitated
momentarily, and then turned to check on the boy.
  He was just slinging his rifle over his
shoulder and turning her way. Directly
behind him were at least a dozen demented rushing down the atrium stairs.
  Many stumbled and fell to the carpeted floor
in their haste to catch him. This only
slowed them momentarily before they were back on their feet.
  No sooner had he moved out of the cavernous
doorway than infected began pouring out of the opening into the hall directly
behind him. The two groups of infected
coalesced into a single giant swarm.
    Abby raised her pistol, realized it was hopeless, and
instead just shouted, “Hurry!” She
turned, opened one of the exit doors, holding it wide for the boy to rush
through. Acrid smoke from a city on fire
burned her nostrils.
    She used the few seconds she had to survey her surroundings
and try to develop a plan. Pavement,
concrete, buildings, and infected. Lots
of infected. They were everywhere,
staggering in the open, standing in side streets, and pounding on building
doors. They owned the streets.
    The boy raced through the opening at full sprint.
  Abby let go over the door and ran beside him.
    “The river, we have to get to the river.”
  She shouted.
    “This way.”
  The kid said while pulling a pistol from a
holster strapped to his leg.
    What is this kid, the
military’s equivalent of Mensa? Instead
of Harvard at twelve it was Navy Seals at thirteen.
  Abby didn’t care.
  In fact it was just the opposite.
  He had saved her life and what better partner
could she hope to stumble upon. The
infected didn’t age discriminate and she wasn’t about to either.
    Even packing a massive rifle on his back, the kid was
incredibly fast. Abby stretched out her
stride, racing to keep up with him. Both
of them flew past undead, sometimes brushing within a couple feet of their
reaching arms. The risen dead were much
too slow to catch them and the time required to put a bullet in them would only
be a waste. The pounding of feet just
yards behind them was a constant reminder that to slow was death.

Chapter 5:
Destruction
    Abby could see the dark water of the river just ahead.
  A stiff breeze whipped up white caps and blew
swirling smoke between the towering downtown buildings.
  Scattered along the river’s banks were
infected, unwilling to enter the water.
The large pier had some milling about at the entrance and a half dozen
walking its wooden planks.
    “Boats.
  We need a boat.”
  The kid said between labored breaths.
    Abby was in the best shape of her life and this mad sprint
was taking its toll. Her lungs were on
fire and her legs stung with lactic acid.
A quick glance back proved her worst fears true.
  There were dozens of demented racing directly
behind them, the gap of twenty feet remained as it was when they were chased
out of the convention center. Every
street they passed the ranks swelled with others, drawn to the chaos.
  The sounds this massive horde produced were
absolutely terrifying. Bone chilling
growls and shrieks swept out ahead of them, pushing them like wind on a sail.
    The group of infected directly in front of the pier entrance
noticed the surge of activity and turned in response.
  Their reaction was immediate.
  Four of them began sprinting directly toward
Abby and the kid, one of them began huffing into the sky, and a half dozen
others began slowly staggering their way.
Infected on the dock system heard the call and began rushing across the
wooden planks.
    Panic nearly overtook Abby.
She began to slow, unsure how they could get past so