"Uphill," Abby confirms, scanning through squinted eyes, her heartbeat in her ears. That's when she hears it. The telltale click-scream of something much, much worse headed their way, no doubt drawn to them by the sounds of fighting and confusion.
"MOVE," she shouts again, her voice breaking across the word, "Fucking GO, we'll figure it out!"
They'll learn in time: you can't plan for the apocalypse. Half of survival boils down to luck. You boost your chances by having good reflexes, knowing the land, finding supplies. Abby knows this place. She's been here before. They're in WLF territory, close enough to the city center that a large parking garage will be their best bet, she thinks there might be one around here--
The clicker is round the corner at the bottom of the street, dragging a leg. Windmilling its arms, screaming at the top of its lungs. The sound will draw more of them until they're swarmed.
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"MOVE," she shouts again, her voice breaking across the word, "Fucking GO, we'll figure it out!"
They'll learn in time: you can't plan for the apocalypse. Half of survival boils down to luck. You boost your chances by having good reflexes, knowing the land, finding supplies. Abby knows this place. She's been here before. They're in WLF territory, close enough to the city center that a large parking garage will be their best bet, she thinks there might be one around here--
The clicker is round the corner at the bottom of the street, dragging a leg. Windmilling its arms, screaming at the top of its lungs. The sound will draw more of them until they're swarmed.