Run. Left. Right. Turn your head. Look for an exit. Breath. In through your nose, out through your mouth. I know I have to turn my head to look, but I can’t. These kids I grew up with, now I’m the only survivor in our high school. Maybe in this world. I can hear him behind me. He’s turned. We survived eight days together, but it wasn’t enough. He told me to stay calm, but I can feel my pulse quickening. I turn back to see his bloodshot eyes staring back at me, a tiger running to its prey.