I backed up until I felt the edge of the off-ramp. A crowd of deadheads lumbered closer. Behind them, I saw a pack turn towards Chad’s Corolla. I raised the pistol, steadied my shoulder and pulled the trigger, just like Chad’d explained.

The shot filled my ears, replacing the incessant mumbles with a clear silence.

A nurse zombie dropped to the ground as I’d blown one of her knees clear off. She scrabbled along the bloody asphalt only a few yards away. The zombies in back heard the shot – they now staggered towards me.

I holstered the gun and leaped off the ramp. My plan had worked – the zombies that had been down here were now chasing the gunshot up the ramp. I had a clear line to the station.

I ran desperately and reached the pumps. I spotted one last canister. I snatched it up mid-stride and grabbed a nozzle.

“Hold on!” a woman’s voice barked.

I froze, and turned to see her – a bloodied barista with a rifle trained on my heart. It’d be laughable if it wasn’t so desperate.

Chad…