CHAPTER THREE
A FLARE FOR THE DRAMATIC
Down the stairs we walked, slowly, heads turning from left to right, eyes scanning for any errant zombies, but like Max had said, it was the middle of the day; most likely everyone was trapped at work or wandering the streets.
We made it to the building’s entrance and stared outside. “Coast seems clear,” I hazarded. There were a few zombies walking in the opposite direction and a slew locked in their cars, pawing at the glass, unable to reason their way out, which was equal parts heartbreaking and relief, though mostly the latter, so out we went.
The street was silent, deathly still, not a car in motion or a pigeon pecking or a soaring plane to be heard, nothing but the sound of our breathing and the distant groan of a zombie or two. Plus, the sun
