8
The bulk of people are behind us, absolutely no room to flee. With no choice, I bolt towards the army of Necs, aiming for a small gap to the left. I glance back and see Ginge and the others still following. One of the Necs—a huge chunk of his face missing—has someone pinned to the floor. I whiz past him, nearly tripping over the feet of a dead woman. My brain doesn’t fully register the devastation all around me; it’s too shocking to absorb. All I can do is run and pray to God that there’s another way out, maybe through an open turnstile.
The concourse starts to curve around as we come up to another set of steps, which lead up the stand. I contemplate trying my luck back out there; maybe the pitch entrance gates are still open. But then we’re met with more people, scrambling to get the
