I don’t look back. But I don’t need to do that to know I’m being pursued.
Thundering footsteps echo in my ears. They’re closing in—fast.
I just ran God-only-knows-how-many miles barefoot through the desert to even get here. The soles of my feet are raw and bleeding. There’s no way I can outrun these masked monsters for much longer.
“f*****g grab her!” yells a man with a voice like a chainsaw. A sickly spice cloaks the air as I dart past a room filled with more naked, gyrating patrons.
I turn my head back in the direction I’m running just in time to avoid colliding into a server girl holding a tray of beverages. She’s wearing a tiny black triangle of cloth over her breasts and private parts. It doesn’t cover much. I suppose that’s probably the point.
“Hey!” she hisses. “Watch it, zombi
