Lila wandered through the streets like a ghost.
Around her, the borough was dying.
Not metaphorically. Not slowly.
Dying.
Gunshots cracked somewhere in the distance.
People screamed.
Some screamed in terror.
Others screamed in delight.
The infected had spread farther than anyone could have imagined.
Entire blocks had become slaughterhouses.
A woman was dragged into an alley by three infected men, their laughter echoing off the buildings. A soldier fired wildly into a crowd after mistaking a civilian for one of the infected. Somewhere farther down the street, flames licked up the side of a storefront while terrified people scattered into the night.
Lila paid none of it any attention.
She walked through the chaos as though it belonged to someone else.
As though she were merely passing through.
An observer.
A spectator.
The infected surrounding her seemed to recognize something in her. They never bothered her. Never approached her. Never even looked her way for long.
