Northern Outskirts of the Luxebridge City
It had been almost a week since Ronan and the others escaped from the hotel. The group continued moving until the buildings thinned out, and the city's outskirts stretched before them along a long, empty road that seemed to lead nowhere.
Ronan stood for a brief moment. His face knitted in pain, the van had run out of petrol and they had to walk under the scorching sun.
His chest rose and fell more noticeably than usual, and his breathing was heavier.
His body screamed in protest; for days, he couldn't remember when he last ate properly. They had tried scavenging the mall, but the number of infected was so much, that they had to abandon those thoughts.
The road ahead was long, almost endless, cracked in places, and littered with abandoned cars and bikes, and though no one said it out loud, the unease in the air was obvious in the way they walked.
No one knew when an infected might discover them and decide to make them lunch.
