Ten years later.

Brennan Cobb raced down the street of the decimated city, the pounding of his heavy boots kicking out clouds of dirt and dust.

The buildings around him had been ravaged, either by the defenders before the city was lost, during the chaos when it fell, or when scavengers picked it clean. Not a single window had been left intact, and the steel and concrete of the structures showed bullet hits and scorch marks, silent testimony to the violence that had taken place here.

Brennan was no stranger to violence. His torn shirt and the scar he carried on his right cheek were evidence to his own close encounters over the last few years. He slid across the bent hood of a burned out police car and took cover in a doorway of what had once been a jewelry store.

He took down his rifle from his shoulder and checked it, lifting up and pulling back the bolt. It was out of ammunition, but when Brennan slammed the bolt back in place, he noticed the barrel had been bent slightly. It had probably happened when the fire escape collapsed out from under him this morning.

Zombies had shuffled into the apartment building where he'd been taking refuge. He'd attempted to thin them out, but there were too many. Trying to leave via the fire escape had been disastrous. If he'd been any higher than the second floor, he doubted the rifle would've been the only thing broken.

Dumping the ruined gun to the ground, Brennan tried to catch his breath while taking an inventory of his available supplies. His backpack was nearly empty. His first aid kit had been exhausted, and he tossed the white plastic box aside. He'd already discarded the portable stove when the fuel had run out. A half filled canteen of water and a bent can of dog food were all that remained of the consumables.

The pack was so much lighter than when he'd first started carrying it. Putting one arm through the strap, he swung it onto his back.

When the troubles had first started ten years ago, Brennan was only seventeen and had enjoyed it. A pack on his back, a knife on his hip, and a gun in his hand; he took whatever supplies were available and didn't have to pay. It was a grand adventure, even camping in the woods with his family.

His enthusiasm vanished when his dad got infected and attacked Brennan's little sister. His mother had tried to separate them, but she only succeeded in getting bitten too. Brennan had been forced to shoot all three of them. He stopped enjoying the apocalypse after that.

Three months ago, he managed to find a friend from school. Their reunion was short lived as a day later, a scavenger murdered him for the supplies he carried.

Resources, what were left of them, were getting tighter as those still alive used them up or stockpiled them for future days. Brennan chuckled humorlessly at the thought of anyone still believing there were going to be future days.

Walking through the jewelry store, he looked at the glittering stones. Before the zombies arrived on scene, the gems would've been worth tens of thousands of dollars, but they weren't worth anything any more.

Brennan thought it strange how fast the world had changed. Before the zombies, people fought over things like money and jewels, but food and old clothes were thrown away without the slightest care. After the undead started their slow march across the lands, everything had reversed. He'd seen a traveler beaten to death for a half eaten sandwich the man had found in a dumpster. The sandwich had mold on it, but it was still more edible than nothing.

It was amazing the horrible things people did to each other just to live another day, even in the ruins of a broken world.

A slight scraping sound drew Brennan's attention outside, and he investigated to find a group of zombies slowly shuffling down the street. There were more than thirty of them, far more than he had ammunition to take down.

Besides food, bullets were one of the first things to be used up. The government had tried to continue manufacturing them in the name of public defense, but factories came under attack as the undead sensed the living within the walls. The guards did their best to fight them off, but they spent their bullets faster than the factories could replace them. When their ammunition became exhausted, the zombies claimed their prize and feasted on the humans within, many of the former defenders turning and expanding the ranks of the shambling hordes.

The situation had replayed dozens, if not hundreds, of times all across the world. Heavily armed groups would survive for a time, but the unending numbers of zombies would gradually wear down their defenses until they broke through and consumed them. It became clear staying in one spot only sped up the time it took to draw the attention of the undead, so the few humans who still lived stayed mobile, trying to keep one step ahead of the zombies following slowly in their wake.

Brennan snuck through the store and out into the alley. He checked to see if the narrow back street was clear of hostiles before heading east, or at least in a direction he considered east. He needed to get out of the city and find some place to dig in for the night.

Observing the zombies ever since they'd arrived, Brennan had noticed a pattern of behavior similar to an ant colony. They searched randomly in all directions, but once a food source had been found, they would all close in on it until they'd picked it clean.

Anyone could escape a single zombie, but the real menace came from the nearly limitless numbers of the undead. Brennan discovered the zombies would follow for miles, only stopping when either killed or distracted by another potential meal.

Turning a corner, he found a dozen more walking in slow, staggering steps toward the store he'd gone through. They halted where they were and turned in his direction before starting to move toward him. The undead had an uncanny skill for finding the living. Not having to sleep, they were relentless in their slow moving pursuit.

Their behavior reminded Brennan of a gradual flow of lava; what it lacked in speed, it compensated with eventual lethality. The lava creeped with a snail's pace, but anything it touched would be destroyed, and it would eventually cover everything in its path, nothing would escape. The zombies were the same way, relentless.

Adjusting his pack to a more comfortable position, Brennan started jogging. He didn't break into a full run as he needed to conserve his strength. Getting away from zombies was more of a marathon than a sprint. As he turned a corner and headed down a cross street, he couldn't help thinking about the tortoise and the hare.

His shoes skidded on the asphalt street as he abruptly stopped. From left to right, the entire street was filled with zombies. They turned their dead eyes in his direction, their feet shuffling forward as they joined the chase.

Brennan picked a new direction and started jogging again. He began noticing more and more zombies along the side roads he passed. Although they weren't in range to attack him, they took note of his presence, slowly closing in.

Entering a parking garage, he triggered a metal gate, and it descended, cutting off the undead horde before they could follow him inside. He knew it was a temporary reprieve at best, so he hurried upstairs to the top level. He needed a look at the city as a whole to find the best direction to flee. Too many undead were present for his liking.

Everywhere he looked, more of the zombies were spilling out of the broken buildings and collecting in front of the parking garage. The group below him at the entrance had become so tightly packed, he couldn't distinguish between individual zombies anymore. They blended together in a singular mass of tattered and bloody clothes and rotting flesh.

The gate, unable to withstand the pressure being delivered against it, broke, and the zombies poured inside like water through a ruptured dam.

Brennan ran and jumped off the top of the structure, landing on a lower roof of a small apartment next door. He came down hard, rolling with the impact and shedding unwanted momentum. He knew the zombies wouldn't be able to follow his particular path, but he also knew they'd find another one and keep coming; Brennan couldn't stay in one place for long.

He headed downstairs, but had to immediately change directions as the zombies had already entered the building and were making their way up the stairs. Reacting quickly, Brennan picked a room and darted inside, slamming the old door shut behind him. He flipped the lock into place and dragged over a wooden table to form a crude barricade.

With the door temporarily secure, he checked the rest of the small apartment. No other doors presented opportunities for the zombies to get in, but it also prevented Brennan from getting out.

The window had been broken out years ago, and the wood had rotted away, leaving a hole in the masonry of the exterior wall. The opening was too high for him to drop to the ground, and even if he did make it, the ground level was swarming with undead. No other buildings were close enough for him to jump across. It looked as if he'd be forced to make a last stand against an entire city full of zombies.

Pulling the gun from under his belt, he checked his ammunition levels to find he only possessed a single bullet. His back hit the wall and he slumped to the floor as the reality of his situation began to sink in.

Brennan realized he'd never get out of this alive, and it made him wonder if anyone could. As their numbers increased, the zombie hordes became a bigger and bigger threat. Humanity wasn't able to hold the line when weapons were still being made and the living had the advantage of numbers. The undead now outnumbered the living, and weapons were getting scarce as ammunition supplies were exhausted.

It was in that instant, Brennan had a moment of clarity. Humanity had already lost; like the zombies, they were already dead, but they were moving around as if still alive. The tide of undead would spread across the lands and overwhelm every last survivor until only the dead and the undead remained.

Brennan looked to the gun in his hand and the last round of ammunition it carried. Raised in a somewhat religious home, he knew suicide wasn't permitted. He remembered stories about soldiers who'd killed themselves to prevent being captured by the enemy, and he wondered if they were condemned for such actions.

The zombies pressing against the door began to splinter the wood partition, their decayed and mangled hands reaching in through broken gaps forming in the door. The time for thinking and consideration were over, leaving him no good options, only a variety of bad ones.

"God, forgive me," Brennan whispered as he raised the gun to his head, but before he could pull the trigger, a harpoon shot through the hole where the window had once been and imbedded in the opposing wall. A line of rope was attached to the end of the harpoon and vanished out the window.

Standing up, Brennan moved over to the window and looked out. Situated on the roof of a building across the way, a girl with brown hair had tied off the opposing end of the rope to create a line bridge for him to cross. Brennan didn't need any instruction as he immediately climbed on the rope and started pulling himself across.