Diablo slunk to the ground, making sure not to make any noise against the concrete. He was out in the open, which meant he was in constant danger. 

Even if he couldn't see the danger.

The streets were deserted and even the drone of any vehicles was absent. That was a side effect of having no humans to use any vehicles. As far as Diablo could tell, he was the last human in the country.

He had been a part of the team given the keys to save the world from the Marked. They resembled what cinema referred to as zombies, except no amount of makeup, acting or comics could do them justice. They were ridiculously fast, durable, and nimble. One bite from them and your eyes were destined to turn the milky white that characterized them.

As if that wasn't enough, this attack against the USA was clearly orchestrated by some intelligent figures, considering that on the very first night of the outbreak, a power outage had occurred. One that even the most advanced generators or hackers couldn't rectify. The theory was that whoever was behind the attack planned to grow a Marked army before transporting them on ships to other countries and wreaking havoc.

Essentially, all communication outside of the country was cut off, with the airports and harbors being hit the worst. Thus Diablo and his team's mission; travel to the only radio tower that hadn't been compromised in the synchronized attack and send a distress signal.

It turns out that was easier said than done when the entire population was being turned into flesh-loving monsters. 

Diablo cursed as he remembered his fallen comrades. He'd set out alongside six people, each better trained than him, but they had been turnt one by one, until now only he was left. 

He dared to rear up into a crouch and peek over an overturned car. A pole was on the ground and he could barely make out the street name. He sighed in relief. He was only three streets away from the tower.

Soon, the world would be alerted, and he would be saved.

He repeated the mantra in his head as he edged forward around the end of the street, coming face to face with the milky eyes of a monster. Before he could fully process the horrific sight, the thing reached out a hand impossibly fast and grabbed his face.

Diablo fell back purposely, his heart hammering against his chest. He couldn't overpower the Marked, but with the help of gravity and a kick against its foot, the Marked fell forward onto him, just as he slid a knife out of his jacket pocket and held it at the ready.

The weight of the Marked slamming down on him, mixed with the fetid reek of its rotting flesh almost knocked Diablo unconscious, but guided by adrenaline and an unhealthy amount of fear he jolted back up and started stabbing the monster repeatedly in the side of its head. It began to lift itself up and Diablo used the shift in weight to roll over and gain a dominant position on top. 

Again and again, he drove the knife into the Marked's skull until his hands started to cramp and he rolled off of its still figure, biting away a cry of pain that would surely alert more of the bastards to his location. He looked up at the night sky and twinkling stars, unrelenting in their beauty despite the plight of humanity below. 

He screamed soundlessly, tears streaming down his face.

It wasn't fair. No human should have to bear such responsibility - to be forced to fight such monstrosities all alone. If all of the better trained people had died, who was he to defy these immeasurable odds?

Diablo's eyelids suddenly felt heavy. He wanted to sleep, to forget his duty. This was a near impossible task and all that waited if he continued and failed was pain. Atleast here, he could rest and meet his death in his sleep. 

Diablo pinched himself and stood. He knew it was unlikely he would even be given that privilege of a peaceful death once a Marked inevitably found him. There was no escaping, so he may as well fight on.

He traveled through the dark streets carefully, wary of every footstep, every shape. He wasn't even sure he'd be able to hear a sound over his thunderous heartbeat.

Finally, the radio tower came into view. It was a building with a very small radio tower sticking out from the roof, so Diablo could see how it would fly under the radar. Truthfully, his boss hadn't even been sure the communication devices still worked, but it was the only chance they had.

After forty-eight hours straight of being on high-alert, seeing his goal made Diablo loosen up. He walked forward toward the steps leading up to the building, not noticing a figure on the ground until his feet brushed right past it. Diablo paused, fear holding his body in place as the figure rose and opened its milky eyes.

Run.

Diablo ran up the steps, but of course, the Marked was faster. It grabbed at him and got his shirt, but in a move of quick-witted desperation, Diablo pulled the shirt and jacket off and with nothing to hold onto, the Marked went flying back off the steps with the clothes in hand. 

Diablo reached the door just as the Marked let out a bloodcurdling howl. Goosebumps appeared as Diablo imagined thousands of Markeds running to his location. He barricaded the door quickly with two desks and all but leaped to the communication panel.

They'd been trained to recognize the panel so he pressed the button and waited as the Markeds began to bang on the door.

Finally, the sound of static emerged as a connection was made. Diablo bit back tears. He wouldn't be making it out. It was a reality that he'd ignored to keep going, though deep down he knew how unlikely survival was.

In a hoarse voice, Diablo fulfilled his duty. 

"Send help."