They waited until nightfall.
Hidden in the alley behind a rusted dumpster, Iyisha pulled her hoodie tighter around her body, her breath fogging in the air. Malcolm crouched beside her, watching the street with practiced silence.
"Opposite direction from earlier," he said quietly. "We move when it's clear."
They slipped between buildings, keeping to the edges, avoiding open light. The goal: find supplies without drawing attention. The Vultures were out here somewhere, and the dead were waking up.
After passing two stores packed with groaning walkers, they found one that looked promising, a retail clothing outlet. Only two undead shuffled near the back.
They moved in fast.
Malcolm moved first. He took both down with swift, efficient strikes of his knife with no sound and no hesitation.
Iyisha kept watch near the entrance, eyes scanning for the slightest movement outside. The moon hung overhead, casting just enough silver light through the glass for them to see.
They moved slowly, every step deliberate, careful not to make a sound.
Inside, the air reeked of mildew and dust. Cracked perfume bottles and broken plastic hangers littered the tile floor. The mannequins, headless and faceless, looked almost like the walkers outside.
"I'll grab clothes," Iyisha said, already rushing toward the women's section. She almost said a prayer when she saw shelves of unopened underwear packs.
She tossed a few into her bag, grabbed socks, pants, a fitted jacket.
Malcolm changed his bloodied shirt, pulling on a dark hoodie that fit tight across his shoulders. They both swapped out their torn, stained bags for cleaner ones.
"I'm not dying in muddy underwear," Iyisha muttered, stepping out from behind a half-destroyed curtain, now in jeans and fresh sneakers.
Just as they were ready to leave—
A white light sliced across the glass wall.
"DOWN!" Malcolm shouted, grabbing her.
Gunfire shattered through the storefront. They dropped behind a metal rack.
"THEY'RE INSIDE!"
"THERE! BEHIND THE COUNTER!"
Voices. Flashlights. The crunch of boots.
They ran, slipping between buildings and leaping over debris. The whole block closed in like a trap.
Then lights flooded the block — harsh, sweeping beams from three different angles.
Iyisha's stomach dropped. Her eyes widened as panic crept in. The beams cut through shadows like blades, illuminating the corners they'd hidden in just moments ago.
Malcolm turned to her, calm despite the chaos. "We need another distraction."
He pointed a shop beside them whose windows were clouded with rot and condensation. Behind the glass, vague figures twitched and swayed.
"Zombies," he said. "Packed in."
Iyisha stared at the twitching bodies behind the glass. Her stomach turned. Using the dead like this, it felt wrong. It was different when they were running, surviving. But now, deliberately releasing them? Her fingers curled against her thigh. The Vultures wouldn't hesitate. She swallowed the fear.
Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Are you sure?"
He nodded. "They've got Vultures ready to take our heads. Add a street full of walkers and screaming and they won't know who to shoot."
She looked back toward the flood of light. Gunshots cracked again and a roar of an engine.
"They'll go first to the loudest sound," Malcolm added.
Iyisha nodded slowly, throat dry. They didn't have a choice.
Just when it looked like they'd be surrounded, Malcolm veered hard and smashed the glass of a nearby storefront with the butt of his knife.
The glass didn't shatter — not yet. But it cracked loud and deep, a web of fractures spreading across the pane. With the undead already pressing toward it, it would only take one more push before it gave way completely.
They ducked into a narrow alley, crouching behind bins slick with rainwater. The darkness swallowed them.
Iyisha held her breath. Just a few feet away, the undead staggered past, drawn to the noise, the lights, the scent of life on the other side.
The undead shuffled faster, groaning louder now as they staggered toward the cracked glass. Their bodies pressed against it, arms slapping, weight shifting.
Then, with a splintering pop, the window gave way.
Glass rained down.
The walkers spilled out in a tide of limbs, pouring into the street and heading straight for the Vultures and their engines.
They were about to keep moving when Iyisha grabbed Malcolm's arm and pointed. The building the zombies had just poured out of, it was a grocery store.
"Real food," she breathed.
Malcolm's jaw clenched. He shook his head, eyes scanning the chaos. Gunshots cracked nearby. Shouts echoed off the walls.
"Too loud. Too exposed," he muttered. "We'll be dead before we can get a can."
Then the gunshots grew closer. Shouts echoed off walls, bouncing between buildings.
Malcolm grabbed her wrist. "We need to go."
He pulled her with him, sprinting toward the only side of the block not lit by floodlights.
Iyisha didn't look back. But the chaos behind them never stopped — gunfire, yelling, the rising groans of the dead, all crashing into each other like a storm.