His instincts prove accurate as a pack of bodies runs past at the intersection ahead. Not the largest crowd, he estimates about 40 of them, but still a lot to handle. He unconsciously counts about 6 rounds by feeling their shape through the fabric in his leg pocket and decides against it. The skin on his hand is dry, rough and looks almost leather like as he counts the ammunition and, staring at the swarm, his mind suddenly coughs up a lost fragment of memory:

Catching him by surprise he looks around to find himself running at the centre of a zombie swarm.

His heart beats violently and he feels panicked, angry and paranoid. It’s a large group of men and women, much like the pack that just passed by in the street. Rabid and wild but organised like an army platoon.