The chilly early March air cut through his woefully inadequate jacket and stung his eyes and cheeks. Ethan didn’t dare look behind him, where he knew that dozens of infected surged toward the house in which he, Cade, and Brandt had managed to spend less than a week. He knew without looking that the infected had continued to merge onto their position, regardless of their prey’s preparations to take flight. Ethan couldn’t look back to make sure that his friends had made it safely away from the house. He had to trust that Gray had gotten the four of them clear and into the side streets heading south. For now, Ethan had to focus on driving, watching his surroundings as he darted and wove between crookedly parked cars and emptied trash cans that lay scattered throughout the street. As Ethan took the turn at the end of the block, he let out a steadying breath. He hadn’t driven a motorcycle in years, but it seemed to be coming back to him easily. He’d sold the bike he’d owned throughout his college years to help pay for his and Anna’s honeymoon.
