Towards Safety. Towards Hope.

Benjamin hits the edge of the street with the others tight behind him, and the house looms ahead like a promise. The undead cluster shuffles across their path, blocking the cleanest line home.

Louis ducks low beside Benjamin, eyes flicking from the walkers to the porch. Mara and Dane clutch the bags close, keeping step in the shadows.

Benjamin drives forward, forcing the group into motion as the nearest undead turn toward the sound. The backyard route, the boarded doors, and the supplies in their hands all pull toward the same goal, get inside before night seals the street.

The line compresses, then surges, with the house finally becoming more than shelter, it becomes the base they have to hold.

Benjamin hits the porch in a hard sprint, boots scraping wet wood as the nearest undead lurches toward the sound behind him.

Jenny fires from the left, and the front line flinches open just enough for Benjamin to cross the last steps without slowing.

He reaches the porch rail and plants himself there, bat up, backpack tight, eyes tracking the street instead of the door.

Louis and the others break into the opening behind him, bags thumping against their legs as the darkness presses closer.

The porch light catches torn grass and moving shadows at the curb, but the house is now within reach, and the door stands only a few steps away.