Towards Safety. Towards Hope.

Inside the Miller house, the stale air tightens as the thumping outside grows harder and closer. The Miller woman points fast between her two companions, then toward the back of the house. One survivor stands shaky at the wall, the other lies slumped on the floor, one leg twisted under them.

Louis moves to the injured survivor, kneeling low to check the leg while keeping one eye on the windows. Benjamin catches the rhythm outside, the undead now striking the siding in uneven bursts, like they have found the house at last.

A second crash shudders through the front rooms. Dust sifts from the ceiling. Benjamin and the others have seconds to choose, help the injured survivor out the back, or let the trapped house become a tomb.

Louis shifts fast, sliding his arms beneath the injured survivor with practiced urgency. The wounded body comes up with a sharp gasp, and the standing survivor rushes in to catch their legs.

She crosses the room in two hard steps and throws the service door open. Cold air spills in from the yard, along with the harsh thuds of fists slamming the front wall.

Louis braces the injured survivor higher against his chest. The standing survivor hovers close at his side, ready to help steady the load while Benjamin keeps the rear of the room in view.

Outside, the pounding surges again, and the open doorway waits like a dark throat.

As the Miller woman pulls the door wide, the light from the yard catches the metallic glint of a heavy kitchen knife tucked into her waistband. The standing survivor, seeing Benjamin's gaze, shifts their coat to reveal a sturdy, serrated hunting blade strapped to their hip.