Hannah, a twelve-year-old girl navigates through the outbreak between nightmarish flashbacks and reality, while trying to stay alive. Throughout her journey, she meets many people who soon become family, but the lingering fear of losing it all... ag...
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"Well, well, what do we have here?" The leader of the strange group said, stepping closer to the girls with a smile as Hannah backed away, placing herself in front of her friend who was clutching her rifle tightly.
The group clutched on to their own weapons, staring at the girls menacingly as they approached.
"We didn't mean to trespass," Riley said, her tone surprisingly steady. "We were just looking for some food. We'll leave, we promise."
The man smirked and glanced at his companions. "Food, huh? Times are tough, ain't they? I'm afraid we can't just let you leave. Not without a little... negotiation."
Hannah's panic heightened as she took in their situation. She also felt a pang of guilt for arguing with Riley earlier. They should have stayed together and focused on survival instead of wasting time on petty disagreements. Now, their lives were at risk.
Feeling a surge of protectiveness towards her best friend, Hannah mustered up her courage and stepped forward, her voice shaking slightly.
"We don't have anything to offer you. We're just two scared girls trying to survive out here. Please, just let us go," she pleaded, hoping there was still some kind of humanity left in the man.
"Just two little girls? Out here on your own?" He asked tilting his head slightly as he looked over at them.
"Well in that case." He remarked before motioning two of his men forward, grabbing the girls and pulling them out from behind the counter.
Hannah and Riley stood in the midst of the abandoned food court; their argument forgotten as a group of strangers approached. The strangers held weapons tightly in their hands, their intent clear: they wanted to take the food and supplies the girls had gathered for themselves.
Fear gripped Hannah as the group surrounded them, forcing the girls to kneel before their leader. His cold eyes scanned their faces, gleefully taking in the sight of their vulnerability. By then, infected had started gathering around the glass exit doors from food court, the noise catching their attention.
Just as he began to speak, a familiar voice sliced through the tension. "Wait!" cried John, Riley's father, as he emerged from one of the abandoned stores, his gun strapped to his back as he walked over. He raised his hands in a show of surrender, his eyes darting from the imposing group leader to his daughter and her friend.
"Please," John pleaded, his voice calm yet desperate. "We want no trouble. Let them go, they're just kids."
The group leader paused, seemingly contemplating John's words. As he approached John, a twisted smile formed on his lips. He raised the metal golf club in his hand, and before John could process what was happening the man bashed him across the face as john fell forward from the violent force, red dripping from the side of his head.
