The city was going wild. People--including Harley--were huddled around TVs in shop windows. There were two news anchors sitting at their desk, talking about how a crazed man went and bit and killed someone in Europe. And then how it started to spread. But as he was speaking, Harley looked over to the woman on the screen. She had clawmarks all over her unusually pale skin and her breathing was unsteady and rapid. Almost. . . desperate. But then the screen blackened. The city had never been calm, but as the mysterious illness started to spread here, the military came, shooting anyone in sight. Undead or alive, it didn't matter. To them, one less person alive was one less potential walking corpse. Harley was hiding behind the dumpster, facing her makeshift tent that she had called her home for about a year. All she could hear behind her was screaming, crying, and gunshots. °•°•°•° Mature content: gore and strong language