Mercury forced the car into a hard, screeching turn. Tires bit into the cracked tarmac, kicking up a storm of dust and gravel that swirled around us like a dirty halo.
A few infected had already reached the vehicle, one of them clung desperately to the side mirror with rotting fingers, its decayed face pressed against the glass, mouth working hungrily as if it could bite through the metal.
The rest of the horde poured after us, thousands of bodies moving with terrifying coordination, a living wave of rot and hunger surging across the plain.
The turn completed. Mercury slammed her foot down.
"Yeees," she hissed, one hand briefly lifting off the wheel in fierce satisfaction.
In the side mirror, I watched the infected lose ground. The swarm slowed, drifting back toward whatever dark instinct had drawn them. But the one on the mirror held on, its blank, milky eyes locked on us with single-minded commitment, fingers digging deeper into the metal.
