In desperation you scramble back down, landing painfully on your feet, trying to take most of the hit on your healthy one. It takes two… three tries to toss your bag through the window and then you have to try and climb up again, still injured and with the dead drawing in on all sides, outside and inside, scrambling and clawing at the door, dislodging the shelves, boxes and seats bit by bit.
You manage to haul yourself up, just as one squirming undead, once a child though you don’t let yourself think about that, writhes through the mess and throws itself at you.
You black out for a moment and come to out on the street, vaguely scrabbling for your bag as your gorge rises in your throat from the pain. Your injured foot is hot… wet… when you look down the back of your shoe – and your ankle – has been torn away in a bite… there isn’t time to worry about that right now, the dead from the street are almost on you.
| What now? | |
| Crash into the nearest building you can get into and deal with your foot, drastically. | |
| Pause long enough to fill your foot with painkillers, antibiotics etc again and then hobble for it. | |
| Stand and fight. | |
| Take cover in an abandoned car and use the lighter to cauterise the wound. | |
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