[b]Everyone[/b]

The shattering glass and subsequent commotion emanating from the apartment building echoed through the street, now that the gun fire had died down. The infected, eight of them, looked up from the mangled corpse of Chief Hornby and stared with their defective eyes in the direction of the racket. As one, they rose to their feet, and growled like rabid dogs. One of them broke from the group, sprinting like a man on fire, though the others hobbled on behind. 

The sprinter, formally defined as a "Stage Two" by CDC fliers, ran up the steps and paused as it reached the shattered window. Several healthy humans confronted it, and it took a while for the infected to appreciate its luck... if it was capable of such reasoning. It was what would have been perhaps an eight year old child, with short hair, and bloody sports wear. A school's insignia was woven onto its polo-shirt. 

With a shriek, it charged forwards, making a bee-line for the man holding the golden cross.