Keep moving.

You have to keep moving.

They had been running since they escaped the city's boundaries. Like their hometown it was overrun with the infected. They had barely been able to scavenge enough food to last them the day before Chris had to slam the baton into an infected face. Her own now sported the dried blood spatter, like red freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her button-down took the most of it, adding to the dirt already there. Tony appeared in a similar state, the poor man.

“Don't stop 'til you're safe, love,” her granddad's voice reverberated through her thoughts. Keep moving. You have to keep moving.

She was used to the woods and running fast to escape something. That was usually the cops, or a fire, though, not the walking dead. It was impossible to keep quiet running through the woods as they were, but with gunshots sounding nearby they didn't much care, so long as they weren't eaten. Tony was different, he used to spend so much time indoors that suddenly having to adapt in the recent circumstances was difficult for him. 

They ran until the gunshots faded away, then slowed. Walking quietly through the undergrowth, their chests ached from the adrenaline still igniting their blood. Chris carried her grandfather's rifle on her back, the stolen police baton extended in her hand. 

Beside her – for she was afraid to let him out of her sight – Tony grasped his crowbar. “We need to get out of the woods,” he whispered, stating the obvious. Chris nodded. “I think this is a nature reserve,” he said. “There's a town on the other side.”

“How do you know that?”

“...Google maps.”

[i]You might as well have a chip in your brain[/i], she thought. [i]The shit you remember.[/i] “All right. Keep moving.” She knew she didn't have to say it, but hearing it aloud could be comforting. Though he never said it, Tony found a great deal of comfort and reassurance in his best friend's determination. The way the world was turning, they needed every bit of comfort they could get.