[center][justify]
The desperation in Quinn's voice was palpable, and it was clear that she was struggling to maintain her composure. [color=a187be]"Please!"[/color] Her cry for help wavered despite her best efforts to stay calm. Once more, she flashed the piece of scrap metal in an attempt to signal her location. Hidden behind a large tarp in an alleyway, barricaded for protection, she pleaded, [color=a187be]"No infected beyond these parts, just a friend who is in need of help."
[/color]

As panic threatened to overwhelm her better judgment, Quinn's mind raced at a dizzying pace. [sub][i]"Crap, okay, think of a plan. Think of anything."[/i][/sub] Her desperation was evident as she continued, [color=a187be]"My name is Quinn, Quinn Finch - it's my 25th birthday next month. Please - my friend cut his leg, and he has a fever."[/color]

The gravity of the situation hung in the air, and Quinn's words carried the weight of their desperate circumstances. Tension filled the alley. Then, there was a rustle behind the tarp, the sound of shoes climbing up and fabric stretching. Finally, the dirty face of a younger woman peered out from behind the tarp; she had dark hair and even darker eyes. [color=a187be]"It is a horse!"[/color] she exclaimed, her voice a mixture of surprise and relief.[/justify][/center]
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