You were still catching your breath under the old pier when it ran past your hiding place...

You were still catching your breath under the old pier when it ran past your hiding place. The rest of the pack were off in the distance, their howls echoing around the seafront seemed so much louder now that all the screaming had stopped. You hoped you weren't the last one left.


They'd been hiding on a cargo ship, hundreds of them all crammed together in metal containers - all set loose at once just after the Viscount Arms had finished celebrating its 8th year in business. It was well-timed, people were too full of booze to do much more than flail, collapse and be devoured.



You were a designated driver, the last one standing... well, crouching behind a pile of old deck chairs under the pier while creatures that looked like a squid lost a fight to eight sharks and a bear patrolled the once vibrant seaside town.



It was like they knew you were alive, might even be able to smell your fear or something. Either way, your hiding place was precarious at best and a death sentence at worst. If you could dart between hiding places and get to your car you might have been able to survive.



But fear had you in the palm of its hand, left you dashing between piles of rotting furniture and old fishing equipment instead of making progress and heading towards the town. It was only a matter of time before you'd be spotted and you knew that.



Maybe a part of you didn't want to survive while everyone else was dead?



Maybe you'd be better off joining them instead of trying to explain to the world what had happened?



The howls were growing closer by the minute and your time slowly ran out.

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