Radiant light shines through the glass-filled doors at the end. His ears are attuned to anything slipping in behind, but his eyes are focused on the doorway to the front. Although his muscles are relaxed, geared to spring into action if needed, every nerve feels like a high-tension wire, quivering with each step. The hallway feels closed in; the double doors at the end loom large.

Arriving at the final set of doors, Brown peeks around the edge of the glass pane.

“Ah, shit,” he mutters.

Several figures are running through the middle of the field, being pursued by a larger number of infected. It quickly becomes apparent that the distance between the two groups is closing. If the ones that are being chased don’t find someplace safe, they’ll soon be overrun. Brown doubts that they’ll even make it across the open area. Turning to the two cadets, he tells them to head back to the rotunda and to stay out of sight.

“Why? What are you going to do?” Clarke asks.

“Something stupid,” Brown states, turning back to the door. “Now go!”

Fuck me! I can’t believe that I’m about to do this.

After checking that the immediate vicinity is clear, Brown, with a deep breath followed by a forced exhalation, opens the door and steps out. He stares at the two groups, the pursued and pursuers, gauging the chances that the non-infected can make it to the door should he signal them. A split-second of measuring the odds tells him that it will be close.

Good enough.

Still clasping the handgun, he brings his fingers to his mouth and whistles, the shrill sound carrying across the campus. All eleven, seven infected and four running for their lives, turn in his direction. Without breaking stride, the four turn toward the building, the ones behind altering their path as well.

You’ve gone and done it now, Brown thinks, knowing the entire campus could well descend on him.

Taking that single action, he forwent his original idea of becoming a hole in the ground. He could have kept the infected unaware of his presence, leaving the four to their near-certain demise. Although he knows that it’s the right thing to do, he’s kicking himself for doing it. While the four race across the lawn, wide eyes full of fear, Brown uses the hex key to lock both of the doors.

Gazing back at the rapidly closing groups, he sees that the distance between the two has dramatically closed. Screams erupt from other distant locations, indicating that more company would be arriving soon. A quick glance at his surroundings shows that it’s still clear of any hostile infected.

“You need to fucking hitch that shit into a higher gear,” Brown yells. “And stop looking over your shoulders, you morons!”

One of the cadets in front responds, pulling ahead of the others. The other three have already reached their top speed and apparently don’t have a higher gear.

It’s going to be close, but those three may not to make it. If the building were twenty feet closer…his thought trails off.

The groups rapidly draw closer, the thudding of running footsteps changing as they flee off the grass and onto the wide concrete walkway. The four, all wearing blue masks, express outright terror. Their eyes are glued to the door, but obviously hear the pounding footfalls right behind them.

The one in the lead races past Brown and through the door, stumbling and falling to the floor. The other three are close, but the pursuit is right on their heels. Like a surging wave, the infected roll over the three cadets. Their piercing screams of surprise and terror rise above those of their attackers as they fall. One hits the pavement chin first with a loud crack, her shriek cut short. Another stumbles forward, but falls with two infected on his back, looking much like a lion pack taking down prey. The third vanishes under three others, his screams muffled under the bodies piled on top.

Not waiting to see the rest, Brown pulls hard on the door, forcing it to close.