By the time they reached street level, Bobbi finally looked a little breathless. She halted at the entrance to the alley, switching her hold to the barrel of her rifle as she peeked into the street. After a beat, she signaled Happy to follow again and sprinted across the open street, cursing the jangling bounce of her backpack that seemed to echo down the unnaturally quiet block. For about a week it seemed like a silver lining not to have to hear the honking and shouting and sirens that made up New York City's constant background noise. Now Bobbi just missed it. The hungry grunt of the zombie that lurched out of the pile of rotting garbage would have fit right in.
Bobbi slid to rolling stop, all of her momentum behind her swing as she caught the zombie's jaw with the heavy butt of her gun, tearing it clean off. It bounced off the tarp covering her truck and plopped to the ground, and the zombie's tongue lolled down its throat. It barely made him stutter, but Bobbi bounced passed him to grab the tarp and fling it over the zombie's head. "Door's open," she sunnily invited Happy.