"You be careful," Marga responded to her friend, placing the radio back on the desk beside her. Wakers weren't usually seen in massive groups like shufflers or runners, but one could never be sure of anything anymore. The last thing they needed was a group of cognitively aware zombies botching up this supply raid.
A scream broke over the seething hum of the undead, causing Marga's elbow to slip and the short-wave radio to be knocked to the floor. Marga cursed when she saw it break into two pieces. There wasn't time to see if it was broken. That scream had come from a living throat, which meant something had happened.
Runners were signaled by the sound, their feral cries resounding through the mall as they tore up the broken escalators to get to whomever had made the noise. And then there was a voice calling for help. It was weak and strained, and chilled Marga to her marrow. She lifted her eyes from the scope, the better to see what was going on in the area. Between the zombies and the darkness, she couldn't tell where the scream had originated. The only thing she knew was that it hadn't been Rae who'd called out and that was a very small relief.
Pounding could be heard outside the office door now. The first loud slam made her jump and let out a loud shriek. Reluctantly she set down her rifle before scrambling across the floor to get to her radio, praying it wasn't beyond repair. She stuffed the batteries back in with trembling fingers, not bothering to replace the back cover as she pushed the talk button.
"Rae! Rae can you hear me? Rae, get out now! Something's gone wrong. I'm trapped." Could Rae even hear her? Could anyone hear her? No one knew she was in the security office but Rae. Marga choked back a sudden rush of fearful tears. What if her friend was dead, what if every one of their group was dead?