I Don't Get Lost || Open
Fuck. Fuck.
Ellie's breathing was panicked as she darted through the narrow, too small hallway of the house and into the living room. Runners were quick but clumsy, robbed of their coordination and slowly dying eyesight as the cordyceps continued it's growth. Their much heavier footsteps were easy to make out throughout the house, accompanied by their grunts and delirious shouting after their newfound prey. The girl's panting hitched as she vaulted over the old couch, bouncing off the old cushions to dart into the kitchen and out the back door. She couldn't keep running, but two of them in a close space were no good and she'd end up with one dead and one with it's teeth on her neck. So she kept going.
Joel was nowhere in sight. Both of them had to haul ass when they'd heard the sounds of infected spotting them, and along the way she'd darted into just the wrong door and at the wrong time and it resulted in them going completely separate ways than originally intended. The neighborhood itself was new and foreign to her, guaranteeing no chance of finding the old man unless some sort of navigating miracle bestowed itself onto her. But she wasn't lost. This wasn't lost. She was doing just fine. Ellie darted into the next house over, managing to slam the door shut just as the runners came running and yelling. But, it was immediately made clear that she was definitely not alone.
The door lurched with the palms and arms shoving against her and her sneakers squeaked loudly against the old wooden floor. "Alright pal," She barked, taking one hand off the door to point the gun at the other person, "You have about six seconds before the runners bust down the door to either be a threat or be useful. I'll kill you first before I kill them if you try anything else."
