Send me a number 1-5, and I’ll tell you how your muse survives a zombie attack!
He wasn’t running so much as he was staggering at a brisk pace, barely a half-block ahead of the almost two dozen undead that had picked up his scent nearly ten minutes ago.
He left the street for the sidewalk, and almost stumbled over the curb, just barely keeping his balance, looking around wildly for somewhere, somewhere to hide, and then he saw an alley, up on the right— shelter!
He didn’t waste another second. He headed for it, limping obviously now, almost dragging his feet, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t imagining his pursuers getting closer.
He ducked into the alley. The blind alley. Nowhere to go.
And the undead were blocking the exit, lurching towards him, empty eyes staring ahead, reaching out for him—
—and that was when the rope ladder came down from above, and he scrambled up it frantically, just barely making it to the top of the building when the other SHIELD agents opened fire on the undead, destroying them all within just under two minutes.
"Nice acting job there, Johnson," the AIC said, grinning as she patted his shoulder. "Ready to do it again?"
"Can’t someone else take a turn?" he groaned, pulling himself to his feet.
"You’re the best at playing decoy."
He sighed. An agent’s work was never done.
"Whew, thought I was a goner there."